“What?” She reached for her panties and pulled down her tank top.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

She swept her hair back into a ponytail and stretched the rubber band from her wrist around it. “No, nothing.” She took a step out of the kitchen, and he grabbed her by the arm.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

She looked at him and wanted to slap his beautiful face. “You tried to suffocate me.” She knew it wasn’t true, but she wanted to be mean, to spite him.

“What?”

“You put your hand over my mouth. You made it so I couldn’t breathe.” She hated him for doing this, making her body react the way it had, but she hated herself more.

“What?” He was confused, and she could feel his grip slacken.

She jerked her arm from his hand. “Maybe one time you can make me come without beating the shit out of me.”

He looked at her, shocked, and she wanted to hurt him even more, to make him feel dirty and humiliated, but she didn’t know how, didn’t know how to push into him the shame that was expanding inside her like a thick fog.

“Nothing, forget it,” she said, and started for the bedroom.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he said, and grabbed her wrist.

“Let go.” She squirmed, but he held tight.

“What is going on?”

“Nothing; just let go.”

“Absolutely not,” he said, and held her.

She looked at him, felt her wrist pinched tight in his big fist, and suddenly she felt unbearably tired. She didn’t care if he held onto her, she just wanted to sit down. She slid to the floor, and he crouched beside her. She had been afraid he would take it all away from her, and now she was afraid he wouldn’t.

“This needs to stop,” she said.

“What needs to stop?”

“Everything,” she said, and tucked her knees into her chest.

“Everything? Everything what?”

“The playing …” She paused. “I can’t … I can’t do it anymore.” She rested her forehead on her knees. “It’s bad, Devesh. It’s just bad.”

“What’s bad?”

“The things we do. They’re bad.”

“Oh, sweetie,” he said, and took her hands in his. “They’re not bad. They’re just games.”

She looked up at him. “Do you think that? Do you really think that?”

He looked at her and then looked at her hands in his.

“They’re not just games; they’re not,” she said. She shook her head and pulled her hands away. She felt like she was unplugging a plug from its socket, so immediately changed was the space between them, and he must have felt it too because he grabbed for her.

“Then we won’t play them anymore.”