“My neighbor used to abuse me,” Rad said quietly, speaking more to Marty than to Jacky, even though he wasn’t there. “He would invite me into his house when my parents were out. He would give me chocolates. He would also make me play sick little games. I didn’t know they were sick then. I was too young. It wasn’t until I was twelve or thirteen that I realized them for what they were. I was disgusted and scared and never went to his house again. I still see him when I go back to visit my parents. He’s an old man now. He sits on his porch and watches me when I walk up the path to my parents’ front door. I want to yell at him, call him out…but I can’t even make eye contact. He scares me that much, even though I’m an adult now. It’s like I’ve developed a phobia of him or something. I’m just not myself. It’s so frustrating and infuriating because I’m not a weak person. But when I see him…I’m that little kid again, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t even tell anyone what he did. I can’t tell anyone because it’s Sri Lanka and women always cop the blame and people are going to say, ‘You didn’t say no, so it wasn’t really abuse, was it?’ But that’s bullshit. Because I didn’t know what sex was then or that what we were doing was sexual. And, well…it really fucked me up. But probably not in the way that you’d think. You’d think I’d hate men or something, but I don’t. It’s the opposite. I can’t be without a man, because when I am I feel restless and lonely and vulnerable. I understand women don’t need men to be safe. I understand women are stronger emotionally than men, and that dependence on men for security is so patriarchal. But, again, I can’t help it. Being around men is the only way I feel safe now. But you never wanted me around, did you, Marty? Or at least all the time. You wanted your space. And so I spent a lot of time with other men. Not to spite you. Not because I didn’t want to be with you. But because I needed to. I needed to feel safe. And this is something else you wouldn’t have known. The strangling, the submission and domination…I still don’t understand it exactly, but it lets me tap into the part of myself that needs to be healed, the part of myself that was abused. It’s cathartic because I’m allowing you to do it, I’m trusting you with my life. I trust you that much, Marty, and that makes me feel safe. Does that make sense?” She smiled affectionately. “I understand it makes you uncomfortable. You’re a sweetheart, an old-school sweetheart. And I know the strangling is what’s been holding back our relationship. I always wanted to tell you all this. But I just felt that it would be easier letting you believe I was some kinky freak with death fetishes rather than telling you I was abused…” She wiped a tear from her eye. “And now I can’t tell you the truth, can I? I’ll never be able to explain.”