"Damn, dude," Bast muttered. "Sounds intense."
"It consumed me." I was still speaking with my eyes closed, focusing on the flow of memory via my words. "She consumed me. The experience just utterly devoured me. I lost myself."
Silence, as I prepared the next phase of the story in my mind.
"Then, as I reached release from the fury of her touch, I became overwhelmed completely by the sensation. I was the rocket blast of sensation, it was all that I was, in my body and my mind and my soul. It was an unsustainably intense thing, Sebastian. My mind retreated. I don't know how else to put it. I couldn't endure it. It felt so intense it was painful, but a...a beautiful pain. Beautiful like a sunrise is beautiful--no, more than that--beautiful like...analogy and metaphor fail me. It was beautiful in the way a nuclear explosion is beautiful, in its way--a perfect maelstrom of power, utterly consuming, utterly and maximally destructive. But also beautiful and hypnotic at the same time, and beautiful and hypnotic because of its destructive power. That is as close as I can come to explaining how it felt for me." I paused to think, to gather my thoughts. "My mind's way of retreating from the intensity of it, I think, was to fall back into remembering the last time anything like that had happened."
"Meaning the thing with that bitch from your school?"
"Yes. That was the last time I'd felt such a release." I saw and felt the surprise on Bast's face, and explained. "To provide the sensation for myself, the way I imagine most other men do on a regular basis, is nearly impossible for me. The momentary burst of pleasure at the end is not worth the discomfort and frustration of getting there. So yes, what happened with Brittany was the last time, until I met Low, that I'd reached orgasm, not to put too fine a point on it. I was content living asexually for the most part--outside of the world of those thoughts, needs, and sensations. But Low brought all that out of me, and with a furious, explosive, fiery vengeance. And it was just...too much. My mind couldn't cope. My heart had been so hurt and so scarred from Brittany's prank that as I reached that peak of sensation, I fell back into that moment. I knew, in some part of me, that I wasn't there, that I was panicking from the overload of sensation, but it didn't matter. I freaked out. Had the worst panic attack I've ever had, and ran. Literally ran. It was just too much. And I tried to explain it to her, tried to work through it. But I couldn't. I just couldn't."
"Shit, dude, I don't think anyone would blame you for that, not with the way you're explaining it."
"I do, though. I blame myself, and I hate myself for it. I should have been stronger." I huffed a self-deprecating laugh. "It's embarrassing. I lasted literally moments under her touch, before making an embarrassing mess of myself, and her. I had the most beautiful woman in the world wanting me, wanting more both from me and for me, wanting to be with me, wanting to do...everything. Wanting me. But I'm so...so...just me...that I couldn't handle it, and I ran."
"There's nothing embarrassing about that, Xavier. I mean, in terms of not lasting very long, that's just natural and normal. You think I lasted for hours my first time having sex? Hell, no, dude! I blew my load in seconds the first time I got with a girl. And even now, despite being pretty experienced, Dru can drive me so crazy that I just can't hold out for more than a few seconds. So...speaking as an older, more sexually experienced guy, let go of any preconceived notion of what you think it means to be manly or whatever when it comes to lasting during sex. Porn and movies and pop culture and all that makes it seem like you're a pathetic dweeb if you can't fuck for hours, right? But that's not real. That's just not how it is.
"You connect physically and emotionally with a woman, someone you really enjoy being with, in every way, when she just gets you and knows how to touch you and knows what drives you wild? You don't stand a fuckin' chance, bro. You're gone--you're done. She's got that power over you. And, newsflash--that doesn't make you any less. It makes you strong, Xavier. Showing a woman you trust her with your vulnerable side, showing her that you can be all emotional and touchy-feely, that you can give her and allow her that power over you, Xavier, brother--that's real strength."
"It's hard to feel that way."
"I know. It takes time to work up to that kind of vulnerability. But it starts with trusting her."
"How?"
