Page 134 of Where the Snakes Sleep

His expression hardens. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I am not trying to.”

“You’re doing the Camille thing.”

“I am Camille. Most things I do are therefore Camille things.”

For one fleeting second, he can’t suppress a smile. The expression is gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

He finishes dressing, then disappears into the bathroom again. When he returns, he is carrying a glass of water.

He places it on the nightstand. “For you.”

I look from the glass to him.

Ryan becomes defensive immediately. “You’ve been breathing like you ran a fucking marathon. Drink something.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I said two words.”

“Your face made it a big deal.”

Ryan lingers for another moment as though uncertain whether he should leave, then turns toward the door.

“Ryan.”

He stops but does not look back.

I want to apologize.

The words collect behind my teeth because apology has become instinctive whenever I see the stiffness in his shoulders, but I am beginning to understand that constantly offering remorse can become another demand. Every apology asks something of the injured person, even if only acknowledgment.

So I just say, “Goodnight.”

His shoulders ease by perhaps a millimeter. “Yeah. Night.”

Then he leaves, and I remain sitting on the edge of my bed long after the door closes.

The room smells like him.

That is hardly new, yet tonight the familiarity feels almost grotesque because this—Ryan leaving my bedroom after sex, the evidence of him still warm in the sheets—is precisely the kind of intimacy I once intended to cultivate.

I wanted him accustomed to crossing the space between our properties. I wanted my home to become familiar, my presence convenient, my body pleasurable enough that returning to me would eventually stop feeling like a decision requiring scrutiny.

Tonight, Ryan came to me voluntarily.

He told me exactly what he wanted. He controlled every part of the encounter, bound my hands so I could not touch him without permission, made me wait for every instruction, and left when he decided he was finished.

I feel sick.

Because I have finally been given what I once tried to engineer, and now that it is here, stripped of illusion, I understand how worthless possession becomes when it is not freely offered.

I do not want Ryan obedient.

I do not want him dependent.