I didn’t move. Barely breathed.
I’d faced this moment so many times. So many times they tried to be nice, and gutted me. You look just like a boy. Not like you used to be a girl. I’d smile and take it on the chin and in my head I’d scream, I was never a girl. There was the way my body looked before, and the way it looks now. But I was always a boy inside.
Tamsin gazed at me for a long moment.
And pulled my body to hers, kissing me.
I kissed back, so relieved I almost laughed, then her bare hot skin glided against mine and I forgot all else. Other girls had seen me shirtless, touched me, but this was different. No curiosity or carelessness in her touch—it was raw need. She clutched at me so hard it hurt. Bruised me like she had before, lacing her marks across my ribs, my spine, so every time I breathed I’d feel her there. Roughed me up. I gave it back in kind, bit her lithe neck, scratched that perfect collarbone. Slid my hands inside her tee, and she arched against me and we clawed harder, harder, till blood bloomed beneath our skin. Our own black irises. I took her shirt off and crushed my body to hers. In a moment like this it was impossible to feel like anything but the man I was. No weak thoughts about shape and illusions, only her heat, her smell all over me. My mouth nipping at her throat. The taste of almond and salt. A kiss that trailed lower and lower to the dip between her breasts as I opened her bra. Tamsin let her head fall back, moaning, and I took her breast in my mouth, my hand playing down her belly.
It was too much, suddenly. Too fast, too overwhelming.
I kissed the hollow between her breasts. Paused there, heart wild, panting like an animal.
She grabbed a fistful of my hair and said, “Don’t you dare bloody stop.”
Huskily, I laughed.
I moved over her, kissed her lips, and after a fit of annoyance she went soft, sweet. Our legs tangled and the kiss turned openmouthed and intense, eclipsing everything. I wrapped my arms around her, marveling at how small she felt inside them. How pliant she was when I slid my tongue into her mouth. Absently, fingers twirled in my hair.
When we stopped for breath she said, “Fuck me, Renard.”
Everything below my waist went white-hot. “Let’s take this slow.”
“We’ve taken it slow for months. Let’s fuck.”
I groaned. Her leg was moving between mine.
“Tam, this is hard, okay?”
“Yes, it certainly is.”
I shoved a hand between us, blocking. “I’m not ready.”
All at once her body stilled. “Okay,” she said, cradling my cheek. “It’s okay. God, I just want you so much.”
You’re so pretty, Sofie. I just want you so much.
I closed my eyes and breathed. Stay in this moment, Ren. Don’t slip.
Tamsin’s touch turned gentle, reverent. We curled up face-to-face, limbs linked, tracing the lines of each other’s bodies.
“Don’t be afraid, beautiful boy.” Her lips brushed my forehead, and I felt that coming-apart inside my chest again. “I want you when you’re ready. And just as you are.”
———
Not a word, Laney said. Don’t react to Norah’s accusation publicly. Don’t even acknowledge it.
Pretend it never happened.
Anything I said or did would be picked apart, read into, distorted. So would silence. But at least silence wasn’t something you could quote, meme-ify, make viral.
Trust me, Laney said. I know how this shit works.
The outrage machine will eat anything you feed it. If you want to shut it down, starve it.
Make it as unviral, unshareable as possible.
Pretend it never happened. Just like someone who’s actually been violated pretends it never happened. To get through one more day. Then one more.
It surprised me, how much I missed vlogging. How much of an outlet it’d been. I missed sending those messages in bottles out into the universe, seeing them returned to me ten times over. The comments, the arguments, the support. Even the trolls, in some perverse way. Trolls were a sign you were saying something important. Something others wanted to silence.
It didn’t surprise me when I got lonely, logged into YouTube, and saw:
This account has been suspended.
Laney told me my only power now was silence.
But how could it be a power when my voice had been taken from me?
———
I have something to show you, Ingrid texted.
Give me good news, I replied. I can’t take more bad.
This will make you happy. Promise.
She sat me on the couch, phone on her knees. That witch-pale blond hair spun around her head in a loose chignon, elegantly mussed. Winter bleached all color but her eyes, a blue deep as blood in a vein, and for a moment I could remember the way they used to warm, looking at me.
“Another video?” I said wearily.