“I don’t want my body to be dangerous.”
“Yes, you do.”
I laugh, turn my head away. “No, not like that. Like this,” I say, holding out my arms before me, looking at them, signifying nothing. “I don’t want to be dangerous.”
“You killed a man.”
“Yes, I know. Not like that, I don’t mind that much at all…” I said.
“Then what?”
“You know what.”
His eyes light up, he laughs. “You’re embarrassed? Are you ashamed?”
“No, I’m not ashamed. I’m proud of my sexuality, I just… don’t want it to be a weapon. I don’t want to be vulnerable like that, I don’t want to be a whore. I can’t pretend to be proud of it like that. And I know it’s all bullshit, how people see me, and I can’t help hating them for it, but I just… don’t want to be seen like that. Like a lover.”
“You’d much rather be a fighter. What, you’d rather kill me?”
“No, it’s not like that –”
“That’s exactly what it’s like. You want to join men’s wars? You want to fight? You want to be a man –?”
“No, I just want to be treated the same,” I say.
“You’re only human,” he says. “You’re naked sometimes too –”
“I know. I just don’t want it to make me different. I’m not your object.”
“I know that. If anything, I’m yours.”
I smile, knowing he’s only saying that to make me feel better, but I don’t care. “Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate that.”
