I’m aware enough to understand a small part of me needs attention and approval from men to feel good about myself. That I have a compulsion to be reminded that I’m attractive and desirable. Duh, I made my living as a dancer. I also hate this about myself, which is why I was determined to get an education and prove I wasn’t some shallow shell of a person. I’ve worked hard to understand I’m more than my physical appearance and that I’m worth more than a man’s opinion of me. That I don’t exist to please men, visually or otherwise.

But old habits never quite die and I’m feeling needier than ever after sharing my secret with Z. My pride’s been shredded and that old desire to feel wanted comes crawling back.

“That’s a lie, Lilly and you know it,” he says slowly and evenly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’ve never hurt me.”

“In here.” He taps my forehead. “Or in here.” He places his hand over my heart.

How did we ever end up here? When we met, I wanted a good, hard fuck from a bad boy I’d never see again. How the hell did I end up with this sweet, complex, loving man permanently in my life?

He’s so much more than I deserve.

If I hadn’t resisted him so much in the beginning, resisted admitting we were more than fuck buddies, would I have been spared the horrible nightmare my life became? Would I have spared him the pain of not being there for his son?

My hands curl into fists. I can’t stop it. I’m so angry. At myself. At everything. “I had one similar to it on my desk at work,” I whisper.

He’s so still I can hear the crickets chirping outside.

“That…fucker,” I spit out, “gave it to me as present at a holiday party one year.”

Z remains quiet while I process the rest of my explanation into words I can actually say out loud.

I swear I still feel the pointy end poking into my neck. Not enough to injure me, unless I moved or screamed. In my peripheral vision, the bronze handle glinted under the harsh fluorescent lights.

All the shame and humiliation crashes over me in a tidal wave I’m afraid I won’t survive.

“I’m right here,” Z says. “I’ve got you, Lilly. Tell me.”

“He held it to my neck, while he…while…” I can’t breathe. My hands claw at my throat and I struggle to sit up. “‘Don’t worry. You’ll enjoy it,’ he said.” Hot tears burn down my cheeks and I furiously brush them away.

In this moment, I hate Z a little for making me remember all these sick details.