“It’s a—a—,” she can’t bring herself to say the word.
She holds a large, shockingly pink vibrator in front of her. She’s never seen one in person before, but some of her friends at college showed her pictures on the internet. She drops it on the table as if it’s burnt her and wipes her hands against her skirt.
“I thought you liked to play,” Jackson says with a low chuckle. “That’s why I got you all these toys and props.”
“No, no, no,” she says. “You’re wrong. You’re completely wrong about me.”
She continues wiping her hands against her skirt. Hot tears drip down her face and she shakes her head over and over. Jackson stubs his cigarette out and joins her at the table. She looks down at her shoes but he lifts her chin, forcing her to look at him.
“You’re the one who’s completely wron
