“What are you thinking?” he asks. He mocked me for overthinking a minute ago, but now he seems starved for my thoughts. “So many things,” I say. “Enumerate them.” “I think these look like shackles,” I say, turning his wrist back and forth as I stare at the markings, “but they’re beautiful and they remind me that you’re not human in the least, and I like that about you.” Quieter, I add, “To be honest, I like far too much about you.” The alcohol has loosened my lips.
