“Because, I’m… dirty. I’m dirty, I’m wasted. Stained. Marked. I don’t deserve… these things anymore.”

She sat up and was quick with her answer.

“But babe, it wasn’t your fault!”

I felt warm as she said that and I saw how her face was full of indignant non-understanding, but shook my head.

“That doesn’t matter. It happened to me. I underwent it. Maybe I could have stopped it if I had tried harder.”

“You shouldn’t have had to try hard at all.”

“No. But it doesn’t matter. Maybe I couldn’t have stopped it, fine. But I underwent it, anyway. It doesn’t matter who’s fault it is. I’m dirty anyway.”

She shook her head, still indignant. “No. Nah, no. You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful. I’m sure the past bothers you, I get that, but don’t ever think it shows. You’re beautiful.” She looked me deep in the eyes as she repeated that a couple of times.

Funny why I believed her. I believed her because she was the player she was, because I knew she had a different girl in this bed yesterday and would have yet another one in it tomorrow. She didn’t try to make me feel good so I would stay with her. She didn’t try to talk the guilt and the waste out of my head so she wouldn’t have a crazy partner. Nothing would go beyond this night. She had no reason to say this other than meaning it.

I was still swimming in her words, drinking them up, as she tried to go down on me again. I didn’t stop her this time. I didn’t want to. I felt safe and warm. And horny too. But safe, most of all safe. She added to the warmth and excitement with what she was doing, and added to the feeling of safety by repeating every now and then what she had just said. “You’re beautiful.” I could feel a very small, slightly cold wind every time she said that. A few minutes ago, she had said it to my face. Now she said it to the part that probably needed to hear it most of all. It needed this message. Look, they can touch you when you don’t want them to, they can go on after you came and hurt you with that, they can put three, four, five, six fingers in you, which they actually can’t, they can put wooden sticks in you, stir around with them, make you bleed – in other words: hurt you, rape you – but you can still be considered beautiful by a beautiful girl. I loved how she worked with sloth here, too. There would be a point at which I couldn’t bear any more excitement, but I wanted to hear that small sentence as much as I could. “You’re beautiful.” I came, and got scared, of course. She came back up quickly and held me. She did nothing but holding me and repeating her words. “You’re beautiful.” Once she added something: “Don’t you ever think you’re not. You’re beautiful.” I was shaking, trembling, crying for a while, but she didn’t change her approach and I loved that. It was honest. After all, there was nothing more she could do. It just had to pass. She gave me the time to let it pass. When I felt better, I apologized for not doing anything to her. She put her hand on my lips and then kissed them. “Don’t say that. Don’t apologize. You’re beautiful.” I fell asleep in the crook of her arm, on the flow of her rhythmically repeated words.

I knew her name and I knew her act. I knew everything in advance and I had done everything not to expect anything. It worked, partly. I did not expect anything. But I can’t say I didn’t feel some hurt when she got up in the morning, put on her clothes and offered me no breakfast. “I have to get going. You just close the door behind you on your way out, ‘kay?” I said nothing. I watched how she ate a cracker while she gathered some stuff. The light fell in through the windows and it was a little too blazing for my taste. I hid under the blanket. The good thing, I told myself, was that she expected nothing from me either. She went to the bathroom to brush her teeth, was back quite quickly and got her bag. My time with her was running out, was over.

She stopped with the doorknob already in her hand. She turned around and seemed to see me for the first time that morning. It would be the last time as well, I knew that.

“Hey.” Her low voice. I looked up to her. She hesitated. I still flatter myself with the thought that I’m probably one of the few girls who made her hesitate. “You’re beautiful. Don’t ever think you’re not.” She walked out and my time with her was over. My time with me, however, could begin.