It’s fast becoming clear that I can’t picture my life without him, but I’m not quite ready to own it yet. Instead, I tease, “Now why would I leave, like, the best lay ever?”
He lifts me up and places me onto the counter, and then runs his fingers down the buttons of his shirt I’m wearing. “Best ever, huh?”
I open my legs, and lean back, smiling and seductive. “Absolutely.”
He shakes his head and sighs. “Do you have to be wearing one of my favorite shirts?”
It slips down my shoulder. “I like it.”
He grabs the fabric, pulls and rips, the buttons flying.
I gasp, the cool morning air hitting my skin. “You ruined it.”
He doesn’t speak, just makes quick work of the fabric, tying it so my arms are imprisoned behind my back, and my breasts thrust out.
I’m trapped. And instead of the panic it would have invoked, all I experience is a delicious shiver racing down my spine.
“That’s better. I like you open and exposed to me.” He rubs his lips over the curve of my neck. “Maybe I should make it a rule.”
I lick my lips as everything heats. “You know you could have accomplished the same thing without ruining your shirt.”
He shrugs, and plucks my nipples, hard enough I squeak at the pain. “I could have, but aggression turns you on in a way slowly stripping you of clothes never will.”
This is true. He understands me.
People take for granted the art of being understood. A mistake I’ll never make again.
“How long since you’ve had a panic attack?”
I push my hair back and smile at Dr. Sorenson, a real smile, like one I probably haven’t given her before. “It’s been at least a month.”
“That’s wonderful, Layla.”
I look at the box of tissues on the table between us. I haven’t taken a single one. “Michael is going to meet my parents.”
She nods. “Go on.”
My lashes flutter and I find I’m almost embarrassed to say it, but I do. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. Forcing myself to rejoin the land of the living, and it’s working. Every day I feel more alive and the numbness fades away into the distance, like all my bad dreams.
I’ve started sleeping at Michael’s, even when he’s working, and with Belle curled into my side, the nightmares have finally gone away. I’m catching up on eighteen months of lost sleep and wake up each morning full of vigor and hope.
I take a deep breath. “I’m happy. I want them to meet him.”
“I’m proud of you, Layla. This is a big step.”
I feel a moment of hesitation, like a hitch in my chest. I clear my throat. “You don’t think it’s a betrayal?”
Her eyes narrow fractionally, and she tilts her head to the side. “Let me ask you, if you had died instead of John, what would you have wanted for him?”
Of course, I would have wanted him to move on, to have a life and happiness. I’d want him to have every single one of those things we’d planned together. But, it’s different when you’re not the one that died. When you are the survivor, rationality doesn’t matter. “I would have wanted him to meet a nice girl who loved him the way he deserved to be loved.”
“And don’t you think he’d want that for you?”
“I do.” It’s unquestionable he would have hated how I’d been living. And if he had to share me with someone, he’d have wanted it to be someone like Michael. “It’s just, hard, you know.”
“But you’re doing it anyway, and that is tremendous progress.”
The words I’ve barely been able to admit to myself hover on my lips. They are words I should say to Michael but can’t, words that are bursting to get free.
Dr. Sorenson is the one person who knows all my secrets, both the good and the bad. She’s the one I tell when I can’t face them myself. “I—” I sputter on the word and try again. “I love him. Michael, that is.”
A weight lifts from my chest as I finally admit the truth out loud.
“I know, it’s written all over you.” She smiles at me, and her eyes sparkle and I see her, not just as a therapist, but as a person. This woman who has listened to me for countless hours rant and rage. Cry. Panic. And scream. I’ve dismissed her more times than I care to admit. Scoffing at her advice, mocking her tools to help me. But she has, if it wasn’t for her and our sessions, god only knows what would have happened to me. If it hadn’t been for her, maybe one of those times I’d held that razor over my wrist, I would have just sliced and let my blood drain away into the shower until there was nothing left.
“Thank you.” I can hear the sincerity in my voice. “You saved me, even when I didn’t appreciate it.”
She shakes her head. “I held your hand, but, Layla, you saved yourself.”
“Maybe.” I smile at her, the gesture somehow inadequate for all her hard work. “But I will forever be grateful.”
Ruby and I are sitting at The Whisky listening to an Indie Rock band play a kind of neo-soul. It’s a mellow jazzy soul mix that’s easy to listen and to talk over. Michael is on call tonight but instead of staying in, I use it as a chance to catch up with my best friend.
It’s good to rejoin the land of the living. To have a life that doesn’t revolve around grief.
Ruby nods at the lead singer, a tall skinny guy with shaggy black hair, dark eyes, and a mournful voice. He’s dressed in black jeans and a T-shirt with some sort of band insignia on it and his bare arms are covered in tats. He’s just Ruby’s type. The kind of guy she always goes for. I smile. “He’s cute.”
“He is.” Ruby gazes at him with an expression filled with longing. “We made out the other night.”
I laugh, smacking her on the arm. “You slut!”
Ruby giggles, giving me a suspicious perusal. “Me? Really? You’re calling me a slut?”
“Yeah, you.”
