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I move onto the next step. Then onto the second-floor tile. There's nothing but clothes here.
I turn and step onto the next up escalator.
Brendon follows. It's just us, on the way to the third floor.
"I, uh... do you always use that word?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"It's so vulgar."
"There's a power in vulgar. You're a writer. I'm sure I don't have to explain it to you."
"Right." It is a powerful word. I can't deny that. "It doesn't bother me."
"Bullshit."
"It doesn't."
He lets out a low chuckle. "Then say it."
"I can."
"Go ahead."
I step onto the third floor. Look around. No one nearby.
Okay. I can do this.
I can totally do this.
I take a deep breath, exhale slowly, ready the word on my tongue. "Cu..." My cheeks flush. "Cunt."
"Like it means something to you."
I stare at the white tile floor. The fluorescent lights are casting a yellow gaze. "Cunt."
Brendon laughs. "You can admit it bothers you."
"It doesn't."
"Then look me in the eyes when you say it."
I stare back into Brendon's dark eyes. I have to prove this. That I'm not this pathetic good girl who can't even say a dirty word. "Cu..." God, I'm going to die of embarrassment. But I hold strong. I push past my blush. "Cunt."
A salesguy is moving in our direction. I turn to the left. To the home goods. So no one will hear us.
Or see me blushing like a tomato.
He takes the backpack from me. Replaces it with my purse. His fingertips skim my neck. My collarbone.
It's like he's reminding me I'm his.
But I'm not.
He's made that abundantly clear.
"Have you?" he asks.
