Page 175 of Swallow Your Sorries

I’m about to protest, but he cuts me off.

“I think it’s because you don’t feel comfortable putting on things you perceive to have a higher value than you do.”

“What—”

“I saw those panties you wore beneath your skirt this morning. They weren’t your old ones, but I didn’t buy them either. The lace was cheap as fuck.”

My face blazes red. It was the pair I bought from the sex shop. “Excuse—”

“Your ass was chaffed red. French lace doesn’t do that. You wanted something better, but only if you can justify the cost. You feel comfortable wearing it because you feel like it’s on par with your worth. You don’t think you deserve panties that cost more than your old rent.”

“It’s a stupid waste.”

“Because you think you’re a waste.”

I let go of his hand and he lets me as I mull over his words.

They weren’t true.

They weren’t true…

I don’t think I’m a waste.

I just was raised not to touch things I couldn’t afford to replace. Things my clumsy fingers had no business touching in the first place. Mum and Jarett had drilled that into my head.

I couldn’t even touch the name-brand cereal in the store.

But you wouldn’t have to replace them. They were a gift.

I never got gifts. And a gift should be for something special. Like a birthday or Christmas, right? Not just because.

I hadn’t done anything to earn it. I didn’t deserve a present-

Fuck. Is he actually right?

“Why do you want to buy me things anyway? And don’t say it’s because you’re my pretty doll or any of that other bullshit..”

“Why do you think it’s bullshit?”

“Because it is.”

“But you are my pretty baby. My doll. What’s so bad about being someone that brings comfort? Someone that’s well taken care of?”

“Someone that’s put on a shelf when you get bored.” I pinch my lips shut.Why the hell did I say that?

“It’s been two years and I haven’t gotten bored of you once. Why do you think I’ll start now?”

I hate the fear swirling in my stomach.

I don’t want to care if he gets bored.

I don’t care about him at all.

He steps closer, brushing a strand back from my forehead.

“When I first got you, I thought you were porcelain. I wanted to toss you around and shatter you. Then I realised I couldn’t. You’re too soft.”

“Like a ragdoll?” I deadpan as he squeezes my softness now, running his hands along my backside.

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