Chapter Text
Hannah wakes slowly to the soft morning sunlight seeping through the curtains and the sound of the birds chirping outside. Willing her eyes to open this morning is no small feat, but she manages it with a wince and a yawn. The dull ache behind her eyebrows gives her pause as her brain scrambles to process her surroundings. She takes in the melancholy gray walls, the Bruins poster above her head, and she is reminded in an instant that this is not her dorm. This is not her room.
This is Garrett’s room.
Garrett’s bed, her thoughts whisper to her scandalously.
In a gradual progression, memories of last night dance through her mind like scenes from a movie.
Garrett’s promise to keep her safe, too many piña coladas, a drunken rendition of Cherry Pie, and the drunken request that followed when Hannah finally had Garrett alone.
A fake relationship means we can fake sleep together.
She asked Garrett Graham to sleep with her.
Even teased him with his jersey, she’s reminded when she looks down at herself.
And suddenly, she’s afraid to turn over. She’s entirely certain of what she’ll see in the bed with her, and entirely uncertain of what she’s going to do about it. Because she’s not ready to see those caramel eyes just yet, the ones that made her heart flutter when she stepped off the stage last night. The very same eyes that made her chest burn on the drive home from Malone’s. Her stomach feels full of butterflies just thinking about it.
As it turns out, there’s nothing to be afraid of yet. A quick peek over her shoulder reveals Graham is still dead to the world, worn out from managing the antics of two girls who spent the night having too much fun.
She’s not sure whether she feels relieved or disappointed at the sight.
She tells herself it’s better this way. Here in this quiet moment, while Garrett sleeps, she can hide from the confusing predicament she now finds herself in.
As she took her sexual frustrations into her own hands the night before, her fantasies had drifted from Justin to Garrett. Her thoughts were filled with the smooth, defined chest she saw in the boy’s locker room, the strong arms that had wrapped around her when he passed his oral presentation, the gold chain that never left his neck, just begging to be tugged down to bring his lips to hers. The pull of these thoughts was so strong that, in a moment of vulnerability, she tried to have sex with him.
Garrett Graham is a reasonably attractive human being, she remembers saying to Jules at Beau and Dean’s birthday party.
But that’s not the whole story here, is it?
She could tell herself that she came onto him last night because he’s attractive. Maybe the most attractive guy she’s ever seen in real life, her brain adds unhelpfully, but if she’s honest with herself, that isn’t really the reason that she asked.
She turns over and softly settles her head on the pillow to get a better look at the predicament in question. In this moment, she allows herself to look at Garrett fully. With no audience, her gaze lingers on the smallest details of his face. Her eyes skate across the black curls along his forehead, the dimple in his chin, the relaxed curve of his lips, showing no sign of his usual smirk. In the safety of this room, she drinks in the sight of him greedily, in a way that wasn’t possible the first time she met him in the locker room.
Yes, she could tell herself she asked him to have sex because he’s attractive, but she’s starting to accept that this may not be the whole truth.
She thinks about the way he wrapped her in his jacket when her white shirt was drenched in booze. She thinks about the way he took an interest in her music and how earnest he was when he admitted to watching her Elton John performance in the green room. You centered me, he had said so sincerely. She thinks about the way he’d looked at her as she sang karaoke, his bright eyes and brilliant smile. His eyes never left her for a moment. She may have been drunk, but she couldn’t have been imagining the shy look he’d given her after the song ended, his eyes flitting down to her lips as if asking a question he was too afraid to voice. He rejected her attempts to sleep with him last night, and she’s grateful he did. It would be easy to blame her advances on the rum, or even easier to pretend she doesn’t remember anything at all, and she could probably sell that lie to Garrett.
But she can’t lie to herself.
You’re not interested in me, and I’m not interested in a relationship, he had said.
Now she’s not so sure, on either count.
She thinks about the kiss they shared in the weight room when she barely knew him. His hands were firm around her hips while her fingers threaded through his hair. Her mind was left devoid of any thought, save for one, as he devoured her whole against the weight rack.
More. Please don’t stop.
She wonders how things might have evolved if they hadn’t been interrupted.
As she watches him now, his breathing soft and steady in his sleep, she has nothing but time to contemplate it. To contemplate the reality of him, and the way he barreled into her life so unexpectedly.
She hasn’t been with a guy since she was raped. She’s desired that closeness and intimacy, but the vulnerability required would necessitate an explanation of her history. And she hasn’t shared that traumatic experience with anyone at Briar, not even Allie.
She looks at the boy who wrapped his jacket around her wet blouse, who spent the night guarding her drinks, who wouldn’t let her steal a second kiss when it was encouraged by too many piña coladas.
Garrett asked if she trusted him last night. The truth is that she trusts him more than anyone.
You’re not interested in me…
She bites her lip thoughtfully. That’s no longer true.
…and I’m not interested in a relationship.
Is that still true?
She has been chewing on those words for weeks, what he said and what he didn’t say. He could have said, “I’m not interested in you either.” If the kiss they shared in the weight room is any indication, that would have been a lie.
He is interested in her, but to what degree? They’re fake dating, sure, but how much of it is really for show? After the birthday bash, he stayed up talking to her and listening to music until they both fell asleep. She isn’t certain, but she’s pretty sure they fell asleep together on top of the blankets. The bed had felt decidedly empty when she woke up. He asked her to meet him at Malone’s to celebrate his improved philosophy grade, no Justin Kohl around to impress. He could’ve kicked her out of his bed to share the couch with Allie when they got home last night. Instead, he tucked her under his blankets. As she looks at him now, she realizes he’s sleeping on top of his comforter, separated from her. It makes her feel safe. He treats her like she’s something sacred. Something precious to him.
He even folded her clothes in a nice, neat stack by her phone. She screws her eyes shut in embarrassment when she remembers her black lace bra, boldly hung on the staircase last night as she waited on him to come find her. Why would a fake boyfriend tuck her into his bed or care if her clothes get wrinkled?
I’m not interested in a relationship.
She thinks she may not be the only one who’s been lying to herself.
As Garrett takes a deep breath, stirring underneath his blanket, she thinks it may be time to confess.