Letting My Brother's Best Friend Take My V-Card

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I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ached, but I didn't loosen my hold. The tension had taken over my entire body, and no amount of tightening or clenching seemed to release it. My jaw throbbed from how tightly I'd been grinding my teeth. My head spun, replaying the moment over and over again. The sound of her pained gasp, the way her body stumbled back, the blood on her face - all of it burned into my memory.

I hit Laura.

Sure, I didn't mean to. It wasn't intentional. I was in the middle of a fight, and she got caught in the chaos, but none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was the fact that I hurt her. She'd tried to stop the fight, tried to pull me out of my rage, and I repaid her by hurting her. My foot pressed harder on the gas pedal, the engine growling beneath me as if it shared my anger. Anger wasn't the right word, though. I wasn't just angry. I was fucking furious. At myself. At the whole situation. At Tim. But mostly, at myself.

"Fucking idiot," I muttered, slamming the heel of my hand against the steering wheel. The sound of the impact didn't satisfy me. It wasn't enough. Nothing was enough to match the storm brewing inside me. I hit the steering wheel again, harder this time, and then again. Each slam echoed in the confined space of the truck, but it did little to ease the pressure building

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in my chest.

just from the pain, but because she was scared. Of me. That's what gutted me the most. The way she'd pulled back when I tried to check her injury. The way her eyes darted to mine, wide and unsure. It was like

between us like a loaded gun, ready to fire off the painful truth. Something happened to her. Something bad. And it's made her scared to the point where she instinctively

word. "You' re no better. You just proved her right." The realization hit me like a freight train. I was supposed to be better. I was supposed

make her feel unsafe.

could think about was Laura. Her face. Her tears. The ice pack pressed against her nose. The way she'd looked at me, trying to reassure

God, I hated myself right now. I hated that I let things get

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blinded me to everything else. Blinded

slammed my palm against the wheel one last time before

harsh, filled with determination and desperation. But how the hell was I supposed to fix this? How was I supposed to make up for what I'd done? She said it wasn't my fault, but that didn't matter. She flinched because of me. She looked at me with fear in her eyes because of me. That's on me. That's

breath, trying to calm the storm inside me, but it didn't work. The anger, the guilt, the shame - it was all still there,

haunted me. What kind of shit had she been through to make her react like that? What kind of pain had she endured for her body to

pressed the gas pedal again, my truck lurching forward as I drove through the intersection. I couldn't stop thinking about it. About her. About