"By just...accepting the risk, I guess." He paused, eyeing me. "And dude, there's nothing embarrassing about her making you come, okay? Get rid of that stupid idea. Sex is messy, my man. It just is. And that's part of the fun. Embrace it and learn to love it. Her making you feel good, and you making her feel good? That's what it's all about--it's about giving to each other, and taking what the other has to give without reservation. It's a mutual exchange of pleasure. You give her pleasure because you enjoy making her feel good, and you accept everything she has to give in return. And yeah, sometimes it's gonna make a mess. And that's okay. That's what showers are for, bro."
"But I just...I get stuck in a loop, remembering--"
"Remembering what that fuckin' bitch did to you," Bast cut in. "Yeah, I get that. And yeah, what she did was embarrassing. But that's on her, not you. You couldn't help your reaction. It was a cruel trick, a nasty fucking prank. And that's on her. It doesn't reflect on you. What she did to you? That's not normal. That's not sex, or even basic casual fucking, it's just a stupid nasty evil bitch playing a trick on you to make herself seem cool to her stupid shallow friends, because she had no real self-esteem. Forget that fuckin' ho, okay? Forget her stupid skank ass. Forget what she did. Forget how she made you feel. It's over, it's done. You're giving her power over you, all these years later, letting her rule your brain, letting her ruin what should be amazing experiences."
"It's not that simple," I said, squirming in my seat; his words cut to the quick, and the truth in what he was saying was so razor sharp I couldn't ignore it, hating the way it made me feel even as I accepted the truth of it.
"Sure it is. It's exactly that simple."
"Oh really? Just forget it?" I snapped, angry now. "Just forget the most formatively traumatic experience of my life."
"Bullshit," Bast snapped back. "Mom dying was the most formatively traumatic experience of any of our lives, Xavier. We've all been through some shit, okay? I have, Zane has, Brock has, Bax has, the twins have, Luce has, you have. And maybe you haven't realized this yet, but Low has absolutely been through some hard, painful stuff, too. Everyone goes through shit. An evil bitch in high school embarrassing you--yeah, that sucks. I'm not gonna lessen it. You're allowed how you feel. But don't let it run your fuckin' life, is what I'm saying. Don't give her that power over you any longer."
I hissed a sigh, hating the emotions he was bringing out of me. "Dammit, Bast."
"An orgasm is a beautiful thing, Xavier. The process is beautiful. The experience is beautiful." He hesitated, and then tapped the table in front of me with a forefinger, getting my full attention. "Listen, this is just between you and me, okay? I had a lot of casual, meaningless sex before I met Dru. You know that better than anyone. I don't regret it, but it was just sex. For the most part, it was just a quick flash of feeling good, empty of any real meaning. Because I didn't know there could be meaning. Sex was great, I loved it, and I was addicted to it in some ways. I knew I appreciated women, because shit, man, a beautiful naked woman is one of--if not the--most amazing things in all of life. Watching what happened to Dad after Mom died fucked me up, man. Why would I want to put myself in that position, where I could be that ruined by a chick? So...I kept sex casual and meaningless."
He paused, sighing.
"And then, when I met Dru and discovered what sex with emotion and meaning and investment could be? Dude, my life was fucking changed, Xavier. Totally changed. It wasn't just about getting off anymore. Reaching that climax with her, giving her that power over me and knowing I have that same power over her...it's fuckin' beautiful, dude. It really is." He lapsed into another brief silence. "So what I'm saying is, don't let some stupid bitch from high school rob you of that beautiful ex
perience."
"You're talking about the difference between merely engaging in sex and making love."
"Whatever you wanna call it, but yeah. That's the essence of it."
"She's gone, though."
"Yeah, and why's that?" he demanded.
"Because it wasn't going to work. She's famous. She's an actress. She lives in Hollywood and does whatever famous actresses do. I live here. I'm me. It was never anything permanent for her anyway, and she told me as much."
"No, it's because you were a pussy."
My gaze snapped to his, hurt and angry. "What?"
