“Set it down,” he says, not looking at me.
I place the coffee on a coaster at the edge of his desk. I keep my eyes down, but I can’t help seeing the screen. There’s a woman on her knees, her mouth wide open, her face streaked with makeup and tears. Eli doesn’t even bother to mute it. He just keeps watching.
I take a step back, toward the door. My breath is thin and tight in my chest.
“Stay,” he says. His voice is flat, bored, but there’s a sharp edge to it.
I stop, like I’ve hit an invisible wall.
He leans back in the chair and finally turns to face me. His eyes are glassy, cold, like the blue of winter sky. He looks me up and down, then back at the screen.
“You ever think about doing something like this?” he asks, nodding toward the monitor.
I shake my head before I can stop myself. “No.”
He smiles, but it’s not a smile. “Why not? You’ve got the mouth for it. Big lips, perfect for sucking cock. If you lost twenty pounds, you could probably make a living.”
I flinch, but he keeps going.
“Maybe that’s your true calling. God knows you’re not cut out for anything else. When’s the last time you made a dime on your own, Lila? Oh, that’s right. Never.”
The woman on the screen is still crying, but the man behind the camera just keeps pushing her head down and calling hernames. Eli laughs under his breath, low and mean. “You think she’s faking? I bet she’s faking. You can always tell.”
I wish I could be anywhere but here. I wish I could close my ears to the sounds, close my eyes to the sight of him, but I can’t. I’m frozen, stuck in this spot like a bug on a pin.
He turns the chair, so he’s facing me square. He picks up the coffee and takes a sip, never breaking eye contact.
“You’re such a prude,” he says. “Such a stick-in-your-ass, bitch. No wonder your adoptive parents disowned you.”
My face burns. I want to leave. I want to run. But I just stand there, silent, hoping he’ll let me go.
He sets down the mug and stands up. He’s taller than me, so much bigger, but he moves slow, like a cat stalking something trapped. He closes the distance in two steps and stops with his chest inches from my face.
“Do you know how lucky you are?” he says, voice almost gentle. “Most women would kill to have a husband who lets her stay home. Most women would be grateful for what I give you. Instead, you mope around the house all day, reading your stupid books and pretending you’re too good for me.”
I shake my head. “What?”
“Don’t what me,” He grabs my chin, hard, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. “Don’t pretend. I know you think you’re better than me.”
His eyes are too close. I can see the flecks of gray around the pupil, the way his brow furrows when he’s angry. I can smell the coffee on his breath, sour and bitter.
“I’m sorry,” I say. It’s all I ever say.
He lets go of my face and laughs, then nods toward the screen. “You should watch. You might learn something.”
I don’t move.
He sighs, like I’m a disappointment. “Go ahead.Watch.”
I take a half-step backward. Not wanting to see any more.
His hand comes up behind me and grabs the back of my neck, shoving me forward. Then he presses close enough that I can feel the heat of his body. He puts one hand on my shoulder, the other on the small of my back.
“You see how she takes it?” he says. “No gagging, no whining. Maybe you should try being more like her.”
My hands start to shake. I grip the edge of the desk so I don’t fall over.
He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “I could have married anyone, you know. But I picked you. I thought you’d be grateful. Turns out you’re just a fucking parasite.”
