“He pries me from his chest and drops his hand from the back of my head, tracing my ear, along my jawline. He snatches his fingers a moment before they press into my lip.”

“Charlee has my arm. She has my arm—my arm that’s rigid from pleasure, from her touch—in her little fingers. She holds my other one, too and she’s right there, that sweet candy perfume stripping the rest of the strength from my body, and it escapes in a soft, breathy sigh.”

“The moment weighs down on me, threatening to unstitch my seams and expose me to the world.”

“Still speaking over me,' she says, meeting my eyes and scoffing. 'You are still that worthless little girl.”

“You need to wait until you are worthy of having a child of your own.' She pats her hair down, which is rock hard. Her action is pointless, but she’s worried about appearances as usual. 'And someone like you who’s responsible for killing my babies—your own siblings—is not worthy.”

“I started to speak to him in his native tongue, "why would you want to sit with me?" He pressed his lips together, and his eyebrows screwed up. He ran a hand through his spiky black hair. "I don' speak Japanese," He said in English. "But My parents do." "Strange," I said. "A Japanese boy who only speaks English?”

“You’re insane,” I told him, and stood up to dress.He hugged me from behind, pressing hard against me, rubbing his smooth chest along my back. He spoke into my ear, “Insane for you, my love.”