Page 40 of Into Pitch

Something flickers across Alex’s face. It’s fast, and gone before I can register it. If I wasn’t already keyed up, I might’ve missed it entirely.

“Go on,” he murmurs.

“Then there’s me. And let’s be honest—I did not have the same experience. I fucked him, or rather he fucked me.”

Everything goes very quiet and I brace myself for judgement.

Alex expression doesn’t so much as waver, his voice even. “How did that make you feel?”

I’m getting really tired of that fucking follow up question.

“Confused? I don’t know. Embarrassed. Ashamed, a little. The guy I talked to looked at me like I was disgusting when I told him. And frankly, I can’t say I blame him. This guy is torturing and murdering people, and meanwhile I’m dropping my panties and just giving it a go.” I spit back.

“You’re not,” Alex says immediately.

“I’m not what?” I huff.

“There’s nothing shameful about what you did. You were responding to a situation with the tools and knowledge you had at the time. That doesn’t make you weak or complicit to what he did before to others.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way, but—

“Why me then? Why did he treat me differently?” I ask as if he could possibly know the answer.

“Why do you think?” His tone turning curious.

“I don’t know. Maybe I gave him what he wanted and it was easy? It was…”

“You gave him engagement,” he supplies.

“It sounds like.” He tacks on.

I let myself stew on those words for a moment, drawing lines to pieces I didn’t realize were right there in my skull.

“I didn’t fight it, but… I didn’t shut down either like the other guy said he did. I leaned all the way in and maybe that’s the difference?” I conclude.

“Yes, you met him where he was.” Alex agrees.

“And?” I prompt.

“And people like that don’t respond to resistance the way you’d expect,” he explains. “They respond to participation.”

Something in his tone sharpens, like he’s choosing his words carefully.

“He didn’t torture you because you didn’t need to be broken. You were already open.” He continues. I don’t know how that makes any sense, but he seems to think it does.

“That doesn’t make you responsible for his actions, but it does explain the difference if you need to know it.” He adds.

I nod slowly, absorbing that.

“So it isn’t always about the sex for him, obviously. The other guy said he took pleasure in watching him falling apart—that he could tell.” I murmur, deep in my own thoughts.

“That kind of person often does, but enjoyment doesn’t always come from sexual gratification or pain.” He replies smoothly.

I glance up to him. “What do you mean?”

“Sometimes it comes from influence,” he states simply, leaning forward across his knees and clasping his hands. “From seeing how deeply you can affect someone.”

Which makes complete sense.