Page 33 of Fractured Heart

I’m not sure when I drift off to sleep but, at some point during the night, a noise startles me awake. My mind is still groggy, so at first, I only hear the rattling of the doorknob. For a second, I think it’s Father, demanding breakfast or a midnight snack. Then, I remember where I am.

Why is someone at the front door this late at night? My heart races. Is someone trying to break in? A burglar who decided to rob the fanciest dorm room on campus?

My heart leaps with fear. If I scream, I know Charles and Tate will come running, but I’m paralyzed.

The front door flies open.

All that comes out of my mouth is a squeak.

The fluorescent lights from the hall illuminate the tall, broad-shouldered figure standing in the doorway. I sag with relief because it’s definitely not Father. The burglar isn’t much older than I am and he’s handsome, too. His thick, reddish-brown hair frames a sun-kissed face with a square jawline, and full, sensual lips.

Wait. Why am I thinking about his lips at a time like this?

He half swaggers, half stumbles into the suite. His eyes are hooded. To an untrained observer, he might look tired, but I’ve spent enough time around Father to know better. The guy’s steps are unsteady, his motions uncertain. I should be relieved that he’s drunk and clearly not a burglar, but instead, I break out in a cold sweat.

This must be Tate and Charles’s roommate, JJ, I tell myself. He’s just going to go to his room and fall asleep. He’s got no reason to hurt me. Everything will be fine.

Except, everything’s not fine. JJ doesn’t go to his room. He closes the front door, plunging us into darkness, and then heads straight toward me. I dive under the blanket and close my eyes, praying that he doesn’t spot me. He crashes into the coffee table. I barely suppress a yelp.

“What the fuck?” JJ snaps and swears some more. He mutters something about the furniture having been moved. I’d chalk it up to his being drunk but I realize he’s right. When the cleaners vacuumed up my mess, they pushed the couch and coffee table aside. Now, they’re out of place, and his anger is entirely justified. It’s also entirely my fault.

I shudder with fear and peek from under the blanket. Maybe I can make a run for it?

Moonlight filters in through a gap in the curtains, casting JJ in shadow. My eyes adjust and I watch him rub his injured shin. My stomach tenses with fear. Surely, the moment he looks at the couch, he’ll see me.

He takes a few stumbling steps parallel to the coffee table and continues to swear. He’s actually got a nice voice that would complement Charles and Tate’s beautifully if he were singing, instead of cursing.

His gaze travels toward the couch, and I feel another wave of fear. I hold my breath. By some miracle, he doesn’t notice me. He mutters something about dirty laundry and continues to move around the coffee table. I smell his woodsy cologne, then the familiar reek of beer. My stomach roils and I think I might throw up.

Then, JJ reaches for the hem of his shirt and lifts it. He reveals a patch of skin above the waistband of his low-riding jeans, followed by a hint of muscle. I swallow as he lifts the shirt further and pulls it over his head. I’m scared of him, but I can’t help reveling in the bulging muscles of his rock hard chest. The moonlight caresses his skin as his biceps flex. Then his shirt lands on the living room floor in a messy heap and I barely contain a squeak.

There’s a half-naked guy in front of me! With his mussed reddish-brown hair and low-riding jeans, he looks like he stepped straight out of my fantasy. Except, shouldn’t my fantasies all be centered around Tate? Or Charles?

JJ reaches for the button keeping his jeans closed. Instantly, my heart lurches and my pulse quickens. He’s not going to…he can’t be…He is. He’s taking off his pants directly in front of my face.

What do I do? Should I say something? Maybe I could pretend I just woke up? Would he know I’m lying? Should I just close my eyes and pretend to be asleep?

I should do any one of those things, but I don’t. I can’t tear my eyes away as JJ fumbles with the button on his jeans and pulls the zipper down. The sound of metal against metal echoes loudly through the living room. When he starts to pull his jeans down his hips, I finally come to my senses and slam my eyes shut.

What if he’s commando under there? Or he decided to take everything off in one fell swoop?

I also come to another realization. There’s only one reason he’d be stripping right in front of my face…he plans to sleep on the couch. I barely have a split second to panic. Then he lands right on top of me.

The solid weight of him crushes me and sends all the air rushing out of my lungs with a whoosh. Agony slices through my injured ribs. My breath catches in my throat, threatening to turn into a scream, but evaporates before it can take form. Each inhale is a struggle. JJ’s weight is crushing, but slowly, the pain starts to dissipate. Maybe I’ve gotten used to it. Maybe I’m in shock. Maybe those painkillers Dr. MacAulay gave me work miracles.

“What the fuck?” JJ slurs. His face is right on top of mine and he sends a wave of beer-laced breath into my face.

“Get off.” I whimper as I inhale my worst nightmare.

“Oh, I plan to.” He smirks down at me, lacing me with another round of beer breath.

The smell is a stark reminder of how much danger I’m in. There’s a drunk guy on top of me. A drunk, naked guy and I want him gone!

I start to struggle in earnest, despite how much my ribs protest. I want to shove him, but he keeps my arms pinned at my sides. I try to roll off the couch, but his hard, muscular body holds me in place.

No matter what I do, I can’t throw him off and the pain is almost too much to bear. The once-dull bruises revive with searing agony. I inhale in slow motion. Everything around me comes to a standstill. Then, JJ lets out a loud snore and I let out an even louder scream.

Chapter 18