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“Answer the question, please,” he fires back. “Are you upset by the breakup? What is her name?”
“Juliet.”
I roll my lips, unimpressed.
Fuck this prick.
“Are you upset by the breakup?”
“Disappointed, yes.”
“Who broke it off?”
I hesitate before answering. “I did.”
He nods. “I see. You don’t have feelings for Juliet anymore?” He shrugs.
Sadness comes over me like a heavy blanket.
“I adore her.”
A frown flashes across his face. “And yet you ended the relationship?”
“It had run its course.”
“Okay.” He nods. “When was your last committed relationship before this one?”
I clench my jaw. Enough with the fucking questions.
“Take your time.”
“I haven’t had a committed relationship. I have”—I pause—“sexual relationships.”
“Always?”
“Yes.”
He sits back in his chair. “Since what age?”
“Fifteen.”
“At what age did you become sexually active?”
“Same age.”
“Was there a significant event that happened around that time?”
I roll my eyes. Here we go. “It’s unrelated.”
“But there was an event?”
“My mother died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
He pauses for a moment as if collecting his thoughts.
