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She opens her mouth, stunned, color leaching from her face.
“Georgie. Is he your fucking boyfriend? Are you living together?”
“Wh... what?”
“I saw his clothes. In your house that I’m certain Santiago knows nothing about. Your behavior, the vomiting—”
“I’m not pregnant! I told you that.”
“Even if you’re not, if you’re not a virgin—”
“I know the rules, Judge. I wouldn’t do that to Santiago. Shame him like that.”
“You know the rules, yet you’re living a second life outside of The Society.”
“A second life is a bit much—”
“A life I’m not sure I understand.”
“How could you? You’re a man. The rules, you have none. Me? I can hardly breathe without permission. There are expectations of me that are so outdated, you can't even begin to understand. You? You have the fucking Cat House to fuck around as much as you want, and we have to submit to a fucking virginity test? Does that seem remotely fair or normal to you?”
Her eyes are bright with rage and something else, something like hurt. And for as much fight as Mercedes has in her, there is something submissive about her. Or maybe she’s learned sometimes it’s easier to submit.
I go to her, close my hands over her shoulders.
“Don’t touch me!” She shoves me off.
“The texts between you and this man.”
“He’s my friend. My friend!”
“You call him your boyfriend.”
She looks at me like I just sprouted a second head, then chuckles, and it’s that same unhinged sound as when she dumped the bowl of soup on me. The one that warns she’s coming undone. It’s what I want, right? To break her down so I can build her back up.
I shake my head, wrap my hands around the back of my neck.
“Fuck, Mercedes."
“Have you looked closely at those photos, Judge?” she asks, shoving the duvet from her shoulders and standing tall, hands on her hips. She’s still wearing my T-shirt and has a pair of my socks on her feet. She must have gotten cold.
“I have.”
“Did you notice anything?” She raises her eyebrows and looks oddly amused.
“Like what?”
“Georgie?”
“What the fuck kind of name is that anyway?”
She stops. Exhales a quick, short chuckle and studies me, one corner of her mouth quirking upward. “Are you jealous?”
I swallow, look down at her. “I am concerned.”
“Well,” she says, cocking her head and walking around to my side of the bed where she opens the nightstand drawer and fuck me. Because I’d forgotten it. Forgotten I’d dropped the panties I’d pocketed, her panties, in there.
She slips them out now. “Are you sure about that?” she asks, walking toward me and dangling them between us.
