Ann's face changed. "Really? That's what you have to say after everything I've gone through? You think it's about *you*?" Her voice was filled with awe—and pain.
Felicia sat back, silent. For a moment, all that could be heard was the ticking wall clock and the far-off sound of someone's radio in another house.
Then, with trembling hands, Ann reached into her bag and pulled out a small, worn-out notebook.
"I didn't tell you… because I was ashamed," she said. "Of everything."
Felicia watched as Ann opened the book.
"I used to feel so clean. So pure. But then it started… and I didn't even know how I got there. One night I was just curious. The next week I was addicted. And every time I cried to God and said 'never again,' I'd find myself in the same mess a few days later."
Her voice was quiet but heavy. Felicia's gaze softened.
"I wanted to stop. I *tried* to stop," Ann continued. "But it became like a secret identity. I hated it. I hated myself. And the worst part was… nobody ever talks about it. Especially not girls like me. Church girl. Good girl. Nice smile. Modest dresser. How do you go and say: *I'm struggling with masturbation?*"
Felicia's lips parted, but she didn't interrupt. Not now...