Page 195 of What We Become

“This is the best birthday I’ve ever had,” I say, feeling myself get worked up again just from watching us.

“This is the best birthday anyone’s ever had,” Milo corrects. “In the history of birthdays. I’m including all of them. Every birthday, ever.”

“Even Jesus?” Micah asks.

“Especially Jesus. Jesus got frankincense. Kitten got five orgasms and a bulletproof SUV.”

“Six,” I correct.

“Six orgasms?”

“I stopped counting at six. There may have been seven. Knox, was there a seventh?”

Knox’s chest rumbles under my cheek. “Eight.”

“Show-off,” Milo mutters.

I tip my head back toward the screens. “Do we get to keep this footage?”

“If we want it,” Knox says, just as the screen above us flickers.

FORTY-FIVE

SAGE

Iblink. Sit up slightly. Knox’s arm tightens around me as the image changes.

The ceiling screen is no longer showing the room. It’s showing . . .

Me. In my old apartment. In bed. Alone. The angle is from above, the perspective slightly wide, the image grainier than the sharp feeds from a moment ago.

“What . . .”

The wall screens shift. One by one, like dominoes falling, the room’s feeds are replaced. Each monitor clicks to a different clip. Different night. Different configuration.

Me and Holden. His hands pinning my wrists while I arch beneath him.

Me and Eli. His forehead on mine as he moves inside me.

Me and Knox. I’m straddling his hips, grinding down on him while his big hands splay out over my ribs.

Me and Milo and Holden. The night they shared me for the first time, the night I learned what it felt like to be the center of two men’s attention.

Me and Micah. Gentle, slow, his hand on my throat.

Me and all of them.

Me alone, looking up toward the ceiling.

My first thought is Milo’s camera.

The one he installed above my bed. The one he said only I controlled.

The footage plays on a loop. Every screen. Every angle. Every intimate moment we shared in that room, playing on every wall at once like a gallery exhibition of everything I’ve ever done naked.

“Milo,” I say.

He’s still lying down, arm over his eyes. “Hmm?”