I did something terrible to someone and then I did something even more questionable to try to fix it and now I can’t stop thinking about him and I don’t know which part of this situation makes me a worse person.
So there’s this guy in my study group at school. We used to be fine, not close friends but friendly enough, and then I ruined it. I won’t go into every detail because it makes me look awful (because I was awful) but the short version is we had a fight, I took it too far, I messed up his chances with a girl he was seeing by running my mouth, and I kind of turned the rest of our group against him. He pulled away from everyone and I heard through a mutual friend that he was failing classes and seeing someone for depression and considering leaving the group entirely because of me.
That hit me somewhere I wasn’t ready for it to hit. I spent a whole night staring at my ceiling feeling like garbage because I genuinely, wait no not that word, I really truly made someone’s life worse on purpose and then watched him suffer and did nothing about it for months. I needed to apologize but I didn’t know how to start that conversation because “sorry I systematically fucked up your social life” doesn’t really fit on a hallmark card.
I found him studying alone in the library. He looked tired, thinner than I remembered, headphones in, hunched over his laptop like he was trying to disappear into the screen. I sat down next to him and started with small talk and he was cold at first but after a few minutes he warmed up enough that we were actually talking like normal people and I could see this tension in his shoulders slowly loosening.
I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was guilt or maybe it was the fact that I’d never noticed how sharp his jawline was until he was sitting that close under the library lights or maybe I’m just an unhinged person but I started touching his arm while we talked and giving him looks and I leaned in and said “you know there’s nothing like a grudge fuck to clear the air between two people.”
He stared at me. I could see his brain trying to figure out if I was serious. I said “come back to my place, I’m all yours, you can fuck me however you want, consider it an apology.” There was this silence where we both just sat there and I thought he was going to tell me to fuck off and honestly I would have deserved it but instead he closed his laptop and said “okay.”
We barely talked on the walk to my apartment. The tension between us was so thick I could taste it, something metallic and charged, and my pussy was already wet by the time I unlocked my front door. We got to my bedroom and I turned around and said “I mean it, do whatever you want to me, I owe you that” and there was this long pause where he just looked at me and I could see months of anger and frustration and hurt moving behind his eyes.
Then he grabbed me by the throat, not choking, just holding, his fingers firm on either side of my neck, and pushed me against the wall and kissed me so hard my lip caught on his teeth. His other hand shoved up under my skirt and his fingers found my pussy already soaking through my underwear and he pulled the fabric aside and pushed two fingers inside me and I moaned into his mouth and grabbed his shoulders because my knees were already giving out.
We were naked in seconds, clothes everywhere, his shirt on the lamp, my bra hanging off the doorknob, and he threw me onto the bed and climbed on top of me and his cock was hard and thick against my thigh and I reached down and stroked him and felt him twitch in my hand and said “fuck me like you hate me” and he did.
He flipped me over and pulled me up by my hips and slammed into me from behind so hard my face hit the mattress and I screamed into the pillow. His hand came down on my ass, hard, the crack echoing through the room, and then again and again and each slap sent a jolt from my ass to my clit and I was moaning and pushing back against him and his hand fisted my hair and yanked my head back and he fucked me so deep I could feel him in my stomach. The sounds were obscene, his hips slapping against my ass, my pussy wet enough that every thrust was this loud squelching that filled the room, both of us panting and grunting and sweating.
I pushed him onto his back and rode him because I needed to see his face. His hands grabbed my hips hard enough to bruise and I rolled and bounced on his cock and his eyes were locked on mine with this intensity that wasn’t tenderness and wasn’t quite anger but something in between that made my clit throb every time I looked at him. I came so hard my thighs clamped around his waist and I collapsed forward onto his chest and he grabbed my ass with both hands and kept thrusting up into me through my orgasm until his rhythm broke and he groaned and came inside me and I felt every pulse of it hot and deep.
We laid there breathing hard and covered in sweat with his cock softening inside me and neither of us said anything for a while and the room smelled like sex and the faint vanilla of the candle I’d forgotten was burning on my nightstand. Eventually we got up and put enough clothes on to sit in my kitchen and drink water and talked like normal civilized people for the first time in months. He apologized for his part in our fight, I apologized for mine, and we agreed to leave it in the past and just be friends.
That was last week. We’re friends now. But I keep thinking about the way he grabbed my throat and the way his cock felt inside me when he was angry and I’ve been wet in every study group meeting since and I think I have a crush on the person I hurt the most and I don’t know what to do with that information except sit here and type it out and hope it makes more sense on a screen than it does in my head.
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