Page 71 of Where the Snakes Sleep

“Yeah.” I swipe at my cheek and realize I’m crying. Of course. Crying in front of my fuck buddy slash snake neighbor slash whatever the hell Camille is now. Great. I rub harder. “So when you say you didn’t technically lie because you simply didn’t tell me everything…”

Camille closes his eyes for a moment.

“…I know it isn’t the same as Paul. I’m not saying you are. But when someone I trust decides which parts of reality I get to have because they think it’s best for me, I—” My voice breaks again. “I can’t do that anymore.”

His eyes open—soft, attentive. “I understand.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Because it feels really fucking familiar, Camille.”

The words hurt him; I see it. For once, he doesn’t hide quickly enough.

A flash of something naked crosses his face—guilt, maybe, or shame—and it makes the anger inside me soften even though I don’t want it to.

I turn toward him fully and meet his gaze. “If we’re going to keep doing this—whatever this is—I need you to tell me the truth. No more deciding I don’t need to know something because you think it’ll scare me.”

His lips tighten.

“No more half-answers.”

He nods.

“And no more lying by omission.”

That hangs between us. I watch him flinch as if struck.

“Ryan…”

“No, just let me finish.”

He does.

I pull my knees up slightly, wrapping one arm around them because apparently I need to physically hold myself together to say any of this. “We said sex. No relationship. No promises. No weird expectations or getting possessive or whatever.”

“Yes.”

“And I meant it when I said it.”

Camille goes very still.

I hate how terrifying the next sentence feels.

“I don’t know if I mean it exactly the same way anymore.”

There.

Fuck.

I stare at my hands. I can feel his attention like sunlight against bare skin.

“I’m not saying I want to be your boyfriend,” I add quickly.

“I am not asking you to,” he replies.

“I know. I’m just clarifying.”