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“All right," she snaps at the computer. "I get it. I'm slowing down! Gods!" "Activating Generic Ocular Display Sequence. G.O.D.S." The front of her shuttle goes transparent and Vol experiences a nauseating wave of vertigo. "No, that's not what I meant! It's an expression! What the hell?" "Error. Request must be made in the form of a command." "Oh, f*** you." "Error. Command not recognised." "I'm not surprised," Vol mutters.”

“It still felt wrong sometimes. Like something she shouldn't want. But other times she'd catch herself looking at the marks he'd left on her skin, pressing them just to feel the shallow echoes of his touch, and something would catch in her throat and in those moments she could almost understand. The lines had been blurred and redrawn so many times that she was sometimes no longer sure where they were until they were wrapped around her throat.”

“I couldn't tell anyone how I felt because I knew they wouldn't understand. Oh, poor little Christina, falling for the bad man who treats her like dirt because she didn't know any better. And isn't it a pity that they don't still teach sex-ed in schools? Or, oh, Christina, that filthy slut, if she puts out for a man like that, I imagine she puts out for anyone. You stay away from her. It wasn't like that at all. Maybe it would have been easier if it was, just like ticking a box. Are you the Madonna, or the whore? The victim, or the vixen? The Sabine, or the skank? But nothing in life is ever that simple.”

“Being a victim is supposed to set you free; it acquits you of any agency, any sense of responsibility to the person who did you harm. It's not your fault, they say. Leave him, they say. Nobody ever tells you what to do if leaving isn't an option. They just call you stupid. A dumb bitch. Sympathy is only meted out if you follow all of society's rules for how a victim is supposed to behave.”

“My sub doesn't pay for me,” he says, pulling me to my feet. “That just doesn't happen.” “But we ordered so much,” I say helplessly. “It made you happy,” he says simply. “Now I get to play with you. And that makes me happy.” “I don't think it's that simple an equation.” “Maybe not,” he concedes. “But then, if if sex were the same thing as math, a lot more people would be lining up to take calculus.”

“What a joke, coming from a woman who worked for the fashion industry. Really. Starving yourself to fit into a size zero — why did that size even exist? Zero referred to the absence of something, but what did it mean in terms of a model's measurements? Her fat? Or her presence? How much could you cut away before the person herself vanished? It was hypocritical, that's what it was. I said as much, adding, “If you're so keen on me being healthy then you should have no problem accepting me for the way I am. That's what's healthy, Mom. Not being focused on all this freaky weight-loss stuff.”

“I’m not usually into Asian guys,” she blurted. David resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “All right,” he said evenly, picking his drink up. “Fuck you, then.” “Wait!” Her cheeks colored. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said that.” “Because you’re not into Asian guys, I imagine,” David said, folding his arms.”

“I participate in BDSM, but I wasn't abused as a child. I don't hate women, or particularly enjoy hurting women. Sometimes I make them feel pain, but it's consensual, it serves a purpose—to get them off—and they can indicate that they wish me to stop at any time. I do like the power I get from total submission, and the trust that my partner puts in me to give me everything, from her mind to her body, while expecting nothing in return—except the understanding that I won't violate that trust.”

“At first you might wonder what you did to deserve such treatment. Nothing, probably, so that doesn't matter. What matters is that, eventually, the abuse becomes the status quo. It's no longer about the whats and whys (“what did I do?” “why are they doing this?”) but the whens and hows (“when are they going to do it?” “how are they going to get me?”). Persecution becomes inevitable, inescapable. And once you get into the victim mindset, you're fucked. The bullies don't even need to hurt you now; your poor, warped, pathetic brain is doing half the work for them.”