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“No. And you never gave in, did you, Nicholas?”
I smirked. “Then what was it? What we did?” I was begging for meaning, needed it like air.
“It was what I wanted.”
“And what about what I want?”
Sorina walked to the bed, her legs between mine. “Was it not what you wanted?” She crawled onto the bed, her thighs around mine. I didn’t uncross my arms, but felt myself respond to her.
I wanted to touch her again, explore her skin, and practice how she told me to move. I’d never touched the women who took from me. I was there for a purpose, and to get them off wasn’t it. The purpose was to get me off, to break me, to make me more beast than the man I’d been masquerading as.
Instead of showing Sorina what I wanted, I reached up, grabbing her by her ribs, moving her off me. I was turned off—my mind working against me, reminding me that I was, what they’d done to me.
We were mirrors, glowing brightly with our scars, all internal.
Raped, the word like a slap in the face, a wound to the chest.
“Stop fucking around and tell me why you don’t want us trying to find the missing girls. What if it was you? Would you want someone to come find you?” I asked.
“I’ve always wanted that. It hasn’t happened yet. No one looks for me.” Her voice was small, and I leaned closer.
After a moment of silence, I shook my head of the sorrow. “What? Wait, what?” I stammered.
Sorina lay on my bed, rolling to her side. She pulled her small legs up, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Did-did someone take you from somewhere?” I asked.
“It was a long time ago. Forget it, Nicholas,” Sorina said.
My voice rose. “Ah, great, more cryptic bullshit. You both should have stayed in my dreams.”
At that, she sat up. “What?”
“Nothing, it was a long time ago,” I mocked.
Sorina narrowed her eyes. “Who else is in your dreams?”
“No one. Just you. Every night I dream of you,” I said. The rest of the sentence died on my tongue.In the dark, with you, I am unafraid.
Every night dreams of her, every night nightmares. First her, then the winged beast, the sharp teeth. And on the worst nights, the women—bastard daughters of a maniac.
Sorina looked away, and I saw the thin black rope around her neck.
I moved closer. “What’s that?”
She looked at me and grabbed my wrist. “You can’t wait to play. I can feel it.”
“Is that what you brought that for?” I asked, warming all over. I had a fire in my chest, the desire to burn alive when anyone else moved to me. But she played this game with me in a way that made me feel safe.
“Yes,” she said.
I didn’t know it was a symbol, a restraint in name, not in reality. The rope couldn’t hold her. But I didn’t realize it then.
I knew it made me feel safe, even though her hands … I wanted them all over me.
I reached for her shirt roughly, pulling it over her head. And that time I didn’t hide my eyes, I looked at her hungrily, and when our eyes met again, I moved closer. “Okay, let’s play.”
There was a certain beauty in the pace of our touching. Every move was slow, deliberate, and hushed—so we wouldn’t wake Valerie.
