I march upstairs with Rowan staggering behind. We enter the apartment, and she collapses on the couch. I sit down next to her and take her shoes off. I turn on the TV and wait for her to start sobering up. About two hours later, she starts to moan as she rouses from drunken sleep. I wait patiently. Soon, she pushes herself up and sits looking pale and very uncomfortable. I wait patiently. A few minutes later, she starts to stand, still dizzy and looking yet even more uncomfortable.

I smile at her sweetly. “Are you not feeling well? Someone should have told you alcohol can do that. Can I get you anything? Perhaps another beer would do the trick.”

She is off heading for her bathroom. She tries to close the door in my face but is unsuccessful. I enter, not exactly wanting to see her puke but definitely wanting to punish her for the evening. I sit on the side of the bathtub, studying her as she kneels. As she nervously looks over at me, it’s my turn to smirk.

“Logan, please … just leave. I’m going to be sick. I don’t want you here.”

“That’s too bad. I think I’ll stay for the show.” I’m emotionally torturing her, but while I’m hit with guilt and even sympathy for her, my anger pushes me further. I’ll feel guilty later.

She whimpers as she keeps begging me to leave, until she can beg no longer and empties her stomach. She reaches up quickly to flush the toilet, sparing me the view of her dinner. When her head comes up, her face is flushed and wet with tears, her nose is running, and she has slobber hanging from her mouth. This definitely isn’t her best side. I continue to watch. She grabs some toilet paper to wipe her mouth and finally, shakily, finds her way to her feet. I think that should about cover punishment for now. She flushes her face with cool water and starts to brush her teeth. I follow her to the sink and stand beside her, watching her. Her eyes find mine in the mirror as she feels me looking at her, and she glances away. She is hurt, angry, and humiliated. And while my anger is still very present, her embarrassment has finally softened my rage. And though I know I shouldn’t, I place my hand under her shirt at the small of her back and start to massage her lower back. She meets my eyes again, and she starts to cry.

She finishes brushing her teeth, and I turn her to face me. She is still crying and so embarrassed she can’t look me in the eye. I take her hand and help her to her bed. She lies down, and I help her out of her jeans. I crawl in with her and pull her back to me, and I find that we are right back where we started little over a week ago. A lot can change in a week, and sometimes, you end up going full circle. We stay that way for the rest of the night, and I can’t help but be glad that she is lying next to me again. I’ll finish being angry with her in the morning.

* * *

As I wake, my head is splitting, and my mouth is so dry I can hardly swallow. I can’t imagine what my father sees in this. Logan is sleeping behind me with his arm around me. I love the way it feels being in his arms, but I don’t want to face him this morning. It’s not a choice. He’ll wake soon, and I might as well enjoy this while I can. I close my eyes for another half hour or so until I feel Logan stirring. I roll toward him, wanting to savor every last minute. I put my arm around him and feel his smooth muscled back with my hands. I lay my head against his chest and wait for him to wake.

When he comes to, I look up at him nervous of what mood he’ll be in. He looks down at me. He isn’t smiling, and he isn’t frowning. He is just studying me. He finally trails his hand down my back to my bottom, rounds the cheek with his hand, and then cups it in his hand. He massages while I keep holding onto him, nearly holding my breath at his intimate touch. We lie there for many long minutes not speaking. He finally dips his head and kisses the small area where my shoulder meets my neck before pulling away from me to stand. He leaves without a word as I struggle to piece the events of the night together in my mind.

A few minutes later, he comes back in with a big glass of water and some Tylenol. He sits down on the bed as I sit up, and I take the Tylenol, washing it down with the water. “Logan, I…”

“I don’t want to do this right now.”

“But I…”

He cuts me off again. “Rowan, I’m angry. I’m not doing this right now. Get up and get dressed. I’m taking you home.”

Logan leaves the room and I get up, dressing in my jeans that are lying at the foot of the bed. I stroll out to the living room, and Logan is already in his coat with his keys in his hand. He really is ready to get rid of me today, and I feel the same sting of rejection I felt a week ago. We make our way silently down to the car and say nothing to one another on the way to my house. When he pulls up, he doesn’t look at me or say anything at all. I sit for a moment, expecting him to say something before finally giving up and opening the door. I feel pathetic, and as I start to remember my evening, I’m mortified.

