Gemma
Now what am I supposed to think?
Before, I knew I didn’t like it. I knew I hated it, hated them.
Now? I have no idea. I don’t know where I stand. I don’t know what they really think of me or what I think of them.
I only know they use me like I’m some cheap hooker.
And that I like it when they do.
The thought alone is enough to make me cringe when I wake up the morning after that disaster at the club. I went from being humiliated to being… humiliated, only in a different way. In a way I liked. Where I felt sexy and desired and powerful.
How is that possible? Is there something broken in my brain?
One thing’s for sure—Odis stayed with me all night. Odis, who came on my face like it was the final shot of a porn video, but then washed and dried me and slept beside me. He made me feel filthy one second and the next like I was a treasure.
Is this normal for him? For both of them? Because it doesn’t seem like either of the Montgomery brothers flinches away from using girls for their pleasure, no matter what the situation is.
That’s what this is. They’re using me the way they use anybody who catches their eye and gets them hard. I’m not a person to them when they’re horny and want somebody to make them come.
Afterward, though, is another story. At least according to what happened last night. Out of the two of them, I would’ve expected Denver to be the one to wash me and dry me, to fall asleep with me in his arms.
I’m still in his arms, lying on my side with my back to Odis, nestled against him. There’s light filtering in through the curtains, and I think someone’s already downstairs in the kitchen judging by the sounds coming from down there.
It would be easy to close my eyes and drift away again. I’m comfortable, warm, cozy.
But that would be a mistake. The worst mistakes are always so tempting.
Which is why I lift Odis’s arm from around me and slide away, rolling onto my back. It’s enough to wake him up. “Good morning,” he mumbles in a sleepy voice before burying his face in the pillow.
“Morning.” Even now, he’s ridiculously hot with his rumpled hair and scruff covering his cheeks. He doesn’t have the decency to look like hell when he first wakes up.
I want to cry when he offers a lopsided grin because he can’t mean it. I want to believe it, but I can’t. He only stayed with me last night because he felt sorry for me. I’m sure he would’ve left me on my knees with his jizz all over my face if I hadn’t teared up out of confusion and sadness.
“How’d you sleep? I hope I didn’t snore in your ear.” He scrubs a hand over his face.
“No. You were fine.”
“Good.” He gives another grin. “You didn’t snore, either, in case you were wondering. Though you did fart.”
“Oh, my god.” I want to die of embarrassment. I cover my face with both hands, cringing.
“I’m just kidding. Jesus. I was trying to make you laugh.” He tugs at my wrists, trying to get me to move my hands. “What’s wrong? You’re not still hung up on last night, are you?”
“Would that be so bad?”
He rolls his eyes before flopping down on his back. “I should’ve known.”
“I’m sorry I’m such a problem. That I have feelings and everything.”
“You’re allowed to have feelings. But you keep getting in your own way, and it’s starting to drive me crazy.”
Right. Because I’m still not an actual person to him or his brother. I used to be something to laugh at. Now, I’m a body with a series of holes they can fill and a face to come on.
None of this is about me as a person. My feelings are inconvenient. I’m supposed to be glad they want to touch me at all. Like it’s an honor. The stupid sluts back in high school might’ve seen it that way, but that’s not who I am.
“I think you should go before anybody knows you’re in here,” I add, in case he decides to put up a fight. I might not be worth listening to, but I don’t think he wants to explain to Richard why we’re in bed together. Naked.
That was the right thing to say because it gets him moving. He’s muttering something under his breath that I can’t quite make out, but something tells me he thinks he’s the victim here. He has no idea what it’s like to be me. How years of being bullied, beaten down, and told over and over how worthless I am eventually sunk in.
Now I’m supposed to believe they’ve had a change of heart? Whoops, we were wrong all those years. Every time we laughed at you, every time we singled you out for being anything less than perfect. Now I’m supposed to be cool, let it all roll off my back, all so they can feel better about themselves.
It’s not going to happen. I’m not going to let them hurt me again because they want to clear their consciences. So even though Odis makes a big deal of getting his clothes together and sneaking out of my room—complete with more than one dirty look thrown my way—I refuse to say a word. I wait until he’s out of the room with the door closed before scrambling out of bed and locking myself in. Not that it’s mattered before, but at least it sends a message.
I’m my own person. I’m not going to let them use me.
No matter how much I like it when they do.