“That’s right, you can’t and therein lies the problem. I hope that you know what you experienced is sacred and as such it’s never to be talked about. Can you keep your tongue? Can you?”

“Yes!”

“There is a chance then, a slim one, but a chance that you will be forgiven.”

Her heart did a stupid little flip. She thought he might be lying again, tantalizing her in order to keep her from going to the police or campus security.

“But if you say a word, then I can’t keep you safe.”

“You’re threatening me?”

“I’m warning you.”

Dear God. Tears welled in her eyes, clogged her throat. Misery surrounded her heart. She couldn’t give him up.

“I love you.”

He paused a minute, the silence heavy, then said, “I know.”

The phone went dead. She stared at it a minute, the pent-up tears sliding down her cheeks, falling onto her chest. This was wrong, so wrong. She loved him. LOVED him. “No,” she wailed softly, feeling as if someone had ripped out her very soul. She was hollow inside without his love. Empty. A useless vessel.

She was sobbing now, hiccuping even as she tried all sorts of mental panaceas.

There are other men.

“But not like him,” she said aloud, “not like him.” She wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked herself, cradling her body. She tried not to dwell on the realization that she would never kiss him again, never touch him, never make love to him, but the thought was always at the back of her mind. Through her tears she gazed across the thick pile of her carpet to the corner that housed her desk.

On top of the desk she saw her computer, a few pictures, not of him—he wouldn’t stand for it—but of two of her friends. Beside the framed photographs was a potted Christmas cactus still in bloom and a cup that held pencils, pens, and a pair of scissors. Sharp scissors.

She bit her lip. Did she have the nerve to end it all?

He’s not worth it.

“Yes, he is.” She could sacrifice herself, show him just how much she loved him, spill her own damned blood!

If only she had trusted him blindly, if only she was like the others, if only…if only she hadn’t drawn Kristi Bentz into this. He would still love her. Still caress her. Still tell her she was beautiful.

She squeezed her eyes shut and fell to the floor, where she curled into a fetal position. Again she rocked herself on the thick carpet, but it was no use. When she opened her eyes again, she was focused on the scissors. Twin snipping blades that could easily slice through her skin and open a vein or an artery.

The irony didn’t escape her.