Michael's pov

Long after Rebecca had rushed out of my tent, the pain of her smack persisted.

It was the echo that persisted, not the ache. More than only my cheek had been hit by her hand. Something deeper, which I would not identify, had been cracked by it.

The maps on my knees softened under the canopy as I stood there like marble. It sounded disgusting and stinging, in my own words. "You are what I need you to be."

A falsehood.

A partial truth.

a barrier.

Because it was ...