Page 59 of Fragile Lives

“Lei, they’re not anym—”

“No.” I push away from him and sit, covering my chest with the blanket. “I mean, yes, I hate them for touching you. And don’t tell me anything about it being stupid and all that since they were before me andblah blah blah. I know it’s illogical, but that’s not the point.” I silence him with my finger as he opens his mouth to speak. “The point is I hate them for making you hurt. For making you bleed. I hate them, Stephan. And now I hate you a little bit too, for letting them do that to you. How can you hate yourself like that?”

He watches me silently, an unreadable look on his face.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Do you really need me to?” His voice is curt. “I thought you were just ranting.”

“Ranting?” I feel my nostrils flare like a bull’s. “I’m trying to talk to you.”

He pulls himself up too. “No, you’re sprunting hate. Everyone has their kinks, and you can’t blame someone for liking something just because you’re too scared to try it.”

I rear back. “Too scared to try it?”

“Yes,little girl. Too scared. I’ve lived longer.” His nostrils flare as he leans closer. “When you live as long as I have and try everything that’s out there, you get tired of vanilla sex eventually.”

“Longer? Vanilla sex?” I blink a few times, trying to understand if this is really happening. How are we here after the mind-blowing orgasms and his declaration of owning me? And as far as I remember, it’s not like he’s one hundred years old and already tired of everything.

“Yes, vanilla.” He leans back against the headboard with a bored sigh. “That’s what you do, vanilla. Right?”

“Vanilla,” I parrot and blink again. “Vanilla.” I glance around, searching for my clothes. They’re nowhere to be found, so I pull the comforter from the bed, wrap it around myself, and climb out.

“Leila,” he calls out with a sigh. “Leila, wait.”

“Fuck you, Archie.” I throw him the middle finger without looking back.

“Wait, Leila.” I hear footsteps behind me. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Offend me? Offend me?! You think that’s what I am—offended?”

“Yeah, with my comments about being vanilla,” he questions, looking a bit unsure now.

“And you’re callingmethe child here?” I raise a brow and turn away from him to go find my clothes. Why are all women thrown under the same stigma of being easily offended creatures with fragile egos? We’ve gotten a bad reputation for no reason at all.

“Leila, fuck. Wait.” He grabs my hand, spinning me around to face him. “What do you mean?”

“I see you, Stephan,” I spit in his face. “I seeyou.” I press my finger between his hard pecs and hiss. “Stephan.”

His eyes darken, and the muscle in his jaw pops.

“Pushing me away when things got too real.”

His lips thin at my words.

“Throwing insults, hoping I’ll run away screaming.” I wave my hand behind my back.

His right eye ticks.

“Is that what everyone does, runs away from you?”

He doesn’t respond. Obviously.

“What was that declaration when you were high off the orgasm? ThatI’m yours.” I parrot his words. “I’m not yours, Stephan. Because you really don’t want me. I don’t think you want anyone because you’re a coward.”

“Why am I a coward?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“Because you’re scared to feel anything other than this all-consuming self-hatred and disgust for yourself.” I nearly spit on the word ‘disgust’ because that’s how I feel about it. “I mean you even turned defensive when you talked about what you like. Why? Screw everyone—you like what you like, and don’t be ashamed to admit it. I don’t. And I’moh so youngandoh so vanilla.” I mimic his tone, mocking him.