Page 80 of Retrograde

“What happened next?”

“I think you can imagine.” I grimace, staring at the floor, tracing a spiderweb of scratches with my gaze.

“Tell me,” he commands, grim and determined.

“Aron ... no,” I protest, everything inside me twisting and coiling.

“I said, tell me everything.”

“Aron, please.”

The only reply I get is ominous silence. I know it’s pointless; he will get the answer out of me. I feel bitter anger welling in the corners of my eyes, but I also find a strange kind of liberation in having no choice but to talk about it. I’ve never told anyone before, not even Corrado. But because I have to talk about it now, I find that I finally can.

I wrap my arms around myself, swaying lightly. “He started fucking me. It was my first time.”

Fragmented memories flood my mind: the searing burn as he entered me, the way I shook, his hands gripping my flesh. I chase them out.

“It was like his dick was covered in sandpaper. It hurt so bad. But the worst of it was his complaining. Saying how I felt all wrong on the inside, that I was deformed, and that was why it hurt. He was too convincing, acting confused, then almost concerned, and then just ... repulsed. Like I was revolting.”

I can’t escape the recollection of the shame and panic rising through me. I never could. But I plough on in a shaking voice. “I shouldn’t have believed him. But I ... well, I was eighteen. I didn’t get my period until very late, and then whenever I did, it was strong and painful as hell. And as you know, I had never managed to make myself come with my fingers ...” I pause to take a deep, steadying breath. “All that’s to say, I had feared there was something different about me, something wrong. Maybe all young women think that. His eldest daughter Daria is only a year older, so perhaps he got the idea from her somehow. I don’t know.” My hands grow clammy, and I rub them together. “What I do know is that him tapping into that fear like that, confirming it? It fucking broke me on the spot.”

A low growl rumbles deep within Aron’s chest. Even though I know how pathetic that is, I find myself desiring his touch, the comfort of his arm around my shoulders, the consolation of his hand on my knee.

“He pulled out and said it wouldn’t work. He acted like the deal was off and he was going to walk out. He kept repeating that my parents and siblings would be very disappointed, but that there was nothing he could do. I was in a state. I couldn’t think clearly. I made it so easy for him to get into my head. I don’t know how I could have believed him.”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference, even if you hadn’t,” Aron murmurs.

“It would have to me! But I panicked. I let him play me. I begged him.” The words feel like razors in my mouth. “I begged to try again, promising I would do better. That’s when he suggested that he could try to fuck me in the ass instead, like he was doing me a favour.”

I only get a grunt in response, a brief, pitiless reaction to my words. Not that I think I deserve much better than that.

“I agreed. I fucking thanked him. He used a bit of his own spit to make it go in easier, but ... it was the worst pain of my life. I thought I was going to die. He kept saying that I was defective as a woman, that I was worthless. That hurt too.”

To stop tears from flooding my eyes, I bite the inside of my cheek. My mouth fills up with copper. “When he finally finished, he left it up to two of his guards to untie me. The next day was my first public appearance in Everrise in that mustard yellow uniform you like so much. The only thing I remember about it is that Daria Volker put salt in my coffee right after meeting me that day.”

I laugh feebly. Aron doesn’t. I finally chance a look at him, to find him studying me with his usual intensity. Unbidden, his earlier words about the Retrogrades echo in my ears, growing louder until they drown out the phantom sound of my cries, Volker’s wheezing grunts, his insults.

No man is here because he has no other choice.

“I would have accepted anyway,” I admit, my voice steadier. “Even if he hadn’t done what he did, I would have said yes—for my family. My ... my father couldn’t get a job. Not trustworthy enough for academia. He mostly blamed me and what I did. He wasn’t coping well with depending on me for money. I had to get them away. I would have agreed to anything.”

Something searing lingers in Aron’s timbre when he demands, “Did he ever do it again?”

I let air escape slowly through my puckered lips before replying cautiously, “Not exactly. I think he would have. He made ... remarks. But two weeks later, I got ambushed by a drunk soldier on a job. I was ... drunk myself and not as careful as I normally would have been. Volker wouldn’t touch me again after that. Talk about silver linings.” I shoot a furtive, sarcastic smile in his direction, but he doesn’t return it.

“Still, he’s kept insisting on seeing me, every so often. Taking me out for meals and for horse races in the capital. Sometimes, even dress shopping. It was creepy. He kept calling me his princess. I hope I never have to hear that again.”

Aron scoffs—the sound dark and humourless. His balled fists are resting on his knees, knuckles white.

“I ... tried it twice voluntarily. I had no interest in either of the guys. I just wanted to see if it was any better when I agreed to it. It wasn’t.”

Not until you, I nearly add, but I bite my lip to stop the words. Perhaps I’ll say them one day. But not until I find a way to explain—to myself, at least—why something completely wrong feels so right.

“Say something,” I urge Aron when the silence that stretches between us grows oppressive. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I’d like to cut Volker’s dick off, shove it down his throat and make him choke on it,” he responds gruffly and my heart flutters.

“I doubt that’d be technically feasible. It’s too small,” I remark, and we both chuckle.