Page 61 of Light Up The Night
She frowns. "You are not obligated to do so. I have no right to any explanations, certainly."
Fuck. "It's not that, I just…" I groan, raking my palm down my face. "It's actually not hard to explain, I just don't fucking want to."
She touches my chest. "Then do not. You owe me nothing. It is I who owes you."
"You don't owe me jack-shit." I exhale, scrubbing at my hair. "Truth is, I'm just embarrassed. I…you're different from anyone I've met. I don't usually care what people think about me, y'know? My brother, my buddies, my other friends, they know me and they love me anyway, warts and all. Not everyone knows the details of why I went to prison since I don't talk about it pretty much ever, but they know I did. I care about their opinion, and everyone else can get fucked."
I pause, shake my head. Start again.
"But you…?" I shrug, shake my head. "You're different. And I care about what you think."
"I hope it is obvious that I have a high opinion of you, then," I say.
“Yeah, and I don't want that to change."
"Why would it? Why would what Nyx said make me think less of you?"
"Because…" I groan, turn away from her so I don't have to watch her face turn to disgust. "Because what he said is true."
I feel her absorbing and processing this. "I am not certain I understand what a man-whore is. A slut, so far as I am given to understand such colloquialisms, is a woman of loose morals—a woman who has had many sexual partners. This is different than a prostitute, however, in that a prostitute is paid for sex, whereas a slut does so out of personal interest.”
"Man-whore is the same thing as a slut, but for guys," I mumble.
"Oh. I see." A long silence. "So…he was teasing you about your sexual history, inferring that you are of loose morals."
I can't help a bitter cackle. "Loose morals. Yeah."
"And it is true? You have had a significant number of casual sexual encounters?"
I nod. "Pretty much. I…I was pretty bad about it in high school. Prison was obviously a nice, long dry spell. When I got out, I…I sort of set about trying to make up for lost time, y'know?"
"I am not certain I do."
"I hooked up a lot."
A long pause. "I see. And this hooking up…it was purely physical?"
I nod. "Yup." I turn to look at her, finally, and see only curiosity. "Last few years, I've been actually sort of dating girls. Like, trying to have something that resembles a meaningful relationship. But it's…I'm not…" I cut off with another frustrated groan. "I'm not cut out for that shit, Cadence. Nothing sticks. Everyone is wrong one way or another, or it just doesn't work."
I see her thinking and stay silent until she arrives at the question she wants to ask. "Are you manipulative? Are you using your partners?"
"No! No." I hate talking about this, but she deserves the truth. "It's always been purely consensual. I've always been clear about it bein' just a hookup."
She rubs her palms on her thighs repeatedly, looking away, thinking. "I confess this is something I cannot fathom. It is beyond my scope of understanding." She looks at me, then. "But it is not my place to judge, nor am I interested in attempting to do so. All I can think of in this case is that as long as the women you have been with did not leave the experience erroneously thinking you had sex with her out of love when you did not, I cannot see what harm has been done. I do not understand how one can share one's body so casually, but that is merely my personal, subjective experience. Yours is different and does not hinge upon my understanding."
My head spins. "Jesus, woman. Where did you come from?"
"Chicago?" Her nose wrinkles adorably as she frowns in confusion.
I laugh. "No, I meant…" I cup her face. "You're just so…understanding and nonjudgmental."
"It is not for us to judge one another, Riley. Why would I think less of you for having a different life experience than I? You have shown understanding and patience with me. How can I do less? I may not understand, but I do not need to, though I would like to and will try to." She caresses my cheek. "If anyone is judging you harshly for your past, Riley Crowe, it is you yourself. Not your friends, not your brother, and not me. It is yourself you must convince."
Her empathy hits me like a goddamn freight train. My fucking eyes sting. "Dammit, Cadence."
"I…I am sorry?"
"No, no, no," I mutter, pulling her against my chest. "You just have this way of cutting straight to the heart of things. And you pull feelings outta me I didn't know I had."