He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "I ain't gonna sugar-coat shit for you, bud." He pointed a finger at me. "It could work. How, I don't know, it's not my place to figure it out--it's yours and hers. It could work, if you wanted it to. If you had the balls to admit to yourself how you feel, and if she had the balls to do the same."
"Women do not have--"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he interrupted. "Women don't have external testicles, I know. Trust me, I fuckin' know. It's a phrase, okay? And you know damn well what it means."
I sighed. "I suppose I do."
"Exactly. So quit playing literal to get out of putting emotional and mental effort into this, 'cause that's exactly what you're doing. I'm right, and you know it, and you don't like it. You were scared. She makes you feel things you've never felt before, and it's scary. You've been hurt, and you don't wanna go through that again. You don't trust yourself. You don't trust her. And maybe you just don't trust emotions in general, because emotions are hard for you, which is what you were saying when you explained the whole autism spectrum thing."
I chewed on his words for a while. Eventually I nodded, slowly, reluctantly. "You are correct in everything you're saying."
"Right, I know I am." He tapped the table in front of me again. "Yeah, you don't know what would happen if you tried to get with Low. Maybe it wouldn't work. Maybe you'd end up with a broken heart. But answer me this and be really fuckin' honest, okay? Did she ever give you a single reason to think she was being dishonest, or...what's that big-ass word? Disingenuous? I think that's right. Whatever. She ever make you feel unworthy of her time or attention? She ever make you feel stupid or embarrassed or anything like that? Ever, even once?"
"She didn't tell me who she was. She let me labor under the misunderstanding or misapprehension of her identity. And why? I don't understand that. Was it because she was embarrassed to be seen with me around others?"
Bast growled. "Yeah, that part was a little shitty, and I'm not gonna let her out of the blame there--she should have been honest." He met my gaze, and I held his as long as I could. "But I don't think it was what you're assuming."
"Then what was it?"
"Well, come on, dude. Think about it. The whole circus that happened when she got found out, those photos that went out? She gets that everywhere she goes, with everything she does. People are obsessed with Harlow Grace, Xavier. I don't know if you get it." He frowned in thought. "You ever Google her?"
I recoiled in surprise. "No. Why would I?"
"I don't mean to do it like you're snooping around her history or whatever, just...Googling her might give you an idea how crazy people are over that girl. She's huge, man, and really, her star is just starting to rise. She's only been in a few movies. That's a lot of pressure and a lot of stress."
I sighed. "She said something similar when we discussed this same topic."
Bast glared at me. "She told you all this, and you still don't get it?"
"I just--"
"Aside from not telling you who she was," he interrupted, "did she ever give you any reason not to trust her, any reason not to take her at her word?"
"Well...no."
"Then take her at face value, man. If she says she didn't tell you because of the fame thing, then assume she means it. And shit, she was here in hiding, and she came out to find you, to explain, because she didn't like how you got upset. That shows that she gives a shit, Xavier. She essentially sacrificed her privacy for you."
"She wouldn't have had to if she'd--"
"Xavier, stop," he cut in, calm but firm. "Yeah, she should've told you, but at the same time, give her some slack. Show some understanding. You don't know what it's like to be her, any more than she knows what it's like to be you. You want her to show understanding and patience? You can be difficult, man. Just being honest, here. You're hard to read, hard to understand. And if she's willing to try, and wants to, you owe it to yourself and to her to let her try, which means offering her the same understanding in return."
"She's gone, though. She went back to wherever she lives."
He laughed, then. "And? You're just giving up? She's gone, oh well, too bad? Must not have meant that much to you, then."
"She...it was everything," I snarled.
"Then stop thinking and stop feeling sorry for yourself. Man up and fuckin' do something about it, then, if she's that important to you."
"Do what?"
