Chapter 84
Lilien let out a heavy sigh as she closed her book. Sprawled across her bed, she kicked at the blankets, then rolled over to stare up at the ceiling. The same boring grid pattern greeted her, as always.
“Why do they all act like it’s perfect from the start?”
Now that she had some money to spare, Lilien had recently bought a pile of books through Matilda. Matilda had dutifully fulfilled Lilien’s rather embarrassing request to bring her every book she could find that described a woman’s first experience.
“They’re all so skilled—why!”
Every book was the same. The woman would feel a little pain, and the man would vaguely comfort her and keep going, regardless of her wishes. But then, as if nothing had happened, the woman would be swept away by pleasure a moment later.
Lilien had scoured those scenes, hoping for some special advice before the actual act, but the only notable things were the men roughly fondling b*****s and hips. Compared to that, Cairn’s earnest fumbling with her body almost seemed… tender.
“It’s all lies!”
She wasn’t just pretending—Lilien really had been in pain. Sure, when she’d been drunk, she’d grabbed Cairn and begged him to put it back in, but if she were sober and faced with that thing again, she doubted she’d have the nerve.
“Or maybe… I’m the weird one…”
It was always easiest for Lilien to blame herself when things went wrong. That way, she didn’t have to hunt for explanations—the problem just made sense. She’d always been lacking, so nothing strange about it.
As she was tangling her hair and mulling over her problems, Matilda walked in and placed a letter on the nightstand.
“You’re going to tear your hair out, Miss.”
Not wanting to end up bald at her own wedding, Lilien let go of her hair.
“There’s a letter from the publisher. Looks urgent—you should check it.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Matilda was the only one who knew Lilien was a writer, so she always delivered such letters directly to her. But even Matilda didn’t know Lilien’s pen name.
Lilien slit the envelope open and was surprised when several sheets popped out. Her eyes narrowed as she read the first line on the first page.
“The editor’s changed. Why are they telling me this? It’s not like I’ll be publishing anything for a while.”
And the letter was much too long—almost as long as one she’d sent to Ashburn. Its content wasn’t much different, either. But even just reading the neat handwriting on the pale green paper, she could tell the new editor truly loved her work. Her heart pounded at the thought that someone was still waiting for Clarice.
“You’re going to publish again anyway, aren’t you?”
Still reading, Lilien answered absentmindedly.
“How can I when I haven’t even… experienced it myself?”
Then she realized Matilda had tricked her into almost revealing her secret and clammed up.
“Matilda, could you not try so hard to find out what I write?”
“I would never, Miss. It’s just… you’ve been acting strange lately. You used to write without noticing when I spoke to you. I just meant that if you love something that much, you’ll end up doing it again someday.”
A little gloomy, Lilien folded up the letter and tucked it safely into her nightstand. She still had one big challenge left before she could write a full novel.
“Hey… Matilda, can I ask you something?”
Matilda, folding Lilien’s underwear, flinched.
“Do you have to ask me like that?”
Lilien was lying sideways across the bed, her neck draped over the edge so her long hair spilled to the floor and her face was upside-down.
“I thought maybe if I looked at the world upside down, I’d come up with something good. Anyway, there’s something I have to do, but what if it really hurts?”
“What do you mean? Did you stab your fingers again with embroidery?”
Lilien, who’d once stabbed all ten fingers with a needle, shuddered just thinking about it.
“No, not that…”
“Hm… I’m not sure what it is, but can’t you just endure it?”
“Even if it’s really painful?”
“Well, people say you get tougher the more you’re hit, right? The more you experience it, the less it hurts.”
“Really?”
Lilien thought of Cairn’s club-like thing.
“But what if it hurts too much? What if the thing hitting me is just… huge? Would I ever get used to it?”
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