Page 89 of Synced to Us

Dee leaps from the couch and whirls to face me. “Stop seeing me as something I’m not! Is this not enough for you? Do I have to go further? I was paid to lose my virginity, Wyn!”

Despite all my efforts, a ripple of surprise runs along my skin.

She sees it. “Caro taught me the ropes. Introduced me to her madam. I was accepted as one of them almost immediately after the madam learned I was still a virgin.”

No.

“The night I was meant to meet my first client, I was terrified inside, but I’d already donned my new personality. I could do this. Be sweet, innocent. Dress in lace, and lose my virginity for a boatload of cash. And do you know what I thought of? I thought of my mother and what she must’ve mentally shut off in order to go through with the facade of a wholesome kindergarten teacher and loving mother, since that was clearly the opposite of who she was. That’s what helped me amputate the more emotional parts of myself and become someone else.”

“Who is he?” I rasp out. “Where is he? I’ll find him. I’ll fucking rip his pedo dick and wear it as an anklet—”

“The client was actually quite nice, and decent. Losing my virginity wasn’t so bad. He was gentle, sweet, offered me roses and chocolates and candles. Drew me a warm bubble bath afterward, then left quietly while I soaked, until the bathwater ran cold and I started shivering. After an hour, I convinced myself to get out and found eighty large on the nightstand.”

I lean forward and resting my head in my hands.

“You see, Wyn? I’m not gorgeous. Your girl. Or even decent. I’m a nightmare version of what I could’ve been.”

“Stop.” I push to my feet, towering over her, but only because I want to be her shelter, her safe zone. “You don’t get to say those words when I haven’t uttered them. I wasn’t lying when I said I loved everything about you. And no, I didn’t know everything at the time, but you know what? I do now and I still fucking adore you.” I hold her by her upper arms, afraid she’ll bolt. “Your past can’t be changed, and I won’t ever try to change you.”

She shakes her head. “Wyn—”

“Were you truly acting in front of my mother? With Lucy?”

Dee doesn’t respond.

“How about with me? When we were in bed together, when I was playing you music I’d never shown anyone else, when you defended yourself to Brad, and encouraged my ability to be something… When we couldn’t keep our hands off each other in the truck. Tell me, was all of that a personality you donned, or was it you?”

“It was me,” she whispers, but she still won’t look me in the eye.

“Say it louder.”

She raises her gaze to mine. “It was me.”

I stay silent, letting the words sink into the air between us. Then I say, “It was you, and this is me.”

Her lashes flutter. Dee’s eyes glitter with unknown thoughts, but I bet I could put a name to some of them: hesitation, relief, hope.

“Sparrow isn’t my real last name.”

I don’t falter at the change in topic. “Well, Riley ain’t mine.”

A wet laugh escapes her tear-soaked lips. “It’s Sorensen. I used to be Deonne Sorensen. Once I’d accepted my parents weren’t coming back, I wanted to leave everything about them behind, including that last name, which was as fake as they were.”

I lift my gaze to the ceiling, pretending to ponder it. “Still beats Winston Rothlessberger by a fuckin’ mile, though.”

Her laughter is like golden bells tinkling into the atmosphere.

“Stop laughing at my name and put those lips on mine.” I fake a growl.

She swipes at her eyes, her dark lashes dewy and thick, and tips up her chin.

I meet her there, soaking up her tears with my mouth, my tongue, until all that remains between us is…us.

32

Dee

A weight—no, layers of guilt, worthlessness, deceit, unkindness, brutality, and coldness—have peeled away like layers of skin, revealing pristine, ivory bones and fresh-hewn tissue wrapped around my soul.

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