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The power I feel in this moment—not helplessness, not dependance, not pain—is as dangerous as the sense of escape he provides.
Full control.
And I haven’t had full control in years. Not of my body, my emotions, or my pain.
I turn my head on the pillow and gaze out of the endless glass, to the world beyond. A world I never thought could be good for me again. A world I thought I couldn’t fit into. But in this glass box, I fit, and it feels good, irrespective of the secrets shrouding us.
“You said you wanted to get to know me,” I say to the dusky skyline, my body still rolling in the aftermath of my release.
“I do.”
“What about other people?” I turn my head, finding him still propped up by the door, his head still buried in the crook of his arm. “Do you want to get to know other people?”
“No.”
“What about fucking them? Do you want to fuck other people?”
Silence.
I don’t know how we arrived at this moment, but it’s time to share some truths. “I saw you,” I say, my voice strong. Unashamed.
More silence, leaving my statement hanging heavy in the air. I don’t need to extend. He knows what I’m talking about.
I watch him using too much effort to stand on his own, pushing his body off the doorjamb. “I know,” he finally says, facing me.
“How?”
He turns, giving me his disfigured back, and walks away, not telling me to follow. But as I’m learning with James, he doesn’t need to speak for me to understand him. I edge to the side of the bed and reach down to unfasten my shoes, kicking them off and following him. He enters his office, and by the time I make it to the threshold, his naked body is propped against one of the windowpanes. He points at the wall of screens. I’m filling them. Every single one of them is the same footage of me. And I’m standing in the doorway to his bedroom watching him fuck that woman. I don’t know if I’m immune to shock now, but I feel nothing. No surprise. No annoyance. He’s known this whole time.
“Why do you do it?” I ask, looking away from the TVs.
“Release. Wildness. The thrill.” He picks up the remote control and points it at the wall, and the images of me standing in the doorway to his bedroom are replaced by images of me sprawled on his bed at the peak of an orgasm. Five minutes ago. “But my past encounters,” he says quietly, “pale compared to what’s on these screens now.” I feel him approaching, and he takes my naked hips, holding me.
“You have cameras everywhere?” I turn my eyes up to the ceiling, scanning, but I see nothing.
“They’re hidden.”
“Why?” Surely if this was a security issue, he’d have them on full display to deter people.
“They’re an eyesore.”
“That’s not the reason,” I reply without thought.
“No, it’s not.” He circles me, putting his imposing, hard body before me, and I tilt my head back to look at him. Now, I am surprised. I don’t know how I knew he wasn’t being honest, but I knew. And that’s adding to the scary that’s building. “But you don’t want to know my secrets,” he reminds me quietly. “You just want this.” His fingertip meets my nipple, and they’re immediately hard for him. I inhale, my knees instantly weak. “Don’t you, Beau?”
Confusing emotion creeps up on me. I feel like he’s holding me hostage. Playing with me. “I don’t know what I should want.”
He removes his touch, and it’s painful. So painful. “I’m not stopping you from leaving.”
Is he for real? “Yes, you are,” I breathe, my voice wobbly. “You know exactly what you’re fucking doing, and I don’t know why you’re doing it.” I need to get out of here. Collect my thoughts. Find space to find reason. I back up toward the door, mentally locating all my things as I go.
“Beau?” he says.
“If I go now, will you leave me alone?”
“No.” He reaches for me, and I swipe my arm out fast, knocking his intended touch away.
“Why, James? Why won’t you leave me alone?”
“Because you need me.”
Infuriation flames. I can’t control it, but I keep backing up. “And what about you? What do you need?”
“I need you to stop fucking running.”
I halt at the door, incensed. “Then start being honest with me!” I don’t know what I’m saying, anger fueling me, driving me.
“You want that?” he asks. “Do you, Beau? Because I already tried being honest with you, and I’ve spent the rest of the evening trying to stop you from walking away from me.”
“Then stop trying,” I say calmly, turning and hurrying away, not knowing what the fuck I’m doing. Do I want to go? Do I want to stay? My head is a fucked-up mess of I-don’t-knows.