He snorted. "The fuck you think? Go find her, tell her you fucked up by letting her go, and beg her for another chance at figuring it out. Put your whole self out there, in her hands, and see what happens. Maybe she'll shoot you down, I don't know. I don't think she will, personally, but I'm not gonna lie and say it's not a possibility. And yeah, if she does, it'll fuckin' suck. You'll be hurt. And we'll all be here for you if that happens. But all you can do is try."
I sat in silence for a very long time, considering his words.
"You are absolutely correct in everything you've said," I said, eventually.
He snorted again. "No shit, Sherlock."
I stood up, shifting from foot to foot. "Sebastian...thank you."
He stood up and wrapped me in a hug. "I'm your big brother, man. It's what I'm here for."
I hugged him back briefly, and then extricated myself. "Still, thank you."
He laughed as he let me go. "Still don't like hugs, huh?" He waved a hand at me. "You're welcome. Now quit all this girly yakking and go find your hot, famous girlfriend and tell her you were a dumbass."
I was on my bike and hauling ass across Alaska within an hour, heading for California.
14
Harlow
* * *
The room was tensely silent.
Lindsey, Martin, and Emily and I were in a conference room at our production offices attempting to iron out a plan for my career.
The photos of Xavier and I had done wonders for my social relevance, but they came at a cost to my image, to my brand.
There were dozens of articles online and in print full of speculation and rumor and gossip. There were exposes on Xavier and his brothers, on the bar, on me, on my career, on my love life, on my stance regarding nudity and sexuality in movies...you name it, the photos of me and Xavier in Alaska had created a new focus for the info-hungry press.
Martin had received a slew of new scripts for me.
Lindsey was continuing to receive dozens of interview requests, and publicity opportunities for me were mounting up.
But none of these things interested me--I didn't want any of them.
"Low, listen--" Lindsey started, for the tenth time. "You can't just shoot down everything. You're back, right? So be back. Martin has a ton of scripts, and not all of them are shit. There are some good pieces in there. And some of these opportunities I have are actually very good. If you want to scale back from being as busy as you were before you left, we can work that out. But you have to do something, or you may as well just quit."
Martin grimaced as he looked at me. "She does have a point. There are several scripts in here--" he tapped the huge stack of paper, "--that would be great for you. I've vetted everything and this stack represents the best of the best. These are scripts that play to your talents as an actress, they don't have unnecessary sexual content, they don't require nudity, and any of them would push you along a viable path toward a more commercially successful zone--not to me
ntion being more artistically fulfilling."
I groaned. "I don't want to play the simpering, breathy, weepy love interest, Martin. I've read the fucking scripts. Yeah, I could play those roles. Yeah, I'd make money. Yeah, I'd get more roles, bigger and better ones. But that's not what I'm interested in, craft-wise."
Martin flipped through the stack and found a particular script, tossing it at me in irritation. "Autumn on the Mountain is a damn good script, Harlow," he snapped. "The character of Judith isn't anything like what you're worried about. She's strong, she's got grit, and she stays true to herself. But she still has a really strong narrative arc. Yeah, she falls in love. Yeah, there's a sex scene, but I spoke with the folks attached to this and they're clear about being willing to work with you on what you will and won't do regarding nudity. But you have to give us a little to work with here."
I pulled the script over and flipped through it. "I hate the name Judith. It's an old lady name."
Martin tossed a pen across the room with a hiss. "Now you're just being difficult."
"What about the Givenchy Couture offer?" Lindsey said, trying to shunt the conversation away from scripts. "It's solid, and they really want you for their brand. The photo shoots are spaced out, and they'll work with your shooting schedule."
"If she ever picks something to fucking shoot," Martin muttered, more to himself.
I shot up from the table, pacing away toward the window. We were in an office building, way up at the top, and the view from the windows showed most of LA sprawled out beneath us.
"I need to think," I said, eventually.
"You don't have that much time to spend thinking, Low," Martin said from across the room. "Offers will dry up, even damn good ones like Autumn on the Mountain. Givenchy will find someone else. Hollywood will move on. The media will stop caring. You need to decide what you want."
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