His voice is ice. Pure, cutting ice.
I stare at him, confused, my lips still tingling from his kiss, my heart still racing, and—
“I thought you were worth the wait, but I think not.”
W-What is he saying?
“I only pretended to want you so I could take your virginity.”
No no no.
I feel myself go pale, feel the blood drain from my face, and it’s like I’m six years old again listening to Joseph tell me I was boring, or seventeen listening to another boy tell me I was a tease for not giving him what he wanted, or twenty-three listening to Joseph weaponize my choice to wait, make me feel dirty for saving myself, make me feel like—
Like there’s something wrong with me.
“But that kiss...is overrated.”
Overrated?
“And in case you need it spelled out, you’re fired.”
Tears stream down my face, but I can’t wipe them away, can’t move, can’t do anything except stand there and take it.
“Now get out.”
I thought saving myself was the right thing to do.
Mom always said it was a choice I should make for myself, not because someone told me to but because I wanted to wait for someone who’d cherish it, cherish me, make it special instead of just another thing to check off a list.
But why does it keep being the reason people hurt me?
Why do men keep using it against me like it’s a weapon?
Somehow I make my legs work.
Somehow I turn toward the door.
I don’t know what to do, God.
Help me.
Please.
I somehow make my limbs work and manage to get out of his study, just like he asked. But as the door closes behind me, I hear a sound like something breaking.
Like glass hitting a wall.
Like he threw something.
Like he’s just as destroyed as I am.
But that can’t be right.
Can it?
