Chapter 5: The Study Date and the Panic
The flashcards had devolved into a competition neither of them was winning.
Jay held up a card, his eyebrows pinched together in concentration. "Okay. What's the powerhouse of the cell?"
"The mitochondria." Hannah didn't even look up from her notes.
"That's cheating. You didn't let me finish."
"You held up the card. I answered. That's the game."
"The game is supposed to be hard."
"Not my fault you picked high school biology for a university study session."
He tossed the card at her. It fluttered uselessly and landed on her knee. She flicked it back. It hit him in the forehead.
"Bullseye," she said.
"I let you have that one."
"Sure you did."
They were sprawled across her bed in a tangle of textbooks and snack wrappers, the lamp casting a warm circle of light over the chaos. Hannah wore her oldest sweats — the gray ones with the hole in the knee and the drawstring that never stayed tied — and her hair was a mess of red tangles she hadn't bothered to brush since morning.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this comfortable in her own skin.
Jay was propped against her headboard, his long legs stretched out beside her, a pen tucked behind his ear that he kept forgetting about. He'd been wearing the same navy henley for three days straight, and she could smell his detergent — something clean and faintly citrus — every time he shifted closer.
"You're staring again," he said.
"You have a pen behind your ear."
"I know."
"It's been there for two hours."
"I'm aware."
"You're a disaster."
"And yet, you keep inviting me over."
She smiled. It felt easy. Natural. Like something she used to do all the time before the world got heavy.
"Maybe I like disasters," she said.
"Lucky me."
He reached over and tugged a strand of her hair. Gentle. Playful. She didn't flinch. Didn't even tense.
Two weeks ago, that would have been impossible.
She thought about the night after their first date — the way he'd kissed her goodnight, soft and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. The way he'd texted her the next morning with a photo of his burnt toast and the caption breakfast of champions. The way he'd shown up at her door three days later with coffee and a terrible pun about espresso-ing himself.
She'd laughed so hard she'd snorted. He'd looked at her like she'd hung the moon.
Now here they were. Study date. Sweatpants. No pretenses.
"You're doing it again," Jay said.
"Doing what?"
"Smiling at me like I just said something funny."
"Maybe you did."
"I haven't said anything for five minutes."
"Maybe you're funny when you're quiet."
He snorted. "That's a first."
She set her notebook aside and stretched her arms over her head, her spine cracking in a satisfying series of pops. Jay watched her, his expression softening into something she couldn't quite name.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"Liar."
"I'm just... glad you're here."
She tilted her head. "I'm literally right next to you."
"You know what I mean."
She did.
She crawled across the bed and settled into his lap, her knees bracketing his hips, her hands resting on his shoulders. He blinked up at her, surprised but pleased, his hands finding her waist like they belonged there.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi."
"Thanks for coming over."
"Thanks for letting me."
She leaned down and kissed him. Soft at first. Testing. He kissed her back with that same unhurried patience, like he was waiting for her to set the pace.
She didn't want to set the pace tonight. She wanted to forget the pace existed.
She deepened the kiss, her fingers threading through his hair, and he made a low sound in his throat that sent heat pooling in her stomach. His hands slid up her back, careful and respectful, and she pressed closer, wanting more, wanting him.
She pulled back just long enough to look at him.
"I want this," she said. "I want you."
His eyes searched her face. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
She shifted out of his lap and pulled him down on top of her, her back hitting the mattress with a soft thud. He braced himself on his elbows, careful not to crush her, and she reached up to tug at the hem of his shirt.
It landed on the floor a moment later.
The first time she'd seen him without a shirt, she'd been too drunk to appreciate it. A party sophomore year. He'd been showing off a bruise from some construction job, and she'd been too busy trying not to stare at his chest to pay attention to the story.
Now she had permission to look.
Her fingers traced the hard lines of his arms, the swell of muscle from years of hauling lumber and shingles and whatever else the job demanded. His skin was warm. His breathing uneven.
"You're beautiful," she whispered.
"Pretty sure that's my line."
"Too bad. I'm stealing it."
He kissed her again, and she lost herself in it. The weight of him. The taste of him. The way his thumb traced slow circles on her hip, grounding her.
Then his hand slipped beneath her waistband.
And the world tilted.
It wasn't his fault. She knew it wasn't his fault. He was gentle. He was slow. He was Jay.
But the moment his fingers brushed her stomach, something cold and sharp cut through the heat, and suddenly she wasn't here anymore.
She was back there. First year. The party. The hotel room. The hand under her skirt. Her no, small and ignored. His weight pressing her down. His refusal to stop.
She couldn't breathe.
Her chest seized. Her vision blurred. She heard a sound — short and jagged — and realized it was coming from her.
"Hannah?"
Jay pulled back immediately, his face swimming above her, etched with worry.
"Hannah, what's wrong?"
She couldn't answer. Couldn't speak. Her throat closed around the words, and all she could do was gasp for air that wouldn't come.
