What He Never Said ✔️

chapter one • college life

"The truth is rarely pure and never simple."
- Oscar Wilde

SEVEN YEARS LATER

Hook-up culture is weird. These days, getting laid is as easy as swiping right on your phone. Maybe it's left. I don't fucking know, to be honest. Dating apps aren't my thing.

College life and hook-up culture are synonymous, it seems. As soon as class gets out on Friday afternoon, everyone's in search of a party. Party's are only good for two things: getting drunk and getting some ass.

Don't get me wrong, I frequent the party scene from time to time. I'm not a drinker, though. Never have been. I prefer my psycho-active drugs wrapped in paper.

I'm not a habitual smoker, but it's my favorite way to wind down. When my older sister, Gemma, caught me lighting up for the first time, she dragged me inside by my shaggy blonde hair and lectured me. I told her to fuck right off. Her best friend, Raelyn, laughed and told her to chill out.

"It's just a little weed, Gem. Would you rather he smoke meth?" she joked, her green eyes glistening with amusement.

Raelyn Porter was always the calm to Gemma's calamity. Where my sister was abrasive and cold, Rae was welcoming and warm. They balanced each other out like yin and yang. I often wondered how they got along so well. They were nothing alike.

Now that they're older, they're still polar opposites. Gemma's gotten better. Sure, she's a control freak, but she only micromanages her own life now. As for Raelyn, it's been a while since I've seen her. After her daughter, Evangeline, was born, she stopped coming around as much.

Actually, she stopped coming around about nine months prior to that.

That night still haunts me. It's been seven years, and I haven't gone a day without thinking about what Benson did.

That's why I have The Checklist. It's a series of rules I follow before having sex. It involves open dialogue between me and the girl I'm making plans to have relations with. Some women are really into it, some think it's odd, and some consider it a deal-breaker.

"Were you, like, molested as a child?" Cate Woods, a girl from my statistics class, asked. Needless to say, she did not sleep with me.

The Checklist goes like this:

Have you been drinking?

Are you under the influence of any drugs?

Do you feel pressured to engage in this sexual situation?

Would this trigger past trauma?

If the answer to any of these is "yes," I call it off. Hell, the majority of girls call it off for me. Like Cate Woods, they think I'm damaged.

"I bet you cry during foreplay," another one of my classmates, Adrienne Morway, said to me once. She answered yes to half the questions and could barely stand up without assistance. I sure as hell didn't fuck her, but I did make sure she got back to her dorm room safely.

Maybe Cate and Adrienne and all those other girls were right. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe I am damaged.

At least I'm not a rapist.

I hate my brother for what he did to Raelyn. I hate myself for letting it happen, and for keeping his secret all these years. Thirteen-year-old me didn't understand the crime that was being committed fifteen feet away from my bed, but I understand it all too well now.

Next to me, my best friend, Winter Williams, lets out a theatrical sigh as she closes her chemistry textbook. She chucks it onto her bed and nudges my shoulder.

"What's up?" I ask, somewhat startled by the contact.

"Earth to Bowie," she says. "You looked like you were in another world."

"I was. The people of Mars send their best," I joke, rustling her blonde ringlets. "Done with studying already?"

"Yep! I'm so over it. I cannot wait for Christmas break!" she exclaims.

"I can," I mutter under my breath.

Holidays are bittersweet for me. My parents, Geoffrey and Calista, are amazing. They've always been compassionate, supportive, and open-minded. We live in a biracial household—Mom is black, Dad is white—but they never allowed us to see color as anything more than a physical trait.

"People are people," my mom always says. "Love someone for their heart, not what's on the surface."

It's cheesy, but she's right. Because of her, I've grown into someone who makes connections that are more than just skin-deep. At the risk of sounding cliche, I love people for what they have on the inside.

And that's why I'm dreading the Christmas season. It means I have to see Benson, whose insides are dark and tainted with sin.

"One of these days, you're going to have to tell someone about what your brother did," Winter voices, reading my mind like one of her textbooks. "Are you really going to let this secret sit on your conscious for the rest of your life?"

Winter is the only person on this planet who knows what I overheard that night. She and I have been best friends since we started college two-and-a-half years ago. The university, probably under the impression that 'Bowie' was a girl's name, paired us as roommates. Winter, who's a lesbian and was hoping to dorm with a beautiful woman and begin a whirlwind romance, was dismayed when she saw me. We hit it off, though. We got along so well that we never asked housing to fix their mistake.

"I like how surprisingly nonsexist you are," she said to me during our first night as roomies. We stayed up until two a.m. getting to know each other. "Most guys would have tried to cop a feel by now."

"I'm not like most guys," I assured her.

"No, you're not. You're a breath of fresh air."

When I told her about my brother, she hugged me and promised me that I'd done nothing wrong. It didn't assuage any of my guilt, but it was nice to hear, especially coming from a woman.

Presently, she gathers her things and drops them into her book bag. Her steel gray eyes meet mine as a sympathetic smile tugs at her lips.

"It's gonna be okay, Bo," she murmurs.

"Doesn't feel like it," I toss back.

"If you're so upset, maybe you should speak to the source," she suggests.

I knit my eyebrows together. "Are you nuts? I can't talk to Benson. He'd just deny it."

"Talk to Raelyn," she clarifies. "She doesn't live far from campus. You could catch the L and be back before dinner."

"I could," I agree, "but should I? Is that fair to her?"

She shrugs her petite shoulders. "If she doesn't want to talk about it, she doesn't have to."

I nod my head. It's not the worst idea in the world.

Winter says goodbye and leaves to meet up with her girlfriend, Avery. I decide to take my best friend's advice and pay Raelyn a visit. The worst thing she can do is refuse to talk to me, right?