In the movie, a man is standing over a bed. A woman lies on her back. Her legs are spread. This confuses me. Why isn’t she wearing pants? She looks very unhappy even though she’s smiling. “Keep your mouth shut,” the man commands. I feel like he’s talking to me. “Don’t move.” He grabs his penis, angrily, as if wielding a weapon. There is a flash of naked legs. A rustle of sheets. They’re light blue with tiny pink flowers. The flowers are in rows, like a perfect garden. Those flowers are pretty, I think, wishing my sheets had flowers. “This guy is in a lot of these movies,” Lawrence is saying, like he’s the director, recapping the scene for a graduate seminar. “His name is Marcus Silver. The men tend to be anonymous, so it’s weird I’d remember him. In porn, it’s women who are the brand-name stars.” I have no idea why Lawrence is telling me this, but I wish he’d shut up. This is repulsive, I think, a word I’m proud to know. But I can’t bring myself to say shut up to him, which means I’m younger than thirteen. More likely eleven or ten, and this was one of his educational moments. Maybe it was when I told him about the naked people I saw on Nate’s phone? Keep your mouth shut, the man said. I’m talking to you.

My body trembles. I can’t stop blinking. Hypersexualized. Forbidden. You’re repulsive. Who’s repulsive? Me. Here’s the thing, the super-secret, I hated the movie but didn’t say stop. I kept watching, and part of me, part of me liked it. I am repulsive. A slutty slut at ten years old.

I turn to Lawrence. What have you done? I was just a kid. Right? Wasn’t I?

I’m trapped here, in this courtroom, on this bench. Trapped, always, with Lawrence, my gift and my curse. Cassie + Lawrence forever and ever.

“Cassandra,” he whispers sharply, his hand on my thigh. “What is going on?”

Lawrence’s hands, hairy and masculine, scrolling his phone, pecking a keyboard, sliding along my skin. His hands, under tables, behind doors, reaching for me.

“Nothing, Lawrence,” I promise. “I’m fine. I told you that.”

His voice flows through my veins like blood. He seeps into every crevice, clogs every pore. This is how I keep him close, how he possesses me. I will never escape Lawrence. I will never escape Marcus. They are one and the same. The secret, special men who loved all of me.

And yet, how can this be a secret? How can anyone not know? To me, Lawrence + Cassie is as obvious as the sky. How can you not see him all over my face?