I’ve completely humiliated myself. Why did I have to go upstairs with Benjamin? I don’t even like him. The entire time he was touching me and kissing me, I was imagining it was Logan’s hands on me, his mouth tasting me. What had I said to Logan? My mind was so fuzzy, but I distinctly remember coming on to him. He had rejected me of course. Why would he want some drunken girl doing her best to be a slut? The comment he made in the bedroom comes flooding back to me in a painful rush. “Little girls don’t get to play big girl games.” That’s all I was to him—just some stupid little girl. And I puked in front of him. That was not cool. He was so gentle with me this morning, though. I just don’t understand him sometimes. If he was so furious with me, why did he touch me the way he did? He was so gentle and intimate. I want that from him so much. I’m sure he just felt sorry for me.

My head is pounding, and it’s nearly lunchtime by the time I feel any semblance of normalcy. I feel better once I get some food in my stomach, and by mid-afternoon I think I’ll live. I spend a few hours getting ahead on reading for school. I do a couple loads of laundry to get me through the week, and then I sit in my room depressed. I want to see him so much. I need to talk to him about last night. I need to explain. I need him to forgive me for being so stupid.

I know I shouldn’t, but I hop on my bike and head to his place. It is cold and the ride over miserable. By the time I reach his place, my knuckles are white, and I’m afraid they’ll break if I move them. I run upstairs to escape the cold and knock on the door. He answers. He doesn’t look happy to see me, and I look away, suddenly nervous.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you about last night. Or … I mean … I wanted to apologize about last night.” I can’t look at him.

I’m suddenly terrified that he’s going to kick me out, but he doesn’t. He holds the door open but doesn’t make me feel at all welcome. I enter and nervously stand by the door as he looks at me, waiting for me to speak.

“Please don’t be mad at me. I was so stupid last night. I can’t stand that you’re upset with me.”

He stares at me for a long moment without saying a word before he sighs. “Come with me.”

He is obviously not happy to see me, but at least he’s not kicking me out. He leads me to his bedroom and leaves me there, returning with my pajamas. He makes no move to give me privacy and silently stands back with his arms crossed across his chest, waiting for me to change. My nipples are taut just at the thought of his eyes on me. I slide my shirt over my head and throw my tank top on before wriggling out of my bra. I try to pull my tank top down over my hips as I slide my pants to the floor. Logan is still standing like a statue, watching me intensely. And though my heart is pounding, he looks completely at ease, maybe even bored. I pull my pajama pants on quickly before sitting down on the side of his bed.

He then grabs an old pair of navy sweatpants from a drawer and starts stripping off his shirt in front of me. My heart stops working when I see him fumbling with the button and zipper of his jeans. I stare at him as he stares back at me. As he pulls down his pants, I can see that he is wearing black boxer briefs. His stomach looks perfect against the designer waistband, and I keep staring. I’m likely not the best judge, but he is aroused and very large, and it shows deliciously beneath the distended fabric. I can’t help but remember the last time I was in this room and how good his arousal felt against my own swollen wetness. I could stare at him all night but don’t get the chance before he pulls on the sweats and saunters back over to the bed. He lies down, pulling me with him.

We lie facing one another for a few minutes before he finally speaks. “Did something happen with your father today?”

Regardless of the way his body appears to be responding to me, he still doesn’t sound happy I’m there. “No.”

“You should have called. It’s too cold for you to be riding that stupid bike around town. I would have come to get you.”

I’m practically whispering. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Damn it, Rowan. You don’t bother me. Why do you always think you’re in my way or bothering me or annoying me?”

I shake my head, near tears. “I don’t know.”

The fragile emotion in my voice causes him to suddenly soften and reach out to stroke my cheek. I choke back the tears and find my voice. “It’s hard letting you help me all the time. I don’t want to feel like a burden, but I do. Your family has always done so much for me, and it’s hard when you have nothing to give back. I have nothing to offer you, but I take from you all the time. It makes me feel guilty. It always has.” My voice is husky and strained with my choked back tears.