Page 30 of Broken
The pacing stops for a second before she says anything. “I see. What was the thought there?”
“He was kissing my neck!” Even to myself that’s a shit excuse. “He plays dirty pool, the asshole.”
“Ahhh, I see. And now you have regrets.” Her pacing continues, and I groan.
“Of course, I do.” I huff. “This is going to be awful. Nothing can come of it. I loved him so completely, Jordan. He’s the only person I’ve ever really wanted to touch me. What the hell is going to happen when we leave here?” Emotions fill my eyes with tears once again, and I wipe them away roughly with a growl, irritated with myself. “Am I supposed to pretend like none of it happened?”
“You’re really overthinking this,” she says softly. “You are the master of casual sex. Enjoy the orgasms while you’re there.”
“I can’t!” The urge to break down in fucking tears again is strong, but I’m tired of it. I won’t allow myself to do it again. “It’s not casual with him. Nothing ever is.”
“Then tell him you changed your mind.” It’s so simple when she says it.
“Doesn’t that make me an asshole?” My voice is small as I ask the question that shouldn’t matter. I need to protect myself, but the need to be loved is too strong to ignore.
“Elliot, I don’t give a fuck if it makes you an asshole. You need to set boundaries to protect yourself.” Her mama bear tendencies make me feel better even though she’s basically yelling at me. “Be friends with him, get to know him again if you can, but do noteverlet someone touch you just because you’re afraid to look like an asshole for saying no.”
Why does it feel like she’s given me permission? Why does it make me feel better?
“Okay.” My voice is small but there.
“You are your first priority. Got it?” Her tone is hard, but I know it’s out of love.
“Got it.”
“Good, now go enjoy paradise.”
I smile to myself as we say goodbye and hang up.
Be his friend. I think I can do that.
Light is starting to peek through the curtains, glinting off the camera he ordered for me. Sitting up, I stare at it for a minute. Friends. We can be friends, I think. Friends talk on the phone, text, cheer each other on. They can be long distance and not hurt.
I really want to play with that camera.
Grabbing a change of clothes, I take the camera and shove some extra rolls of film into my pockets, then leave the villa. There’s a gym by reception that guests can use, and I find myself looking for it. I’m lying to myself when I say it’s not to see how good Asher looks sweaty with straining muscles. Big. Fat. Lie.
Signs on the outside of reception direct me, and I find it without much trouble. From the window in the door, I can’t see much, so I slowly push on it and hope it doesn’t squeak. My heart pounds at the fear of getting caught sneaking a look at whoever is in here.
I can hear grunts and smell the rubber mats along with whatever they use to disinfect in here. It takes me a minute to find Asher at one of those machines that can do a million different workouts, like the Bowflex ones I’ve seen in home gyms.
He’s facing away from me with his shirt off, pulling up on the handles that are coming from down low. The muscles in his arms and back flexing and bunching with each movement, making his tattoos dance on his skin. Without taking my eyes off his body, I uncap the lens and slide the cover into my pocket. Quickly, I adjust the settings to hopefully get a clear picture and raise the camera to look through the viewfinder. I snap a picture and manage to get his face in the mirror as well.
I freeze at the sound the camera makes and wait for him to notice me tucked in between the machines, but he doesn’t. Keeping the camera raised, I wait for another shot and take another one, this time his eyes have just seen me and a smile is starting to form.
Fuck.
Anticipation tickles in my stomach as I wait for his reaction, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, he pushes himself harder. Shit. With hot cheeks and my lip between my teeth, I back out of my hiding spot and flee the gym.
My face doesn’t cool down until I’m on the beach and walking through the surf. The crystal-clear turquoise water laps at my feet and ankles, shifting the sand under me as I walk. I’ve always loved walking in the surf. The ground beneath my feet literally changes with every wave. In just a few steps, where you had been is different. The evidence of you is washed away to leave the sand untouched like you never existed.
I adjust my camera settings again and get some pictures of the water, birds, and flowers. It really is gorgeous here, and if I have to be trapped somewhere, there’s definitely worse places. Since I’m supposed to be in therapy or rehab or whatever, Ian deleted all my social media apps off my phone, but I haven’t had the desire to re-download them. It’s freeing to not have them.
The news articles, comments, tags from everyone with an opinion on my life don’t exist here. Most of the people on this island are hiding from something, so none of us exist. So far, no one has bothered me, asked any questions, or even acted like they knew who I was. Besides the resort receptionist who knew my name, but she wasn’t weird about it.
Stopping in the surf, I close my eyes and lift my face to the sky. I drag in a deep breath of the salty air and let it take some of the stress and pressure with it when I let it out. The things I can control, I will. The things I can’t, I have to let go.
I can’t control Asher, only my reaction to him.