Reflection (The Chrysalis Series) (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-eight

‘I should throw this in your face.’

Connor flinched at the censure in Mona’s voice and quickly took his coffee from her lest she choose to act on her impulse.

‘Mona. Listen –’

‘No.’ She held up a hand to cut him off, then pointed in the direction of an empty table. ‘Sit over there. I’ve got words for you and you’re going to hear me out.’

His stomach twisted. He’d been avoiding the café all week for exactly this reason, but this morning he’d decided he was acting like a baby and had stopped in for the coffee he’d grown addicted to.

It wasn’t that he could argue with Mona. He was miserable. He missed Bridget so bad he could barely think straight. He found himself reaching for the phone to share something with her all the time. He couldn’t even sleep through the night because he missed the feel of her pressed against him, hogging the covers.

Connor set his coffee on the table and waited. The café was bustling as usual. Couples and groups were busy living their lives, communing with each other.

He yearned for that connection in a way he’d never done before. Now he’d had it, it was like going through withdrawal to be without it. He’d second guessed his decision countless times but he just couldn’t get beyond Bridget’s clear refusal to invest in the relationship the same way he had. He didn’t want things so far out of balance. He’d rather be alone than end up resenting the woman he loved.

Well, he’d gotten his wish there. Even Lotus was mad at him. The two dogs had bonded quickly and it had broken his heart when he’d noticed her sleeping with a chew toy of Daisy’s that had been left behind. He hadn’t had the heart to take it from her, even though the sight of it cut deep.

He’d removed all traces of Bridget from his house, packing the few items she’d left into a bag and leaving it in her office at the university. He just couldn’t bear to have anything of hers near him. It angered and hurt him too much.

‘Come with me.’ Mona’s voice startled him out of his ruminations and he sloshed his coffee. A glance at her face showed no sympathy. ‘Leave it, Nadia can clean the table.’

With a resigned sigh, Connor picked up his mug and went to face the Inquisition.

She didn’t even wait until he’d closed the door to her office to round on him.

‘What the hell is wrong with you? What are you thinking?’ she hollered, only to hold up a hand to stop him when he began to answer. ‘Don’t bother. You clearly aren’t thinking.’

Pacing, she continued her tirade.

‘Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Bridget is miserable. All she does is sit and stare. I can’t even get her to come into the shop because this is “where it all began”.’ She made air quotes. ‘You broke her heart and I want to know why. Couldn’t you see she loves you? She did things for you she wouldn’t do for anyone else. Are you really that much of a dick?’

Each word was like a dagger in his chest. She was vocalising every doubt he’d had. He hated the idea of Bridget unhappy, but what was he supposed to do?

Plopping herself down into her chair, she narrowed her eyes and hissed, ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’ She crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

Connor, who’d sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk as she’d railed at him, took a long draw on his coffee, letting its heat sting as it flowed into his gut. The pain was very focusing.

‘Mona.’ He met her accusing brown eyes directly. ‘I love her. Deeply.’

From the way her eyebrows damn near joined her hairline, she clearly hadn’t been expecting that and this time it was he who held up a hand to stave off a reply.

‘But me loving her isn’t enough if she isn’t willing to put anything on the line. And, as much as you might not want to hear this, she hasn’t.’ Sitting back, he crossed his own arms over his chest. ‘Did you know about the dean?’

She blanched but nodded.

‘Yeah, well, I didn’t find out until I came across him trying to force her to fuck him.’ He gritted his teeth over how much that still stung. ‘Don’t even get me started on all the other ways she made clear to me she’d only do what was easy for her to do.’

He blew out a frustrated breath.

‘I opened myself up to her. I put all my baggage on the table for her. But I can’t be with someone who isn’t willing to share the ugly with me too. Bridget wants to put our relationship into a neat, controllable box. Well, once you cage something it’s only a matter of time before it dies.’

He took another fortifying gulp of his coffee.

‘I spent a lot of time thinking about this and, as much as I might want it to be different, it’s Bridget’s prerogative to not share or invest. But, it’s also mine to want more. If we aren’t on the same page, we’ll only hurt each other. I decided to end things before we got to that point. But if you think I’m not miserable, you’re wrong.’

