13.

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN.**

Xyriel's question makes me hesitate, my heart pounding really fast in my chest as I think about how to respond. “I’ve kissed a lot of people,” I finally admit, trying to sound nonchalant, even though all the memories that led to those kisses are so unbearable. It's part of my life that I hate to think about…the number of people I've kissed or even slept with.

There's an inexplicable look on his face as he stares at me. “You've liked a lot of people then, right?”

No. I haven't. I don't even know what it feels like to fall in love, I think. “No,” I answer simply.

“Isn't it pretentious to say kissing is only done between two people who like each other if you haven't liked anyone you've kissed?” he argues.

I swallow, feeling scrutinized under his gaze as I manage a response. “It can be for pleasure also. And, there are times you kiss someone you don't like in return for something else. Think of it like a trade by barter. I mean, I did kiss most of the guards in my former prison.”

His brow furrows in confusion. “Guards? Why would you kiss them?”

“Survival,” I reply, my voice steadier than I feel. I don't even know why I'm saying all this, but there's something about Xyriel that just makes me want to bare my heart. I know he's a bit delusional. Okay, maybe not a *bit,* but *largely* delusional. Still, I can't help but think he really wants to understand me in a way no one has ever attempted to in my whole twenty-six years on earth. “When you’re a death-row inmate, you learn how to appeal to the higher-ups. A little charm goes a long way.” I force a chuckle, trying to mask the bitterness that laces every word I say. “You could say I lost count of my… body count along the way.”

I stopped caring about my body count after it entered a *hundred and sixty-two* when I was only just eighteen.

Yes…I was a prostitute from the early age of fourteen…

Xyriel tilts his head, absorbing my words. He still looks confused. “Body count? You mean the number of people you’ve killed?”

“No, no! Not like that.” I wave my hands in a panic. I've only killed one person, and that's what landed me on death row, but I don't say that. Instead, I say, “I mean… I’ve kissed a lot of people, not killed them.”

His gaze is intense, unblinking as he processes my words, as if he’s trying to understand me. “So, it means nothing to you?” he uses my words against me.

“No.”

“That means kissing is just a tool for you?”

Even my first kiss was one born out of desperation, used as a tool to get a place to sleep during a winter night. It's not funny, but seeing how desperate I was to survive back then…I can't help but chuckle bitterly. “Yes,” I admit.

I half-expect him to judge me, but he doesn't. Instead, he simply nods and asks, “Have you ever liked someone then?”

“No,” I say, and it's the honest truth.

I expect Xyriel to ask me more questions, but thankfully he doesn't as he stands up and leaves the station and I see his survival coach leave the station immediately also. I'm left all alone with my thoughts.

The conversation with Xyriel has awakened memories I don't like to remember — memories of my past as a child prostitute and later as a club stripper. The club. It was where I met a man named Don Aurelio, an Italian mafia member who tried to traffic me as a sex slave in his underground club in Brooklyn. He was also the man I killed.

“Ophelia,” I hear a voice call my name.

I turn to see Caitlyn passing me a smile as she stands at my front. “Aren’t you meant to be handling some things for Dr. Alericap?” I ask her as I stand to my feet, trying to shove my former conversation with Xyriel to the back of my head.

Although, I still can't help the lingering feelings within me caused by his genuine curiosity towards me.

Xyriel might be schizophrenic, but he's treated me better than any *normal* man I've ever come across in life. I think I like him.

“Finished earlier than expected,” she says, bringing me back to reality. “You want to take a rest in your room? Tomorrow's going to be a really long day. It's the day—”

“*‘You’ll be going to another planet along with forty-nine others to save Earth from impending doom,’*” I finish her sentence, and she smiles at me. “I know, Caitlyn. But I'm still bothered that we haven't been briefed on what exactly we're supposed to do there. Everything we've learned has nothing to do with communicating with the people of Xyriel. What if we don’t even speak the same language? Or what if they kill us all upon arrival?”

“They won’t. Dr. Alericap has appointed two high-ranking military personnel to oversee this mission,” she says, tapping her hands on my shoulders. But I can’t shake the feeling that she’s leaving something important out. The way her hand trembles against my shoulder and how her eyes flash give her away.

“Is everything okay, Caitlyn?” I decide to ask.

“Yes, everything is. Why wouldn’t it be?” she replies.

I notice how her voice shakes a bit, and I can tell something is really making her nervous. I don’t want to intrude, though; I suppose it’s personal. “Nothing. You know what I just realized? This might be the last time I see you.”

Caitlyn grips my shoulder softly as she taps my cheek with her other hand. “You’ll be fine, Ophelia. Just focus on being close to Xyriel and surviving, and if possible, use your body as your weapon.”

I flinch at the last word, but I don’t say anything as I watch her leave. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised those words came from her of all people. What does she mean by being close to Xyriel? And to use my body as a weapon? I’ve been using my body as a means of survival my whole life, and I’m exhausted at this point. I just want to leave life like a normal person will, find love, and maybe one day start a family that I will love and cherish.

Caitlyn's words make me wonder if there will ever be a day when I won’t have to use my body as a weapon, or if there will ever be a day when someone would love me unconditionally.

Probably, never.