It was worse than I imagined. My mom had decided she wanted to help plan the wedding and next thing I knew, there was stationary spread across the dining room table.

The first day I walked into the house, and Marie was sitting in the kitchen, sipping coffee with Mom, I thought I would puke.

"Lena!" my mom called when I started to walk by without a word. "Come help us pick invitations!"

"No thanks!" I shouted and kept moving. I was not about to be pulled into that garbage.

It went on like that for weeks.

Marie came home from yoga with my mom, and when she asked me if I played sports, I told her I was really into underwater basket weaving.

Marie came for dinner, and I evaded all of her questions about my eighteenth birthday by telling her I planned to go buy porn at midnight.

Marie came for our 4th of July cookout, and I "accidentally" dropped her vegan burger in the dirt.

Everyone pretended not to notice how awful I was being, and I went on being awful.

That summer, I started dating Aaron. Aaron drove a nice Mustang, had tattoos up to his elbows, and was a high school dropout. On the Fourth of July, I had sex with him in that Mustang during the fireworks show, and before the fireworks had ended, he'd put bruises along my jaw with his callused fingertips.

"Don't forget who owns you," he whispered in my ear while I flinched away from the marks he left constantly.

I knew who owned me, and it wasn't Aaron, but most of the time, Aaron was almost a gentleman, and the rest of the time, he was a good fuck. Unfortunately, the fucking often came with bruises.

The next night, you came over for dinner, and even though I caked on the makeup, I knew you noticed the bruises. Aaron sat beside me at the table, his leg wrapped around mine beneath the tablecloth.

"So Aaron," my dad said, trying to be nice while his teeth were gritted together. "You a Yale man?"

Aaron choked on his water. "Not a chance. College isn't for me."

I couldn't look at my dad. I knew what his face would look like. I knew he'd be looking at me like he didn't even recognize me.

"I see," he said. "Straight to the workforce?" His voice was strained, and I almost felt bad. I knew Dad would hate Aaron. That was part of the appeal. If only he knew how much Aaron and Jason had in common.

"Yeah. I'm going to be working with my dad in his garage. Cars are really the only thing I'm interested in."

Dad nodded and I couldn't tell if it was in an attempt to hide his disappointment or if he was actually okay with this. Probably the former.

"I heard you got your Yale acceptance," you said from across the table. When I looked up at you, you were smiling big at me, but all I could see was Marie, smiling beside you.

"What will you be studying?" Marie asked. This was her, always trying to get to know me, no matter how I attempted to evade her.

"Not sure yet," I said, looking away.

"I studied English," Marie said. "I always wanted to be a teacher, but-"

"I actually want a future, so I think I'll be studying something a little more useful."

The table plunged into silence. Beside me, Aaron laughed under his breath.

"Lena, that was rude," Dad growled. Beside him, your eyes were wide, your mouth hanging open.

Marie sputtered and then said, "No. No. It's okay. I understand. I'm the outsider here."

"You're not an outsider," you said to her and then your eyes flew back to mine.

"I'll get dessert," I said pushing away from the table and rushing into the kitchen, bending over the sink and taking a deep breath.

Footsteps followed me in, and I waited for Dad to tell me he hated me, for Mom to sneer at me that I needed to go to my room, for Marie to come in an apologize for whatever she did to upset me, which she had taken to doing whenever I said something rude.

It wasn't any of them. It was you. And your face was red with anger.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" you hissed at me. "Ever since I introduced Marie to you, you've been horrid, and I'm tired of it."

"Like it even fucking matters," I said down into the sink. "I'll be gone in a few months anyway, and all of you can pretend the bitch of Connecticut is dead."

You tugged on my arm and spun me around to face you. "Stop it," you said, almost pleading. "Stop acting like this. I want Marie to know the Lena I know. The one who's sweet and kind and interesting. Not a spoiled brat who's acting a fool because she can't have what she wants."

My eyes shot to yours. "What's that supposed to mean?"

You stared a beat too long and then dropped your hand, my arm going cold. "Nothing."

"What is it I want, John?" I wanted you to say it. I already couldn't believe you'd said this much, but I wanted you to keep going. I wanted the words to hit the air, just once.

But they didn't. Because Aaron came into the kitchen then, stepping close to me and putting his arm around me.

He looked at you, your face red, your breathing strange, and then to me. I didn't know what I looked like, a maniac probably. "Baby, I don't want dessert," he said. "Let's get the hell out of here."

I felt torn. I felt broken. I felt like I was floating up out of my body. I felt a longing in my chest so acute, like my heart was going to crawl out of me and cling to you, beg you not to. Don't marry her, I wanted to say.

You watched me. I didn't know what you were waiting for, but it didn't matter. I was gone.

Aaron and I walked past the dining room and out into the backyard. He pulled me against him, his hands skimming down my bare arms, down to my waist.

"My parents can see," I said, when his hands made it down to my ass. He glanced over my shoulder, and I didn't want to know what he saw, who was watching. We stumbled into Aaron's car just in time for my dad to push open the back door and call out my name.

We ignored him, and Aaron smashed the gas pedal. We went flying.

We had a spot, the alley behind his dad's garage, where we would park the Mustang and fuck so loud we were certain people in the neighborhood would be able to hear. But no one ever called the cops.

I was already halfway to ecstasy when Aaron stopped me. He held onto my upper arms until they ached and said, "Are you fucking that guy?"

I scowled at him, out of breath, so close to finishing that I could barely think. "What guy?"

He gripped me harder, and I winced. "That guy your dad always brings around. The one with the hot girlfriend. Are you fucking him?"

I pushed his hands away. "Right now, I'm fucking you."

Aaron's eyes went dark, and he leaned forward and bit me. It wasn't sexy, it wasn't to turn me on, it was to hurt me. He bit me so hard that I started to bleed.

"Ow! Aaron!" Tears had sprung to my eyes, but Aaron was already moving again, and it felt so damn good that I just looked away from the mark on my shoulder and moaned.

He stopped again, and I wanted to scream. I just wanted to be done so I could get out of this car and walk home. "Say it," he said in my ear.

I whimpered. "Say what?"

"Say you want to fuck him."

"What? No." I started to move off him, but he held me in place, clutching me so hard that I cried out in pain. "Aaron, stop."

"I've seen the way you look at him like a bitch in heat, Lena. Just say it. Tell me you want to fuck him."

I was crying, but not because he was hurting me and not because he wouldn't let me go. Because I wanted you so bad. Not just to fuck, but to hold me. To hear me. To see me. How did I get here?

"Fine," I whispered. "I want to fuck him." The first time I hadn't lied in months.

Aaron wrapped his hand around my throat. I gasped for breath, but he just held tighter. "You're mine," he said low. "You belong to me. No one else. Especially not some guy who's old enough to be your dad. Christ, Lena. You're fucking sick."

He kept his hand where it was while he finished. Thank God he was quick. Thank God he let me go as soon as he went off inside me. Thank God I was on the pill. He'd never even asked.

"I see you near him again, and I'll kill you," he said while I gasped for air.