Ripped [TO BE PUBLISHED 2016]

22

His hand is warm, sweaty, as it wraps around mine. Tingly in a way that I've never felt before.

Beautiful.

The word echoes in my thoughts. Beautiful. I was beautiful. He thought I was beautiful. He think that I'm beautiful. I hadn't heard that in so long.

"Here you go," a lady with greying hair says as she hands me a Styrofoam cup filled with apple cider.

"Thanks." I smile. She smiles back, crows' feet lining her dull, brown eyes.

Andrew leads me to a seat right in front of one of the roaring fires. Behind us, carolers' harmonies float precariously in the air, frozen by the still night until replaced by new notes and tones. He wraps his arms loosely around me, warming me all the way through. He doesn't talk. He never talked, really. But that's okay.

He rubbed up and down my leg, brushing the hemline of my short dress over my soft, woolen leggings. In this moment, everything is serene. Calm. And for the first time in a long time, okay. Because he's there.

We sit there, speechless, until his arms circle my waist and pull me back to his car. Our breath is visible until the warm air washes it away.

His fingers trace my spine. Goosebumps raise at his touch. Putting the car into drive, he keeps his fingers pressed to my skin. I close my eyes, letting droplets of condensation roll down my forehead as I lean against the glass window pane.

The endless motion of vehicular movement ends as the car stops, and he pulls away. Everything seems cold at once. I look up. His eyes are flat, but I can tell he's waiting. As I open my door, he opens his. This time, all of the lights in in his house are off. There are no cars lining the sidewalks. It's desolate.

I push open the door and walk up the front porch anyways.

The front door creaks open, the air stale. He flicks the lights on, but the place seems totally different. Foreign. I toss my jacket at him, even though it's almost the same temperature inside than out. I'd rather him love me than have it be warm.

He wastes no time. Dipped back, I'm engulfed by a long, hard kiss. My lips move with his as he tries to go deeper, tried to sedate his hunger. He slipped off my cardigan easily, revealing the perfect, bare skin underneath.

"Sexy," he mumbles, slipping the straps off of my shoulders. I don't reply as he goes further still. He slips off my dress in a single motion and lets it fall to the floor. He reaches for the hook of my bra. His fingers find it and he unclips it, smooth as the rest of him. I recoil slightly, a chill running down my spine.

"Pathetic." Cassie's voice echoes, lingering.

And I know I really would be if I didn't do what he wanted. I push myself up, closing the space between me and Andrew, creating an almost pure skin to skin contact.

"Don't," a voice whispers in the back of my head. I hush it.

As he reaches for the last layer, my vision fades to black. "It's okay," a voice inside my head whispers. But this time it wasn't mine. I shudder. Fuck. Not him. Anything, anyone but him. My hands connect hard with flesh and bone and push the heavy figure off of me.

"No." I say roughly. "No," I say, softer this time. I can't look Andrew in the eye. He wouldn't understand. I don't even understand. "I think I need to go home now."

Andrew tosses me my dress. He won't even look at me. But he thinks I'm beautiful, right? My heart aches as I pull on the fabric. I should be relieved. But instead I feel like I 've done something very wrong, and it's ripping my heart into shreds.

When we pull up in front of my house, Andrew doesn't walk me to my front door. He doesn't say goodbye, or kiss me goodnight. He's stagnant.

I heave a sigh, push open the door, and leave.

He was a jerk. I knew he was a jerk. But he told me I was beautiful. I didn't mean to hurt him. I didn't want to push him away.

Maybe I was beautiful. Just not beautiful enough.