She scrambled out from under him, nearly falling off the bed in her haste. The bathroom door slammed shut behind her. The lock clicked.
She slid down the wall, knees drawn up, forehead pressed against them. Her body shook with silent sobs.
Stupid. She was so stupid. She'd thought she was ready. She'd wanted to be ready. But her body remembered what her mind had been trying to forget, and now Jay was out there, probably confused, probably disgusted, probably already texting Abby to ask what the hell was wrong with her.
She heard his footsteps on the other side of the door. Then his voice, low and steady.
"Hannah. Can you hear me?"
She couldn't. She was drowning.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "I'm right here. You're safe."
She pressed her palm against the door, wishing she could reach through it.
"I'm sorry," she choked out. "I'm so sorry."
"You don't have to apologize. You didn't do anything wrong."
"I ruined it. I always ruin it."
"You didn't ruin anything." His voice was calm. Deliberate. "I should have asked. I should have checked. That's on me, not you."
"It's not your fault."
"Then it's not yours either."
She sobbed harder.
"I can leave if you want," he said. "If you need space. I can go home."
"No."
The word came out too fast, too desperate. She pressed her hand harder against the door.
"Please don't go."
"I'm not going anywhere."
Silence stretched between them. Ten seconds. Twenty. She counted her breaths, forcing them to slow, forcing her lungs to remember how to work.
Then she reached up and unlocked the door.
She pulled it open. Jay was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, his shirt still off, his eyes red-rimmed like he'd been crying too.
Without a word, she sat down beside him. Her back settled against the bed frame, and she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them like a shield.
He didn't touch her. Didn't reach for her. Just waited.
The silence went on so long that she thought maybe she wouldn't say anything. Maybe she'd just sit there until the morning came and the darkness swallowed the truth again.
But the truth was already out. It had been scratching at her throat for two years, waiting for a crack.
"I was a freshman," she said. "First semester."
Jay didn't move. Didn't even breathe too loud.
"There was this party. Off-campus. I didn't want to go, but my roommate at the time dragged me along. Said I needed to get out more." She laughed, bitter and hollow. "I was so naive. I thought I was having fun."
She paused. Swallowed.
"There was this guy. Senior. Really good-looking. Charming. He spent the whole night talking to me, making me feel special. I'd never had anyone pay attention to me like that before."
She paused. Swallowed.
"When he asked if I wanted to go somewhere quieter, I said yes. I thought... I thought he liked me. I thought it was going to be romantic."
Her voice cracked.
"He took me to a hotel. I didn't realize until we were inside, until the door locked. And then he was kissing me, and I was kissing him back, and it was fine. It was fine."
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
"But then he pushed me on the bed. And his hand went under my skirt. And I said no. I said it out loud. I pushed him. And he didn't stop."
Jay's hands clenched into fists at his sides. He didn't speak.
"He held me down. Covered my mouth. And I couldn't... I couldn't do anything." The words came out broken, pieces of glass. "He was so heavy. So much stronger. And I just laid there while he..."
She couldn't finish.
"It was my first time," she whispered.
Jay closed his eyes. A muscle in his jaw jumped.
"I never told anyone," she said. "Not my brother. Not Abby. I just... I shoved it down. I pretended it didn't happen. And then I started drinking, because when I was drunk, I didn't have to think about it. And then I started wearing baggy clothes, because when I was covered up, I didn't have to look at myself. And I pushed everyone away, because..."
She trailed off.
"Because what?" Jay asked. His voice was hoarse.
"Because I didn't think I deserved to be close to anyone." She looked at him. The tattoo on her chest peeked out from beneath her hoodie, the petals stark against her skin. "Especially you."
Jay turned to face her. His eyes were wet.
"You thought you didn't deserve me?"
"I thought I was broken. Damaged. I thought you'd look at me and see what he did. See the mess he left behind."
"Hannah." He reached for her hand, slow and careful, giving her time to pull away. She didn't. "I see you. I've always seen you. And I've never once thought you were broken."
"You should. I am."
"You're not." His grip tightened. "You survived something terrible. You've been carrying it alone for two years. That's not broken. That's... that's the bravest thing I've ever seen."
She shook her head. "I'm not brave. I'm just... tired."
"Then let me help you carry it."
She looked at him through blurry eyes.
"You don't have to," she said.
"I want to."
"You should want someone... someone whole."
"I want you." He said it simply. No hesitation. No doubt. "I've wanted you since the day we met. And nothing you just told me changes that. Nothing."
She leaned into him. Her head found his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her, careful and warm.
They sat like that for a long time. The lamp flickered. The night pressed against the window.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"You don't have to be."
"I know. But I am."
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
"Do you want me to stay?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Then I'll stay."
He helped her to her feet. They climbed into bed, still fully clothed, and he held her like she was made of something fragile. She closed her eyes and listened to his heartbeat, steady and sure.
For the first time in two years, she felt safe.
When she woke the next morning, he was still there.