Chapter 22: The Last Night

Author's Note: Apologies for the delay in getting this posted. Was traveling over the weekend. I'll go back to posting 1-2 updates per day this week.

EASTON'S POINT OF VIEW

PRESENT DAY

"She forgave me for what I'd said, not because I deserved it, but because she was as desperate for human connection at that point as I was," I explained to Hillary as the waitress brought over a bottle of wine, my eyes glossy, both because I was drunk and because my mind was 10 years away, reliving the singular month where my life had any sort of meaning. "She never said it, but she was in love with me too. Both of us were pining for it, because we'd never had it before. But she was still guarded. Those walls of hers were ten feet tall, and though she trusted me for the most part, there was still a part of her that questioned my motives. We were both afraid of vulnerability, but with her, she was convinced I was going to leave because everyone else in her life always did. But I never would have. If things hadn't spiraled the way that they did, I would have married her. At eighteen years old, a college freshman with absolutely nothing figured out, I still would have done it. She was all I wanted and she was finally all mine. But then I ruined it."

RINA'S POINT OF VIEW

10 YEARS PRIOR

The last month of my high school career was happy. For the first time in a long time, my future looked bright. Though I got waitlisted or rejected by all the Ivy League schools Monica insisted that I apply to, I received a full-tuition scholarship from the University of Virginia. Monica, who thought I'd be a shoo-in for Brown or Princeton despite having little to no extracurricular activities on my resume, tried not to show her disappointment in my decision to attend a Public Ivy. But I was happy, because it meant I didn't have to depend on anyone else for help with tuition.

After that night in his bedroom, Easton went from my sworn enemy to my first boyfriend. Monica was far more thrilled about this development than she was about my college decision. Suddenly, I went from driving myself to school to getting picked up in Easton's range rover every morning. He became a permanent fixture at my lunch table—much to Jen's initial chagrin. When I told her what happened at Easton's party, though—all the things he said to me, how he'd driven me home afterwards, his hand gripping mine the entire ride, and kissed me on my doorstep like he was going off to war rather than just home for the night—she said she understood.

"There's chemistry there between you guys," she muttered, almost like it was being waterboarded out of her. "Always has been. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. But if he does something to hurt you, I'm going to key that shiny black SUV of his. Wouldn't mind popping a tire or two either after that bullshit he pulled in the cafeteria last fall."

The first day though, when we walked into the cafeteria with Easton's arm slung around my waist, it seemed like everyone got quiet at once. By Monday, I guess word of what happened between Ricky and Easton had gotten around, and it seemed like every eye in the room was trained on the two of us as we sat down. Easton didn't even seem to notice—I guess he was far too used to being the center of attention in the cafeteria—but my face got instantly hot. Ricky wasn't seated in his usual spot—he was probably at home, licking his wounds—but Victoria was and she was staring at us, a sunken expression on her face like she was about to cry. I'd never spoken to her (in fact, she'd hardly even glanced in my direction until that very moment), but I felt bad for her. I knew what it was like to realize you'd been used and the way she was looking at Easton made it seem like she'd never even seen it coming.

Otherwise, my final month in high school was like something out of a movie. Easton was at my beck and call constantly, staring at me like I was the center of his universe, his arm a permanent fixture around my waist. Gone was the jealousy, the venomous words, and the snarling expressions. Now that he had me, he was like a whole new person. He was lighter, easier to smile, and much quicker to laugh.

When Ricky finally came back to school the following Wednesday—sporting a black eye and marks around his neck no less—Easton didn't even look at him. Ricky looked at us, though. More specifically, he looked at me like a disappointed father. I shrugged when I caught his eye, as if to say, "What did you expect, leaving me there alone with him?"