God, it feels so damn good I can’t even describe it. To laugh. To sit with a friend and talk about boys and life, and listen to music while you get buzzed on house wine. People always think it’s the grand gestures, but it’s really not, it’s the little moments. The tiny snippets that you remember forever.
Ruby scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Please, on Friday after the show, we kissed. There was tongue, some groping and a little friction. But, I have a feeling you were much sluttier on Friday night than I was.”
I try to repress my smile, but it spreads over my lips and stretches across my face. She’s right. I was doing many depraved things on Friday. Things that would probably shock Ruby. I shrug. “Maybe.”
Ruby throws her head back and laughs. “Well, it wasn’t anything like that. But he has potential.”
“Really now?” I glance at the singer again, and knowing Ruby’s past relationships, I’m pretty sure where this will end. Ruby has terrible taste in men. She picks tortured, starving-artist types with Peter Pan complexes.
Ruby holds up her hands. “I know what you’re thinking. But he didn’t recite any poetry.”
I raise a brow, eyeing her with disbelief. “Hmmmm… But did he play you his newest song and serenade you on his guitar?”
She presses her lips together and a pretty blush stains her cheeks. “That doesn’t count.”
“It totally does!”
“You just shut up.”
I chuckle. “Are you seeing him tonight?”
Ruby sighs heavily, glancing at her dream boy, who meets her eyes and sings right to her. Ruby practically swoons in her stool and I can’t help but shake my head. How we ever became best friends I’ll never understand, but I’m happy we did. She’s the best and I vow not to take her for granted again.
“So?” I prompt, when she seems to have gotten lost in the singer’s music and forgotten my question.
“Yes,” she says in a wistful voice.
I hold out my hand. “Ten bucks says his bed is on the floor.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Like you’re one to talk. What about you? Michael
probably has some sort of dungeon and wears leather pants.”
“He most certainly does not!”
“No?” Ruby’s expression sparks with interest. “That’s disappointing.”
“No. He’s not a prop guy.” His only real homage to his predilections is his bed, with all that interesting iron scrollwork that terrified me that first night, but now invokes nothing but heat.
Ruby takes a sip of her wine, glancing furtively at her rocker boy before tilting her head to the side. “What’s a prop guy?”
I run my hands through my hair. “Some guys like instruments, crops and floggers, spanking horses, suspension cords, and things like that. Part of their enjoyment is setting the scene, and mood. Establishing the protocol and ritual of the act.”
Ruby twists the stem of her glass. “But Michael isn’t like that?”
I shake my head and I can’t help the shiver that runs through my body in remembrance of his hands on me. Rough and demanding. Taking what he wants while he possesses me so completely I forget my own name. “No.”
“So you don’t have to call him ‘your lordship’?”
I laugh at the very notion. “Hardly. You’ve met him, does he seem like someone who’d want to be called a lord?”
“True,” she says. “So what do you call him?”
“Michael.”
“How boring.”
I roll my eyes at her and she grins. “So…” she trails off, biting her lip. “What kinds of things does he do?”
I study her closely, trying to gage the motivation behind her interest. It’s not the first time she’s asked me questions, passing it off as curiosity, but there’s something there that goes beyond girl talk.
I’m not sure what to confess. It’s not something I’ve ever shared and I don’t quite have the words to explain the dynamic to someone who’s unfamiliar with the kind of relationship Michael and I have. Or why I like the things I do. It’s a fine line to walk, even within myself. I decide to put the question back on her and see what she does with it, assuming she’ll draw her own line. “Since I’m not sure what you mean, ask, and I’ll tell you yes or no.”
She glances at the object of her affection, and then down at her wine. “Do you have, like, rules and stuff?”
I smile. “Not anything formal. If he wants something, he expects me to give it to him.”
“So, what, you can’t say no?”
I mull over how to explain, taking a sip of my wine as I think. “In a way. Everyone has limits. But not being able to say no is part of the appeal.”
The corners of Ruby’s mouth dips as her forehead furrows. “I don’t understand.”
I decide to try an example. “Remember in college when we went on that camping trip and they were daring us to cliff dive?”
She nods.
“We were terrified and didn’t want to do it. Do you remember how hard we tried to get out of it?”
“Yes, you went first after John whispered something in your ear.”
I laugh, a good happy sound, as I remember. The memory no longer shreds me with grief. Yes, I feel the loss, and I miss him with that ache that will never go away, but it’s not crushing anymore. “He made me do it. Said if I didn’t I’d pay.”
Ruby blinks, and fingers the choker at her neck. “And to think I always thought he was such a nice boy.”
“Everyone did. And he was a nice boy.” I wink, grinning as I recall with vivid clarity that day at the cliffs. “With a mean streak.”
She gapes at me, before nibbling on her bottom lip. “And the cliffs?”
I toy with the stem of my wine as I recall the sun on my face, the terror rushing through me as I stood on the ledge and John waited to the side, that telling smirk on his face.
I focus my attention back on Ruby. “We jumped, right? I went first and then you went. It was scary, but the second after you plunged safely into the water and came up for air, it was pure exhilaration, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was,” Ruby says, her tone contemplative. “I only did it after you did but we jumped for the rest of the day.”
