Page 16

The hum of a truck outside snaps me out of the half-sleep I didn’t realize I’d slipped into. Doors open, voices echo through the hallway, and then footsteps head in my direction.

The door opens without a knock, and I sit up quickly, my heart beating fast.

“Delivery!” Finn says, grinning, arms full of shopping bags. He’s balancing a cardboard box under one elbow and something soft under his chin. “Hope you weren’t sleeping. I guess I should have knocked.”

I blink. “What?—?”

“Clothes. Essentials. And a few extras.” He tosses the bags on the bed. “It’s not much, but it’ll get you through the week. And if anything doesn’t fit, we’ll swap it. No big deal.”

He talks while unloading the bags: shirts, leggings, a zip-up hoodie, socks, a toothbrush, and a plain box of tampons that he sets down without even flinching. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“I tried to guess your clothing size, but I didn’t really know,” he says, still digging through the last bag. “And I had help from a very judgmental teenager at the thrift store who said I was ‘chaotically unprepared,’ so, if I bought the wrong size, take it up with her.”

I reach for one of the shirts, still folded, the tag peeking out. The fabric is incredibly soft. It’s not the curated designer-only wardrobe I’m used to. It’s practical, comfortable. And I like it.

“This is...really kind,” I manage, my voice catching.

Finn waves me off. “It’s basic survival. You need underwear, you get underwear. You need toothpaste, boom—minty freshness delivered. You need...” He trails off, rummaging through the last bag with too much enthusiasm, “...a tiny, discreet, safe way to discover your own pleasure—voilà!”

He pulls something out and tosses it on the bed.

It bounces once and lands near my knee.

And I stare at it.

I know what it is. It takes me a second, but I know: silicone, smooth, curved, pink.

A dildo. It’s a dildo.

I make a strangled sound and shoot backward, blanket tangled around my legs. The dildo hits the floor with a dull flop.

Finn raises both hands like he’s surrendering. “Okay, not the reaction I expected, but fair.”

“Why is that—why would you—” I can’t find the sentence.

He picks it up with one hand and holds it delicately between two fingers, utterly unfazed. “You said you’d never...you know. And you seemed upset about that.”

“I didn’t say it for you to fix it.”

“I’m not trying to fix anything. Just giving you options.”

My face is on fire. I cover it with both hands. “I cannot believe I said that. And now you’ve bought me a...a?—”

“Personal exploration tool,” he offers helpfully.

“Finn.”

He grins. “You remembered my name.”

“Finn, I cannot accept this.”

“Why not?”

“It’s...inappropriate.”

“For who?” he asks, settling on the edge of the bed, leaving a careful distance between us. “You’re an adult. You’re in a safe place. You get to figure out what you like, what you want, and how you want to feel in your own body. There’s nothing shameful about that.”

I don’t answer.