One Week Girlfriend part 1

living my life, doing what I was supposed to and getting ahead just fine. Keeping everyone at a distance, embracing football and nothing else.
    Until this girl came along and intrigued me. Surprised me. Intoxicated me.
    Stripped me completely.
    “You’re insatiable,” she told me after we toweled each other off.
    Her words render me frozen. Adele said much the same thing that night at the country club. Those words had enraged me. Shamed me.
    Much as they do now.
    The smile falls from Fable’s perfect lips as I stare at her, trying to get my anger under control. I can’t lose it, not like this. Not after spending the most perfect night of my life with her. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
    I shake my head and exit the bathroom, heading for my room so I can change. I’m already packed and pretty much ready to go, save for a few things. I need to get out of here, away from this house. Away from this life. It’s not a part of me anymore, and I can feel its thorny tendrils winding around my mind, trying to stick in me and never let me escape.
    Minutes later Fable’s in my room, hastily dressed, her jeans still unsnapped, her shirt thrown on haphazardly. She straightens it out around her slim shoulders, offering tantalizing glimpses of her skin and I’m momentarily distracted.
    But I realize her probing gaze is locked on me and she’s not going to let me escape. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
    “I’m just…ready to go.” That’s a good enough answer. It has to be.
    “Something happened back there. I want to know what.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest, something I haven’t seen her do in days, and I realize it’s a defensive gesture. She’s trying to be tough, showing that she won’t back down.
    Well, I’m not backing down either. We can’t have this conversation here. Now. “Let it go, Fable. Seriously.”
    “No.” She steps forward and shoves me right in the chest with both hands. “I’m tired of pretending there’s nothing wrong. I’m sick of you blowing up and freaking out and then telling me you’re fine. I know you’re still grieving for your sister. I know you feel guilty over her death, and I get that. But there’s more going on here. Something else happened that you’re not telling me. And I really need you to tell me, Drew.”
    I slowly shake my head, the air leaving my lungs all at once. “I—I can’t.”
    “You have to.” She reaches out to shove me again and I grab her wrists, stopping her. “I need to know. How else can I help you get past this?”
    “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” I let go of her and turn to my bag that’s sitting on the bed but she grabs my arm, jerking me around so I’m facing her once more.
    “Don’t shut me out. I’m here for you. After everything we’ve been through, after what we’ve just shared.” She sighs and closes her eyes for the briefest moment, as if she’s completely overcome. “I’ve bared my body and my soul to you, and I have never, ever done that for anyone before. So please, I’m begging you. Tell me what the hell happened!”
    I stare at her, desperate to confess. Scared of her reaction. I part my lips, but the words won’t come. It’s like the world is sitting on my chest, crushing my heart and turning it to dust.
    “Can I guess?” Her voice is so soft, I lean in to hear her. “I…I have my suspicions. Can I ask you questions and you answer me yes or no?”
    What she suggests is the coward’s way out. And considering I’m pretty much a coward at this very moment, it’s the only way out for me.
    So I nod.
    Breathing deep, she takes a step back, leaning against the dresser behind her. “Whatever happened to you in your past, happened here, didn’t it? Not in the guesthouse but here, at this house. Not at school, not anywhere else, right?”
    I swallow hard and nod once.
    “Okay.” She presses her lips together, her eyes clouded with what looks like worry. “I think…it has to do with Adele, doesn’t it?”
    I’m silent. Paralyzed. I want to say yes. I want to run. She’s so close. So close to figuring it out and then I realize she probably already has figured it out, and I’m so full of shame, I want to throw up.
    “Yeah,” I say on a ragged breath, rubbing the back of my hand across my mouth. I swear I’m going to puke.
    Fear is in her eyes as she looks at me. Sympathy and worry and tears I don’t want her to shed for me. “She—she molested you, didn’t she?”
    I shake my