Page 77 of Bad Bishop

“Favorite color?”

“Don’t have one.”

“You must have one,” I insisted. “Everyone has one.”

He studied my eyes in the dark for a beat, then finally said, “Blue.”

“When did you arrive in the United States?”

“Fourteen.”

“Have you been with anyone else since Becky?”

He curved an eyebrow, scanning me.

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me.”

“Why?”

“Because if you’re not true to me, I won’t be true to you. And it doesn’t matter if you kill him after. I spent my entire life being overlooked and disrespected by my family. I won’t repeat the same mistake with you.”

“No.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “There’s been no one else.”

Relief flooded me.

“When did you lose your virginity?”

“Twelve,” he answered matter-of-factly.

“What?” I asked, smiling awkwardly. Surely, I misread his lips.

“Twelve,” he signed with his hands. “Although, it was hardly sex in its traditional form. I was forced to sodomize someone at gunpoint.”

I sat up straight with my back against the headboard, staring at him in shock.

“They wouldn’t let me stop until I came. Whoever came last had to drink the content of everyone’s condoms. I was so repulsed by the idea, I forced myself to do it. She bled all over my cock. But I managed.” He flashed me a cordial smile. “Still wanna know things about me,Gealach?”

I did, actually. More than ever before.

“Who did this to you?”

He gave me a wry look. “Next question.”

“Is this why you prefer anal sex?” I had time to Google what he did to Becky. Apparently, it was intentional.

“It’s the only thing I know.”

My eyebrows shot to my hairline. “Do you enjoy it?”

He contemplated the question. “I taught myself to disconnect my body from my mind when I do it. It’s a low-stake sexual interaction. For pleasure only. Plus, it’s a fuck you from me to the people who forced me to do it. I now do it because I choose to, not because I have a gun to my head.” He was silent for a moment. “It reminds me of who I am.”

“And who are you?”

“A filthy beast concealed under impeccable clothes.”

I considered his words, offering him a confession of mine in exchange. “I don’t remember much of the rape, but I do remember it hurt a lot. Not just the blows to my head and the punches to my body. The part where he entered me. It felt like he was ripping me to shreds.”