HauntingAdie {1}

C21

The Manipulator

I ’m stewing. Nana used to make this god-awful stew when I was young. It smelled like a
dumpster fire and tasted even worse. My attitude is about as foul as that stew
right now.
“I don’t even know his name,” I groan, my voice muffled by my hands.
They’ve been glued to my face ever since Daya got here, and I confessed he
broke in again.
I haven’t gotten around to what happened yet. There’s not an ounce of courage
in my bones. She’s been patiently waiting, knowing that I’m holding something
back. Something terrible and shameful. And something I can’t stop fucking
thinking about.
“You fucked him, didn’t you?” she asks calmly.
My eyes bulge, and I unglue my hands from my face so I can pin her with a
glare.
“No, I did not fuck him,” I snarl, as if she’s suggesting something insane and I
didn’t come really damn close to it. I can feel the blood rising in my cheeks and
my left eye twitches.
Fuck. Daya knows that’s my tell.
“You did!” she bursts, standing up from her chair and looking down at me with
shock.
“I didn’t! I promise,” I rush out, grabbing her hand. “But… something did
happen.”
She puffs out a breath and settles back down in her chair, scooting back into the
island in my kitchen and grabbing her margarita. She sucks down two huge gulps,
trepidation on her face.
“You sucked his dick?” she guesses, lifting a hand to fiddle with her nose ring.
The images those words just put in my head have my blood pressure rising to
dangerous levels. I bite my lip and shake my head slowly, the guilty look still
present on my face.
“He sucked you?”

When I just stare, the guilt in my eyes burning brighter, her mouth pops open
and her eyes round.
“Bitch, what the fuck!” she shouts. She leans in closer, an unreadable emotion
flaring in her eyes. “Was it consensual?”
And this is where I get tripped up. Because it wasn’t. But had he kept going,
had he stripped his clothes from his body and fucked me—I can’t say with
absolute certainty that I would’ve stopped him. Or that I would’ve wanted to.
Still, I shake my head no.
Fury flares in her sage eyes, and her lips twist into a snarl. I lean back, honestly
a little afraid of her.
I put my hand on hers. “Daya… I-well, it wasn’t consensual… at first?” I say
the last part like a question, embarrassed that I’m even admitting something like
that.
She blinks. "At first," she echoes. "Meaning what? He was that good that he
changed your mind?"
My hands cover my face, but she forces them away, nearly bumping her nose
into mine as she intently waits for an answer.
“You have such pretty eyes,” I tell her.
She snarls at me. “Spill, slut.”
I close my eyes with a resigned sigh. “That man ate the soul out of my body,
and I don’t think I’ve gotten it back yet.”
She jerks back, surprise in her pale green irises.
“I know, you can judge me. I’m judging me too,” I say pitifully. I slide her
margarita over to me and finish it off. Mine’s been gone since I first told her he
broke in.
“Baby girl, I am not judging you. But let me get this straight. You egged him
on in a text because you felt like a bad bitch. And then he broke in to make good
on his promise, tied your ass up, and you freaked out at first, but then ended up
riding his face?” she summarizes slowly.
Several emotions swirl in her eyes. Confusion, shock, maybe even intrigue. But
not judgment. And that’s only because I didn’t confess to her about the gun
incident. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to talk about that one.
I roll my lips. “Pretty much.”
Without taking her eyes off me, she leans over and grabs the bottle of tequila
we used to make the margaritas. She pours a shot into both of our empty cups and
then hands one to me.
We take the shot, cringing at the taste, and then stare at each other in silence.
“I’m just not even sure what to say.”
I groan. “Daya, I don’t know what to do. He didn’t hurt me, but he did. He
definitely forced himself on me. But I would’ve let him go farther had he tried.