Page 14 of The Way You Hurt Me

We're rooming with Lucy's twin sister. The flat actually belongs to their grandmother, which is the only reason why we can afford it. It's small but gorgeous, and in a much nicer area of Manhattan than one recent graduate and two new professionals could normally swing.

Lucinda’s a mad scientist working for Eros Corp, of all places. The club has morphed into a household brand for naughty stuff, from lube to condoms and sex toys. She works in the development department. And let’s just say she brings home thebesttoys for me to play with. Her birthday present to me last week blew my mind. Or more accurately, my clit.

Anne, for her part, owns a small bookstore a few streets away.

They're opposites, which I find bizarre, because my sister and I are pretty much the same person, just with different hair. Well, hairandbody. Morgan’s slender, verging on skinny, even after giving birth to Cameron, while my body seems to lay credence to our father’s claim that we have Italian roots. I look like I eat all the pasta.

Which I do.

Surface things aside, the two of us think the same way, and gravitate towards the same kind of people. She immediately connected with the few friends I managed to make in high school. Nadia, Jace, Elsa, Cain, Judith, Lucas, Rowan, Maverick, and Alexander are all two years older than me, which makes them right between my sister and I in age. She connected to them as much as I did, which made for fun dinners back when she and Cam came to visit.

Age, tits, ass, and responsibilities aside, we are like twins.

Morgans says I'm smarter but I think we have the same mental capacities; our main difference is I've had time to study, and research, andthink, while she was too busy being my parent to do as well at school.

We're both STEM through and through. Not to mention liking the same type of guys, obviously.

Meanwhile,myidentical twinroommates are fire and water under the surface.It’s uncanny.

"There's a book club tonight. Naughty romance." Lucy wrinkles her nose in distaste.

I know for a fact she doesn’t mind naughty romance, but I don’t see her sitting around with a glass of wine to discuss it the way Anne would.

"Really? Why didn't she tell me!" I pout.

I very much like to sit, drink, and speak about cocks.

"Er—because you're always working? And studying? And studying your work?"

I toss one of the pillows on the sofa at her, rolling my eyes. “I’m done studying, you know.”

She's right though; I don't take much me time. It's purposeful. Back when I had time to myself, I didn't use it wisely. My long list of unanswered texts sent to a certain hot, absolutely not age-appropriate, uninterested guy are a testament of that.

When I first started seeing a shrink because of my messed-up behavior with Dimitri, and my weird-ass thoughts about Cam a year ago, I was given several tips to curb my less-than-healthy impulses. Meditating, keeping busy with productive things helpful to my personal growth. So I work. I study. When I want attention, I get it in a safe, consensual space. Yes, my shrink is completely forRuby Red Heart, though she does recommend caution through it all. She knows how fucked up I am without that outlet.

The technical term she applies to me is a love and sex addict. Which is funny for a girl who hasn't even had proper sex, as such. But in short, it means that I attach myself to the object of my fascination, to the point of obsession. Apparently, that condition is often the result of lacking attention growing up.Part of me wonders if Morgan has a similar issue. Except she picked a guy just as obsessed with her, so it’s not a problem in her case.

There are various kinds of therapy for it, but the main thing is recognizing the problem, and taking steps to ensure you don’t give into the impulses linked to the conditions.

I've been very good at that, after I realized that the only thing that would result from my seeking attention is complete and utter humiliation.

The online praise might not be what I crave, but it feeds my need to be seen, and desired.

I make it work.

What other choice do I have?

“Hey, since you’re done studying entirely, would you want to come with me to my company’s Christmas party?” Lucinda offers. “It’s Thursday night. Free booze. Anne can’t make it. You can steal her dress.”

My instinct is to say no, of course. I’m busy. I have…

But then I realize I no longer have a double master’s thesis to write. “Sure. Why not? Except you know damn well none of her dresses would fit my boobs.”

She snorts. “Let’s go shopping then. I guess I could also wear a new dress.”

I nod. Why not? I’m not flying to Cali until Saturday.

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