“Did I do something wrong?” he asked quietly, and that made me feel even more guilty.
I shook my head, the negativity in my mind growing.You’ll be nothing to him once he has you. You’re making him feel bad. You’re the one who invited him up here. If you’re going to invite him to your room like a whore, you might as well follow through. What a pathetic little bitch.
“Sorry, I’m spiraling.” I managed to get the words out before questioning them. It was taking a gamble that Eric was the sweet guy I thought he was before my brain started painting everything in the worst light. “I can’t do it.”
“Do what?”
I almost died —was he really going to make me say it?
“Oh, Connie,” he continued. “We don’t have to have sex. We don’t have to do anything. Hey,” he brushed my hair back with one hand and continued holding me in the other, “I’m just lucky to be spending time with you.”
I could have melted into a puddle right then, and it would’ve been fine. “Okay, cool.”
“Can I ask something, though?” I nodded before he asked me, “Are you a virgin?”
I almost laughed. “No.” I mentally kicked myself. I could have so easily blamed that as the reason I didn’t want to, but no, it’d be fine. I’ve already been honest with him to this point. “I’m not a virgin. I used to kind of use people, though, and it’s part of my self-harm addiction recovery that I abstain.”
He gave me a quizzical look. Understandable. I gestured to the table and singular chair, and he took a seat as I sat cross legged on the bed.
“I grew up with a lot of purity culture influence. I would sleep with people to give myself ammunition to hate myself. I wanted sex to be something I enjoyed and did for fun, and sometimes, it was. Sometimes, though, it was just fuel for the fire of guilt and self-hatred. It was its own form of harm, and it became part of a cycle. I’d hook up with someone, and thenI’d feel ashamed of it. That shame would drive me to cut more or deeper, and it just looped around. Sex. Release. Shame. Pain. Endorphins. Repeat.”
Eric’s eye contact was too intense for me, so I looked around the room instead of meeting his gaze. The lamp bolted onto the table behind him with its muted green base and cream lampshade was great for staring.
“I can’t imagine how that was for you. I’m sorry you have all these negative associations.”
“It’s alright,” I said. “Anyway, I decided to wait a year to sleep with anyone so I could try and break those associations.”
“How long until you’re at a year?”
“About a month.”
Eric let out a puff of breath and shrugged. “I’ll need to plan a trip out there then, if you want me to.”
I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading on my face, even if I wanted to.
“How about we watch a movie?” Eric asked, pointing to the television. “Get our minds off of it.”
“Sure,” I said as he started to flip through channels.
We caught the ending ofThe Breakfast Club, where the rebel read the note at the end of detention.
“Up next, sail the skies withStardust! All movies, all day,” the television announced.
I sat up. “That’s my favorite movie!”
“Really? I’ve never seen it.”
“Oh, ho, ho, buckle up, buddy! It’s a masterpiece! It deserves the same level of cult praise asThe Princess Bride.”
“Strong words.”
“It’s tragically underrated.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Sounds like we need snacks.”
I smiled. “Make it knock off Chinese food and you got a deal.”
“Panda Express is authentic,” he argued in mock offense. “It says so on their marketing paraphernalia.”
