Fuck, he hoped not. Maybe he needed to make the first move, to tell her he was sorry. Sebastian got out of bed—
—just as Chelsea knocked on his door. She poked her head in, her normally cheerful expression gone. “Can we talk?”
“Hop on in,” he said, gesturing at the bed he’d just vacated.
She slid into the room, wearing nothing but a pair of tiny boy short panties and another tank top. This one was purple and had her derby team’s logo on it. She came and sat cross-legged on the bed, clearly unwilling to lay down until they got it all out of their systems. All right, then, he could meet her halfway. He sat down across from her and sat cross-legged as well, his sleep pants tight on his knees. He was shirtless, and rubbed a hand on his chest. “Would you be more comfortable if I got dressed?”
“What?” She waved a hand, dismissing his words. “Pff, no. I’m totally fine. I’ve seen you more unclothed than that.”
“I just wasn’t sure after . . .”
“After I told you I was raped?” The look she gave him was patient. “We can talk about it, you know. I’m terrible with sharing things, but the more I think about it, the more I think this is a good thing, the sharing.” Her hands twisted in her lap. “So maybe you should let me talk for a bit and not interrupt, okay?”
“I can do that. Just one question before you start. Did you guys win tonight?”
She looked surprised and then pleased. Her mouth pulled into a grin that showed a swollen lip, and he could already see the shadows of bruises on her legs and one arm. Her eyes sparkled with delight. “We wrecked them, thank you for asking.”
Sebastian chuckled. Whatever else came out of this, it was clear she loved her sport. “I’m glad.”
“You were right, though. I was playing ruthless and unkind. The coach called me out on it.” She grimaced and looked down at her hands. “Thing is, when I get rattled, I tend to go into combat mode. And I’ve been a little rattled lately. First, my friend Pisa moved to Austin. She was my roomie and my best friend. I called her my derby wife. She would have got my ass back on track and told me to get my head in the game, but she’s not here anymore.” A small sigh escaped her. “Between that and the marriage and sleeping in a new place, I guess I feel a little more ‘off’ than I thought I would. But that’s not what we really need to talk about, right?” She blinked rapidly and looked at him as if waiting.
“You told me not to interrupt,” he reminded her.
“Oh, right. I tend to ramble when I get nervous. Okay. Where should I start?” She pursed her lips, thinking, and then blew out a large breath. “Right. Okay, so about three or four years ago, me, Gretchen, Greer, and Asher all roomed together.” She nodded at his confused look. “Yep, that Asher. It was super platonic, though. He never dated anyone in our little group. We were just college friends hanging out together.” She shrugged. “Eventually we lost the lease on our place and split up. I forget where Asher went, but I think Greer and Gretchen kept rooming together. I was seeing a guy and got an apartment over in Brooklyn with him, only to have him dump me before he moved in. I couldn’t get out of the lease, so I decided to stick it out on my own. Turns out that was a bad idea.”
Sebastian’s entire body tensed, waiting for her to continue. His gut felt tight, uncomfortable. He felt the intense need to . . . fuck, punch something. Maybe that was where she got it from.
She licked her lips and continued, gazing down at her hands. “About a week after I moved in, I went to the local bar to meet a few friends. I hung out there on a regular basis and I think the bartender had a crush on me, because he always had my favorite drink fixed and waiting for me when I came in. I didn’t think anything of it, you know? It was like Cheers. You went there and hung out, and everybody knew your name.” She sucked in a deep breath and then paused, thinking.
He held his own breath, waiting.
“And because I always got the same drink, and I felt comfortable at the place, I guess I didn’t pay attention to what I was drinking,” she said slowly, staring at her knee. Her wet hair dragged across her shoulders. “I don’t know if it was drugged before I got there or if someone slipped it in when I wasn’t paying attention. I just thought I was kind of . . . bulletproof. Like nothing could hurt me. And all I remember after that was downing my drink and talking to some guy who was flirting with me.” Her voice got distant. “I don’t remember anything after that. Just that I woke up and I was sore all over and it was really dark. So dark. I couldn’t breathe.”
God. He was such a shit stain. He was making her relive all this just to satisfy his curiosity. She didn’t have to tell him anything. “Chelsea, you don’t—”
“No, I do,” she said, voice faint. She looked up at him and her gaze was glassy, distant. “My therapist told me that if I talk about it more, I can help normalize the emotions, you know? So I need to.” She swallowed again and shrugged. “The good thing is that because I was drugged, I faded out. I don’t remember anything. I just remember being scared and waking up in a dark place.” Her hands clenched spasmodically. “It was hot, and smelly, and I couldn’t move. I felt so sick, and I hurt. I think that was the worst—the utter confusion and the feeling of helplessness.” She spread her hands, and he saw they were trembling. “I . . . I don’t like to think about it.”
That must have been where her fear of the darkness came from. He remembered her terror. I can’t breathe.