Much to his embarrassment, his voice cracked.

‘Damn it!’ she fussed. ‘Damn it! Damn it! You were supposed to be unreasonable so I could think you were a class-A dickwad and just hate you.’

He snorted. ‘Well, I keep wondering if I’m being that already.’ He stared into his coffee, wishing the answers would just appear. ‘You know what kills me the most?’

She shook her head, murmuring, ‘No, what?’

‘She’s letting the past define and cage her. I know in my heart that we could be amazing together, but she’s letting one event shape her whole life. And she’s completely wrong in how she sees it.’

‘Sounds a little hypocritical to me.’

Connor heard the vertebrae in his neck crack, so taken aback was he by her statement.

‘How can you even say that?’

An eyebrow raised and she leaned over her desk. ‘Bridget told me about your parents.’ She waved a hand to dismiss his objection. ‘Get over it. I badgered her to find out why you really wouldn’t show your work and she finally caved after you dumped her.’

He flinched at the harshness of her categorisation of his actions.

‘Long story short, m’dear, you are doing exactly the same thing with your art. Just as Bridget has a right to define just how far she’ll let you into her life.’ She clasped her hands together on the desk. ‘The question is how can you ask something of Bridget that you yourself aren’t even willing to give?’

At a loss for words, Connor just stared at Mona, who stood and came around the desk. Stopping at his side, she squeezed his shoulder.

‘My offer stands, Connor. I think you need to look inside and determine if this is really about your parents or if you’ve just grown comfortable not taking the risk. It’s not easy to put your heart on display for the world to judge. I know.’

She left him there, quietly closing the door behind her.

How long he sat there, he didn’t know. It was if someone had just opened the door to a closet that had been stuffed full and abandoned. Opening the door results in an avalanche and all you can do is endure the fall until it’s finally empty.

Memories tumbled through his brain, taking on new shape and perspective. That long-ago night replayed itself in vivid detail until finally Connor understood. And, in that understanding, he forgave himself.

A single, hot tear trailed down his cheek. He still missed them. He wished they could be here to see him now. Swiping away the moisture, Connor picked up a notepad and pen from Mona’s desk and jotted down what he wanted to say.

Leaving her office, he passed her on the way out and pressed the note into her hand before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

‘What’s that for?’ she asked in surprise.

‘For kicking my ass.’ He smiled at her and, leaving the café, he headed home to plan.

Completely bewildered, Mona watched Connor leave. It ate her alive that those two hadn’t made it. She’d never seen Bridget so happy.

‘What can you do?’ she sighed under her breath.

Unfolding Connor’s note, a grin broke out across her face. Maybe, just maybe, there was hope after all.

In a barely legible scrawl, Connor had written, “You pick the date and time. We’ll call the show
New Dimensions
.” Along with his email address and phone number.

Mona tucked the note into her pocket and headed back to her office. There was planning to do.

Bridget gripped the steering wheel of her rented Taurus and willed her lungs to work. Her chest felt as if it had turned to stone. She forced air into her lungs and, closing her eyes, visualised all her tension as a big, red balloon floating into the sky. Rising. Rising. Rising and finally popping.

Opening her eyes, Bridget felt no change. So much for the visualisation exercises her rape crisis centre advocate had recommended. Clearly, will alone was not enough in this case.

After Connor had left, Bridget had truly felt as if she would die. The grief of losing him had been a crushing weight. She hadn’t been able to eat. She hadn’t slept. She could hardly function.

Skyler had threatened to have her committed to a psych ward. Ultimately, it had been Skyler’s obvious fear that had pulled her out of bed, but she’d still been only going through the motions.

Connor’s words echoed in her brain relentlessly. No matter how often she argued with his phantom, she couldn’t escape the realisation he’d been right.

She had grown complacent in her self-imposed prison. It provided her the excuse she desired to avoid confronting the shame and confusion she carried as a result of being raped. Especially how she’d responded during her rape.

