God, he's right and I hate that he can read me so easily.
"So what if I am?" I challenge. "That doesn't mean?—"
"It doesn't mean you want me involved. I know." He sits in the chair by the window, deliberately putting distance between us again.
The casual way he moves, like he belongs in this space, makes something in my chest tighten. "But I think you're scared to try alone. Scared of doing it wrong. Scared of what it might mean if you like it."
The words hit too close to something I've been trying not to think about.
"The Sanctuary taught you that your body is shameful," he continues, his voice quiet but intense. "That desire is sin. That pleasure only exists for men, and women are supposed to endure it as their duty. But Eden—" His eyes lock on mine. "What if everything they taught you was a lie?"
"I don't know that it was."
"Yes, you do. You've read the books. You've seen what they say. Seen the research. The testimonies from other women. You know the Sanctuary lied to you about this. Just like they lied about your mother needing to die in childbirth instead of going to a hospital."
I flinch.
He's never brought up my mother before, never pushed that particular wound.
"That's different," I say.
"Is it? Both are about control. About keeping women ignorant and afraid so they'll be easier to manage. Your mother died because the elders valued their power over her life. You almost married Elder Jacob because they valued their power over your body. It's the same lie, Eden. Just different applications."
My hands are shaking.
I clench them into fists to hide it.
"Why do you care so much about this?" I ask, my voice rougher than I intend. "About whether I... whether I understand my own body? What does it matter to you?"
He's quiet for a long moment, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Because I've watched you these past days," he says finally. "I've watched you move through this house like you're afraid to take up space. Like you're trying to disappear. You make yourself small at meals. You apologize for reading in the library even though I've told you it's yours to use. You flinch when I come within three feet of you. And I've realized something."
"What?" The word comes out as barely a whisper.
"You don't just fear me. You fearyourself. Your own body. Your own desires, whatever they might be. And that—" His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping there. "That's what the Sanctuary did to you. They didn't just control your actions. They made you afraid of who you are at the most fundamental level."
The words hit like a slap to the face.
I want to deny them, want to say he's wrong, but I can't.
Because he's right.
I am afraid of myself.
Of what I might want.
Of what it means if the books are telling the truth and I've been lied to my entire life.
"And you think giving me a vibrator is going to fix that?" I ask, trying for bitter but landing somewhere closer to desperate.
"No. But I think it's a start. I think learning what your body can do—what it's capable of feeling—might help you understand that you're not shameful. That desire isn't something to fear. That you have a right to pleasure just like anyone else."
"And what do you get out of this?" The question burns coming out. "What's in it for you, Vaughn? Because I know you didn't spend two million dollars on me out of the goodness of your heart."
His eyes darken, something hungry flickering in their depths.
"The knowledge that you're discovering yourself," he says. "That you're taking back something that was stolen from you. That's what I get."
