Gomez

was a monument to a lie. The books Branson had recommended, the records Hanson had played during our nig

then with a frantic, desperate energy. I pulled a larg

my touch. The cashmere blanket he-no, Hanson-loved to wrap around us. The photograph on the nightstand, of me and Branson smili

a drawer of his-their-things wh

lly

ranson' s frequency-softer, more conce

yes taking in the scene. The overflowing tras

rward. He was the perfect imitation. The worried

st stared at him, my eyes so raw and swollen they felt like open w

gestured to the trash bag. \"All the props from your little

smoothed away, replaced by that practiced concern. He ignored my words, ste

ndle the video. It' s been taken down from most sites. Don' t worry anymore. I'

The casual, arrogant offer of a gilded cage now that they had broken my wings. My nails

scent, a familiar mix of expensive cologne and something uniquely

d, his arms sliding around my

crawling. My stomach churned, and bile rose in my throat. This body, this man, who I thought was the

't know I possessed, I

ise finally breaking through hi

ay so he couldn' t see the disgust on my face. It w

easy smile spread across his lips. \"Okay,\" he said, his voice dropping to tha

how little he truly cared about my feelings, as long as his end goal was met.

g the room into the familiar darkness where our charade always played out. His arm wrapped

y greatest solace. It felt like a violation. Each kiss was a brand, eac

hovering on the edge of consciousness when I heard it. A soft, bre

nned

ent rigid. The blood in my veins turned to ice and flo

he throes of a passion that was never m

angled gasp, scrambling away from him to

sking his expression. \"Hey, what is it?\" he ask

out, my voice trembling with

as if placating a difficult child. \"I' ll be good. Just let me

endured his touch, the feel of his skin, the sound of his breathing, forcing myself to stay still, to breathe,

r stayed the night. He had classes. He had a pristine reputation to maintain.

ver walked me to class. Why our public life and private life wer

sity, my mind set on one thing: filing the paperwork for m

hen a classmate, Sarah, ran up t

\"Professor Albright is looking for you. He s

ght was my thesis advisor. An emergency? After everything that

about to