She desired things she simply didn’t know how to process in the aftermath. Finally, she’d found the courage to call her local rape crisis centre and request counselling. Cathy, the advocate she’d begun seeing, had been wonderful. As compassionate as she was, she still called a spade a spade. Her brash, matter-of-fact attitude was exactly what Bridget needed.

She’d only had two sessions so far, but she already felt she had a better perspective on what happened. In particular, her misplaced shame over her reactions while drugged.

Ironically, Dean Whittier’s attack had served as a catalyst. The pain he’d inflicted on her had been just that – pain. There’d been nothing sexual about it and she’d responded the way anyone would have under the circumstances.

She’d also been in her right mind, not drugged as she had been with Trent.

Once she’d realised that, she’d been able to start the process of facing herself and recognising her urges for what they were. A desire for sexual and sensual exploration. A need for pain in a sexual context that heightened pleasure.

She couldn’t say why she was wired this way. But, in the end, she’d accepted the why didn’t really matter. So long as no one was harmed, there was no reason not to explore this aspect of her sexuality. Like Connor had said, consent was key. Both parties needed to agree, and Trent had removed her ability to consent.

Connor had also been right that she hadn’t even really tried. She’d been content to let him make all the sacrifices. And, through her resistance, she’d lost him.

Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. Now was not the time for that. She had a purpose and she was going to see it through.

With a deep, fortifying breath, Bridget stepped out of the rental and, for the first time in almost two decades, she gazed upon her alma mater.

Corinthian University was everything Pinewood was not. Where Pinewood was stately and traditional, Corinthian had grown up within the urban sprawl of Chicago. The buildings were glass and steel and the only greenery was the carefully cultivated park area near the campus’ administrative building. The dorms were really a ring of converted apartment buildings that lined the outer edges of the small campus. The only real similarity between the two was the students. Grouped in clusters, they had laptops and iPads and were the picture of youth and potential.

That outer ring of dorms was where Bridget stood facing not just her former school, but the ghost of her past.

She adjusted her grip on her keys, being certain to unlock the pepper spray that now hung from the ring. Seeking closure didn’t mean being reckless and she had no idea what she was walking into.

It didn’t take long for Bridget to come to Pritchard Hall. Over the years, the building had been upgraded and the exterior had been whitewashed. The cosmetic enhancements did nothing to erase the crime scene aura radiating from it.

For her, it was tainted, and no coat of paint would change that.

Once inside, she was startled to see the number of young women occupying the lobby. From the heavily decorated doors lining the walls, it was clear to see that Pratt Hall had been integrated. Some of Bridget’s tension released at the realisation she wasn’t facing a legion of hormone-ridden college boys in her quest to reclaim her past.

She stepped onto the elevator, pressing the button for the fifth floor. The elevator beeped as it passed each floor; by the fifth, all of Bridget’s nerves had returned. Her palm ached from clutching the pepper spray. Some part of her expected to run into Trent. To be forced to relive the single worst event of her life.

The elevator doors opened. Instead of Trent’s gorgeous, lying face, she saw a petite, female student bedecked in all her rebellious glory. Bright purple hair hung past her shoulders and various studs and barbells poked out of her face. Nevertheless, the girl gave Bridget a friendly smile and stepped past her to enter the elevator.

Heart racing, Bridget moved down the hall. With each decorated door, her sense of déjà vu dissipated. She found the one she was looking for. Rather than the plain, wooden door it had been, it now sported a jaunty message board with various notes for Courtney and Trish. The muted strains of pop music floated from behind it.

With a trembling hand, Bridget knocked on the door and willed herself to relax.

‘Just a sec!’ a soft voice called out moments before the door flew open.

Bridget bit back a lecture on always checking before opening a door.

‘Can I help you?’ Her high-pitched, babyish voice in no way matched the tall, lean young woman in front of her. Briefly, Bridget wondered if this were Courtney or Trish.

‘I hope so.’ She forced a smile. ‘This is probably a very odd request, but I was hoping you’d let me come in briefly just to see your room.’