Page 23 of Retrograde

Tutting with impatience, he leans forward and traces the tip of the knife along my exposed shin. I don’t know why I don’t try to stop him when he slides the blanket up my thighs, chasing it with the blade. His knife leaves a faint pressure line on my skin as it inches up slowly towards my crotch.

“Fine! Fine!” I relent, and he draws back with a smug smirk. “What does it matter anyway? Yes, I did have sex voluntarily, too.”

“Often?”

“Twice.”

“Twice?” he repeats after me. “Is that all?”

“I found it very overrated.” Blunt honesty is one way to throw men like Aron off, but even I surprise myself by taking it quite so far.

Aron recovers fast. Too fast. “Overrated?” he repeats. “Didn’t they make you come?”

I play with my hair, coiling a strand of it around my finger and then uncoiling it. Aron doesn’t pressure me into answering. Somehow, that makes it worse.

“I ... I don’t know,” I admit finally.

Curiosity flickers across his face—a different kind than before. Not safe, but not malicious either.

“You don’t know if they made you come?” he repeats, his tone softer than before.

I close my eyes, hot blood blooming underneath the surface of my skin.

“I can’t talk about this with you. Please. I can’t.”

“What if you compare it to when you made yourself come?” His voice is relentless, invading the comforting darkness behind my closed eyelids. “How was it compared to that?”

I open my eyes to find him studying me.

“I don’t know.” I drawl unhappily. “I had other things to worry about.” I pick up a pebble and then toss it back to the ground. “Please, don’t make me talk about this anymore.”

A guttural sound escapes him. The kind that comes from deep within his throat—the kind I’ve noticed he makes when something interests him.

“If they had made you come, you would have known,” he says after a moment that feels endless. “And if you have ever made yourself come, you would have known they hadn’t. That leaves only one conclusion. You’ve never had an orgasm in your life, have you?”

“I don’t know.” I avert his merciless gaze. “Please. Drop. It.”

He makes another one of those sounds, even deeper this time. A growl. “What I’m hearing is you’ve yet to have sex and enjoy it. Am I right?”

I don’t respond, but something in my face answers for me, because he scoffs and shakes his head.

“Why is that even sadder than killing a fucking virgin?” he remarks, but with the air of someone who’s just musing out loud, not expecting a response.

“I don’t know,” I reply, regardless. “But this, this should feel worse than anything else, including killing me. Keeping me caged here, knowing what it does to me. Denying me any basic human dignity. This should feel worse.” I look him straight in the face, and he reacts instantly, his gaze locking into mine. “Why are you doing this? Do you want me to beg? Because I will! I’m not that proud anymore. If it makes you happy, I will get on my knees and beg for mercy.”

His look hardens, and I know that whatever moment of compassion there was, whatever chance I had, it’s gone. Now the man who may have possibly heard me out has left, and back is the unhearing fanatic.

“The only mercy you’ll get here comes at the edge of a blade.” His voice is sharp as the crack of a whip. “And it doesn’t come when you ask for it.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because too much mercy for criminals and traitors got us exactly where we are today. Humane punishments for inhuman crimes.” He rises to his feet, spreading his arms theatrically. “We, as a society, have failed to obey one of the most basic natural laws. The law demanding that for every action there must be an equal and opposite reaction. For decades, we punished murderers with a few years in a comfortable cell. Thieves with barely a slap on the wrist. And traitors...”

He steps closer to me and crouches down, his face level with mine.

“We guaranteed their safety in the name of humanity! We gave them a voice in the name of freedom of speech! And then all we could do was watch as they swept over our lands. We let them lie to us and eradicate us, all to prevent a bigger, deadlier conflict. Only for them to provoke Synechord into dropping nukes, cutting us off. And tell me, Hotshot, were any of us really surprised? Or did we all see it coming, and did we all just collectively decide to do nothing because we no longer had any fight left in us?” His lips curl. “We paralysed ourselves.”

“Not what I asked,” I point out. “Why are you doing all this to me specifically? You said I was special on my first day here. Why? Why does this feel ... so targeted? So personal?”