Page 175 of The Stranger

I rub my lips together as his head lifts, and those blue eyes hit mine.

“I told him he I knew how porn made him feel thanks to an experience I had myself when I was about his age.”

“With porn?” His brows give a tiny pinch. “What happened?”

I let out a breath that sounds like a laugh. “It’s ancient history.” And I don’t want to revisit it.

His fingers fold around my thigh. “I’m not sure I believe that,” he says quietly.

I tip my gaze to the beamed ceiling. “It’s nothing.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“I know that.” I also know I’m a grown-up now. That it’s not supposed to bother me. “It really is just… stupid.” I give a shake of my head but, before I know it, the words spill. “When I was thirteen, a boy at school asked me out. I was probably a late bloomer, and he was a bit older, and I said no. Probably, ew no.” Already, something inside me is tightening. “He didn’t take the rejection well and he decided it was easier to tell everyone I was frigid rather than admit I wasn’t interested.”

“Frigid. Applied to a child?”

“A teenager. By a teenager.” I keep my tone casual. Careless, even. “It became a bit of a nickname.”

“He gave you an unpleasant nickname.” There’s a world of darkness in his tone now.

“Didn’t you ever go to school?”

“My experience of the institution wouldn’t be helpful. You don’t have to tell me,” he offers again. “But you can trust me.”

“I know that. It just sounds so stupid,” I say with a discomforted motion, as though I can shake the memory off by squirming against these cushions. “Like I care what he said. Prim by name, prim by nature, right?”

“You aren’t at all prim.”

Maybe not to him. To him, I’m the woman who watched herself be fucked in a mirror. And in public. The woman who let him take photos of us doing the same. “For a while I was Frigid Prim, the Virgin Queen. See? Stupid. No alliteration, no imagination. And I was thirteen!” I feel suddenly angry. Angry on behalf of that little girl.

“How old was he?”

“Fifteen.”

“Fifteen. To your thirteen. You weren’t much older than Felix,” he adds in a low growl. His jaw flexes, then he says something very uncomplimentary about Piers in French.

“Long story short, him and his mates thought they’d teach me a lesson. I was obviously insufferable.”

“You were a child.” His breathing seems to change, his fingers flexing against my leg.

“They didn’t hurt me,” I say quickly. “Not physically.”

For a long moment, he just stares at me as though trying to work out if I’m telling the truth.

“They pinned me by my arms and forced me to watch some truly awful porn on one of their phones.” Poking and goading and yelling that everyone was laughing at me. “Horrible.” I give in to a shiver of revulsion. “But it was over in minutes.” My eyes find his again. “Not that I told Felix any of this. I just said that I’d viewed something that my brain wasn’t ready to comprehend. That it had disturbed me, just like porn had disturbed him… in some way, I guess. I’m sure he’ll tell you better himself. When he’s ready. But if Felix was being protective, he was probably thinking of that and flexing his empathy.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”

I lift my hands and drop them quickly. “It was years ago.”

“But it’s still in there.” He taps his temple.

“I still see the images sometimes,” I find myself confessing. “Hear their jeers. Ridiculous, really.”

“Primevère.” His fingers tighten, and I look his way. “An older boy reacted badly to being told no. He found the cruelest thing he could think of to hurt you. A word you were too young to even understand. But his insult wasn’t a diagnosis. Or the truth.”

“That’s…” Scary.