Ricky's arm, however, had also become a permanent fixture on the back of Victoria's chair. Unlike on the first day of school, when I'd seen her slug off his arm like she was brushing off a mosquito, Victoria didn't stop him. She glanced at him the first time he did it, her lips in a tight line, but she said nothing. A week later, he was reaching for her hand after she'd finished eating and tracing shapes with his index finger on her palm. I knew he wasn't who she wanted—Ricky was the first to admit that, too—but maybe, just maybe he was who she needed, and things were finally working out the way they were supposed to.

I made it through finals with relative ease, even though I spent far more time making out with Easton in the back of his car than I did studying. We hadn't slept together since that first night, partially because Monica rarely allowed us time alone together (I think, when it came to me, she feared pregnancy even more than she did cocaine addiction) and partially because Easton seemed like he had something to prove. By then, I'd told him the whole story of how things went down with Ricky, including what Ricky had said about my virginity being Easton's "golden ticket." Easton seemed to be going out of his way to prove that he wasn't solely interested in sleeping with me by avoiding it entirely. Though I could feel how badly he wanted to when he was kissing me in the back of his car, he always stopped before things got too intense, like he was an abstinent choir boy rather than the dog Ricky made him out to be.

Though I appreciated the reassurance, it didn't help that I was also a hormonal seventeen-year-old. I wanted him as badly as he wanted me in the back of his car, but I tried to be patient, remembering that we were going to college soon at schools only an hour apart, and Monica wouldn't be there to stop him from coming to my dorm room on the weekends. Easton had gotten a football scholarship to the University of Richmond—a far cry from the Big 10 Conference his father had dreamed of—but I was pleased with the development, because it meant we'd still be in the same state.

The only dark spot of the final month of my senior year was the relationship between Monica and Chet. Things had soured significantly since Monica had mentioned their grown-up problems on Christmas Eve, and I still didn't know what was causing the rift. They hardly ever spoke to each other, and when they did, it was tense, like neither of them wanted to be there.

Chet was hardly ever home, and I knew when he was, he slept in the guest room. He'd hardly spoken to me either, save for a terse congratulations when I'd accepted UVA's offer, his smile tight and forced. Even though Monica reassured me their issues had nothing to do with me, I couldn't help but wonder if she was lying to make me feel better. Their tense relationship started in October when I'd gotten suspended, and it hadn't improved since then. Monica said that Chet loved having me here, but the way he looked through me rather than at me made me feel like that was never the case.

Even still, Monica and I had grown closer and the level of attachment I felt for her was starting to scare me. I realized I loved her in mid-May, like I hadn't loved anyone else besides my grandfather. And just like when I'd found out my grandfather had cancer, it felt like that love was about to be ripped away from me, because my eighteenth birthday was approaching.

When you turned eighteen in foster care, you didn't automatically age out of the system. But I was going to college with a full-tuition scholarship, health insurance from the state, and a part-time job at the university bookstore. I didn't need to be a foster child anymore, and Monica and Chet's term as my interim guardians would end when I left for school.

As much as Monica seemed to want to coddle me like I was her actual daughter, I knew once our relationship as a foster family ended, any other relationship we'd developed would likely end with it. It scared me, because other than Margaret, Monica had been the longest constant in my life since I entered the system. As much as I tried to keep myself from growing to love her, I couldn't help it anymore than I could help falling in love with Easton. I was so thirsty for connection that I drank up Monica's love like it was holy water, even though I knew it was just going to hurt me in the end.

Going into graduation day, I was happy. Ecstatic even, despite the fact that Chet was home for the weekend and things were tense again. Easton was over for dinner as he usually was on Friday nights, and the way Monica doted on us both like a mother hen smoothed over the obvious tension between her and Chet. I could see it written on Easton's face that Monica acting like a mother figure to him too was healing a deep-seated wound.

When I walked him to his car later, his hand in mine the whole way, he pulled me around the side of the house at the last second, pressing me against the wall and kissing me like he was trying to steal the oxygen out of my lungs. It was weird how I never got quite used to it. His mouth on mine still felt like an electric shock no matter how many times he'd done it. He stopped too soon though, both of us gasping, the familiar heat pooling in my abdomen.

