Because I can’t pummel him to death with my fists, and I don’t want him to see me cry, I run back to my room and slam the door hard enough that the walls shake. That’s not enough. I want to tear the place apart. I want to break every piece of furniture in this room and then throw it through the windows, so they break, too. Same thing with the bathroom. I want everything shattered, in pieces, the way I feel inside.

How could he do that? How could I let him? He stole my virginity. Yes, stole like a thief. It was mine to give, mine alone.

And nobody will believe me. I don’t even think my mother would. She’d blame me for mixing alcohol with one of my pills—if she believed me at all that Colt used me, which I doubt. Colt would never play that recording for her, and that’s the only real proof anything happened last night. He could just as easily say it’s something I made up in my head.

No, I’m not safe anywhere—with anyone. And in another few hours, we’re going to be family.

“Leni. What the hell is going on up here?” Mom is already berating me before she’s even opened the door. She’s wearing a white satin robe, her face devoid of makeup, her hair freshly washed and still damp. “Here I am, expecting you to come down to meet with the hair and makeup people, and you’re slamming things around. Have you forgotten what today is?” She snaps her fingers close to my face, something I’ve always hated. It’s not easy resisting the impulse to slap her hands away.

“I was about to come down in another minute or so.”

“Well, you had better. We have a schedule to keep.”

“Wait a second, please,” I blurt out when she turns away.

She sighs heavily before turning back around. “What?”

“Something bad happened. Something I need to tell you about. I swear, I didn’t do anything to bring it on. But it happened for sure, and I didn’t want it to.”

She holds up her hand, closing her eyes. “For God’s sake, please, could you let something be about me for once? Why do you insist on making everything about you?”

“I wasn’t trying to, I swear.”

“Right. Tell me another good one.”

“Please, please listen to me.” For once, be my mother. Care about me, love me. I can’t say any of those things, of course. She would probably laugh at me if I did.