I nod. “Just to get that feeling again, right? That mixture of terror and ecstasy all rolled together.”
Ruby looks at me, her eyes bright. “And that’s what it’s like.”
“That’s what it’s like. It’s why John forced me to jump that first time. He pushed me because he knew how much I’d love it. I didn’t say no because under all my fear, it’s what I really wanted but was too afraid to take the risk. When he gave me no option but to jump, it’s like the fear couldn’t get the better of me.”
Comprehension lights up her face, and she tosses a furtive look up at the singer. I suspect she’s more than curious, but I don’t call her out on it. Nor do I have the heart to break it to her that, despite his bad boy edge, her indie rocker doesn’t have a dominant bone in his body.
Instead, I just wait, sipping my wine and letting it roll around in her head.
She catches me watching her, and a faint stain of pink warms her complexion. She clears her throat. “And how does it feel? After?”
I smile. “Like freedom.”
I watch from the kitchen as Michael makes small talk with my parents and Derrick on the couch. In a white button-down and gray pants, he looks beautiful and slightly cruel, but so hypnotic, with his hard jaw, and strong features. When I’d first met him I’d thought him not quite handsome, and he’s not really, but he’s compelling and interesting to look at. His presence far more intoxicating than someone merely pretty.
I think of this morning in the coffee shop, the way the barista flirted shamelessly with him, and the fierce stab of possessiveness that had rushed through me. It had startled me. Thrown me off balance, and when he’d come back to our small round table and sat down with our coffee, I couldn’t seem to help the sulky jealousy. I tried to fake it, but it sat between us, until he’d smiled and raised a brow. One look at the smirk on his face and all my sassy instincts kicked in, and I knew I was about to talk myself into a lot of trouble.
And I did. I shiver at the memory. So. Much. Trouble.
As if sensing my depraved thoughts, his head rises, and he catches my gaze. A sly expression slides over his features as his vision flicks over my body.
A look of promise.
I give him my most bold, come-and-get-me smile, and flip my hair.
He grins and turns back to whatever my mom is saying to him.
“Wow.” April’s voice breaks into my thoughts, and a flush heats my cheeks as I realize I’ve been caught staring.
I take a stab at innocence. “What?”
She puts down the pan of muffins fresh out of the oven and removes her potholder mittens. “You’ve got it bad.”
I turn to my sister, this woman who used to be one of my best friends. I have a choice. I can deny, or I can bridge the gap. And it’s no contest. I glance at Michael. “I do.”
A wide smile spreads over her face. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Me too,” I say, and clear my throat, still not comfortable with the emotion that has been so long absent in my life. “I never thought it would happen.”
April’s eyes flicker toward Michael. “He’s different from John.”
“He is.” It’s the same thing Ruby said, and that my parents are probably thinking. Some explanations aren’t appropriate for family.
“I like him.”
“I’m glad.” I give her a genuine smile and her whole expression lights up.
She presses a fingertip against one of the muffins to test their doneness, nodding in apparent satisfaction. “I wasn’t sure at first because I was so surprised, but after the way he handled the panic attack I couldn’t help but be won over.”
All the things left unspoken between us hangs in the air. It’s time. I tilt my head toward the stairs that lead to the bedrooms on the second floor. “Can we talk?”
A spark of hope flashes in her big eyes. “Of course.”
As we turn, M
ichael says from behind me, “Everything okay?”
I crane my neck and offer him a brilliant smile, sinking into the safety I feel by his careful observation of me. “Everything’s great, April is just going to show me some new shoes she got.”
Michael gives me a nod so slight it is barely perceptible, but it still hits me right in the solar plexus. The subtle permission. The reminder of what I am and how this works, that power flows from him to me, and not the other way around.
Until him, I never knew I needed that. Now, I do.
April and I walk up the stairs and head into her large master bedroom, professionally decorated with cream, blues and grays. April plops down on the bed and crosses her legs, looking young and fresh as her blonde ponytail swings. “What’s up?”
Nervousness skitters through my veins and I take a deep breath. This is good. I know I need to do this, but it’s still hard. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you since the night at the restaurant but I haven’t known how.”
She tilts her head to the side. “I’m your sister, you can tell me anything.”
Tightness closes my throat, and I swallow it away. “I know, but it’s been hard between us for so long I didn’t know how to start.”
“It is.” She picks up a dove-gray pillow from her bed and hugs it. “Every time I try, I screw it up.”
“No you don’t.” I take a deep breath and let out the secrets I’ve been hiding. “I’m sorry, for lots of things, but mainly I’m sorry because I’ve been mad at you for something that’s not your fault.”
Her lashes flutter, and a frown mars her pretty face. “You have nothing to be sorry about, Layla. What you’ve been through, it’s unthinkable, and you coped the best way you could.”
It would be so easy to let myself off the hook she’s given me, but I can’t do that. She deserves better. When I speak, my voice is a bit shaky. “You have the life I thought John and I were going to have. I’ve been angry about it. And jealous.”
She looks down at her bedspread and starts tracing the pattern on the fabric with her nails. “You have every right to feel that way.”
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