"I don't want Monica to get suspicious of us being out here too long," he whispered, his mouth an inch from mine and his hands gripping my waist the same way they always did in moments like this—like he thought I was going to be ripped away from him at any second.

"You're right," I murmured, shaking off the disappointment I felt at being interrupted. He turned away from me reluctantly, wiping his hand down his face and shaking out his chestnut curls. But then he turned back, his eyes slitted and glassy.

"I know we have to be up early for graduation," he whispered. "But do you think you could sneak out once they go to bed? Just for a little while?"

"Yes," I said without hesitation. "Where do you want to go?"

"Vince's dock?" He asked. "My sister is home for graduation, but Vince's family is in DC for the night. We can be alone there."

Alone. My stomach did a flip at the idea, feeling like I was at the top of a roller coaster about to plummet downward. And I nodded quickly, a shy smile on my face, before I headed back inside to wait impatiently for Monica and Chet to go to bed.

It was nearly two in the morning when I made it to Vince's dock. Easton was already sitting there, looking like an angel in the light of the moon, his feet dangling off the edge of the dock. When he saw me approaching, his face cracked into an eager grin.

We didn't say anything as we fell together, my mouth finding his and his hands twisting into my hair. Just like always, the world melted away when he kissed me. Before I registered what was happening, I was laying on my back on the dock, Easton's shirt was off, and he was on top of me, resting in between my legs as he planted kisses down my neck.

"God, Rina," he murmured. His teeth scraped the skin along the collar of my t-shirt, and he inched it up until it was sitting about my bra. "This is all I've thought about for weeks."

"Making out on Vince's dock?" I asked, my voice breathless.

"No. You. All to myself again," he murmured, his hands cupping my breasts. "I still can't believe you're finally mine."

Neither of us spoke again as we both started losing articles of clothing, both so blinded by lust that we didn't care that the wooden dock was scratching our skin or that we could have gotten caught at any moment. Easton didn't ask permission this time when he shoved his boxers to the side, one hand gripping himself and the other gripping my hip. He pushed into me and groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head.

"Fuck," he moaned before lowering his mouth to mine. Neither of us said anything else coherent as he started moving inside me, his rhythm as erratic as his breathing.

There was a point that I was so breathless and beside myself that I almost said it out loud, the words I'd been holding back for weeks: I love you, Easton. He'd said them to me every day, at least half a dozen times, like the repetition would make me believe them. But I just couldn't bring myself to say it back, because I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for this fairy tale to end the way all my other stories did.

But in that moment, I felt like I'd lost control, my body spasming as he thrusted into me, harder, panting and whispering words I couldn't understand into my ear. I was so close, the words clawing up my throat, just about to escape, when Easton suddenly moaned really loudly and then grew very still.

We both realized what happened in an instant, reality crashing down like the blade of a guillotine: we hadn't used protection again, and he hadn't pulled out.

"Easton?" I asked hesitantly, praying for confirmation that I was wrong.

"I'm sorry," was all he said, his voice strained, his penis still pulsing inside of me. "It snuck up on me."

"What do we do?" I asked, voice tight. I thought back to my mother, just a little older than I was now when I was conceived. I wondered if it felt like this for her—this intense, this thought-consuming—before I nearly kicked myself for asking. Of course it didn't. Whoever my father was, he'd probably paid her extra so he didn't have to pull out.

"I can get Plan B from CVS as soon as it opens," he murmured. "I'll bring it to you in the morning before we get to school, okay? I'll leave it in your mailbox. Check it first thing when you wake up and take it right away."

"Okay," I said, my pulse slowing back down now that he'd presented a viable solution. But then his mouth was back on mine and I lost all logical thought again.

"I love you," he murmured.

I nearly said it then too, the words I'd been holding back. But it wasn't the right time.

Not then, I remember thinking. But soon.

Little did I know that the right moment would never ever come.