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. “IT 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.