32. Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Two

M arcus Fabius Varro

My head swims, a fog settling over my thoughts as though I’ve drunk too much wine. I blink, trying to clear the haze, but it clings stubbornly.

Emotions roll off Laura in waves, a tempest I can’t quite decipher. Anger, sadness, and… pity? The combination makes no sense. We were just sharing passion, weren’t we? My phallus is still hard, dripping pre-cum, so I couldn’t have disappointed her there.

I ease her feet to the ground and let her see my confusion.

“I’ve angered you.” My rough voice is filled with an unspoken question. When she doesn’t explain herself, I ask, “Did I miss some of your cues? I asked you to tell me to stop if you got uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to…”

The anger and pity drain from her face, leaving only a sadness so intense I can almost feel it under my skin. Her lower lip trembles, and I fight the urge to pull her close, to soothe away whatever pain I’ve inadvertently caused. Except by her expression, it’s clear she doesn’t want me closer. If anything she wishes I’d move farther away .

“Tell me Dulcis ,” I plead, balling my hands into fists to keep from gripping her face. I want to tip her head up, compel her to look at me and explain what I did wrong. But I hold back, knowing this isn’t the moment for force.

Laura’s lips clamp together, her eyes filling with tears. My heart clenches, the world around me turning gray. The depth of my despair surprises me, a stark reminder of how important she’s become in such a short time.

“Umm…” She squeezes her eyes shut, as if steeling herself for something unpleasant. Every moment that passes tightens the fist squeezing my heart.

Finally, she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s not a secret our cultures are different. The way I was brought up, the way I feel—strongly—is that sex should happen with someone I have a connection with. Not only is it important for me to feel affection for you, but I need for you to feel affection for me.”

Is she declaring her love? Asking me to do the same? We’ve only known each other a few handfuls of days. I open my mouth to respond, but she cuts me off.

“Just now, you… kind of left.” She peers at me intently.

“Left?”

“You were behind me, doing heavenly things to my body, and then… poof, you were gone. You started talking like you were reading from a script, like Varro left his body and an automaton took his place.”

As I recall exactly what happened between us, I realize much of it is hazy, as though I’m watching it underwater. A chill races down my spine when I realize the feeling, though I’ve never identified it before, is familiar—very familiar.

“I imagine it was a skill you developed to cope with your trauma.” Laura’s voice is soft, her eyes boring into mine .

The word “trauma” hits me like a punch to the gut. Anger flares, hot and sudden. I point to the biggest slash across my chest and say, “This is trauma, Laura.” Jabbing at the cut on my left biceps, I say, “And this.” I slap my right thigh, my voice rising. “And under here, the deep gash you see was trauma. But not sex. Sex isn’t trauma. Sex is pleasure.”

I lean in close, sneering, wanting her to see my contempt for her ridiculous statement. But Laura doesn’t flinch. Instead, she cups my cheek with her palm, her touch achingly gentle.

“It doesn’t matter what I think, Varro.” Her voice is steady despite the tears in her eyes. “I understand you’re trying to convince yourself that the abuse you suffered didn’t touch you, didn’t hurt you. So I’ll shut up about it. But you might want to think about why you asked me to hurt you and why you called me Flos when I’m your Dulcis , which, by the way, I love it when you call me that.” She opens her mouth, clearly wanting to say more, then clamps her lips shut and shakes her head with such sadness it knots my stomach. “Let’s go back to the compound.”

I should have known that a hulking gladiator leaning inches from her face and sneering at her with his most deadly face wouldn’t shut her up. Nor does she stoop to my level and argue.

Instead, she walks calmly to Jenny and waits for me, then calls, “You coming? It’s almost full dark.”

I have no objection to getting in the vehicle with her. It’s just that my body has quit responding to my commands. I’m frozen. Ha. Frozen here on land after two millennia of being frozen underwater. The Gods have a terrible sense of humor.

Eventually, I force my feet to move and climb into the passenger seat, but I can’t feel my body. Through the numbness, I wonder if Laura could be right.

I always knew I didn’t like what Gracchus did, but other than a few times, I never bled. Decimus was kind; he protected me. For many of the others, it was an exchange, a transaction. I did what they wanted; they gave me money that was intended to buy my freedom .

“It wasn’t trauma,” I say as we near the compound, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Laura replies, but her tone betrays her disbelief. “Either way, I don’t think we should… be sexual.”

My head jerks back in surprise. My memory may be hazy about the details of our earlier encounters, but I certainly recall how wet she was, how excited, how willing.

“We’re the only two people on this island. We’re compatible. Why would you refuse what you so obviously enjoyed only moments ago?”

Laura’s gaze meets mine, filled with a sadness that feels like a chain tightening around my heart. “Because you didn’t enjoy it, Varro. You disappeared in order to tolerate being with me. It was soul-crushing, and it will be just as devastating if you do it again. I’d prefer to never experience that in the future.”

Her words hit me like a blow, leaving me breathless. I struggle to find a response, but come up empty.

“Varro, I like you. A lot.” Her voice has softened. “I just refuse to be the reason you fly off in your mind. I refuse to be the one who triggers terrible memories. I want to be your friend. Let’s have dinner. You worked hard today and must be starving. We’ll put this behind us.”

I’m left reeling, my mind a whirlwind of confusion, anger, and an ache I can’t quite name. Laura’s words have cracked something open inside me, exposing a raw, tender place I didn’t know existed. And as much as I want to deny it, to rage against her accusations, a small part of me whispers that maybe she’s right.