Page 26 of Was I Ever Free

I place a palm on the small of her back and she jumps ever so slightly but starts walking almost immediately. The place is busy, packed with inebriated and lewd hillbillies hollering at the dancers over loud dad-rock music. Weaving us around the main stage, she finds a darkened corner in the back for us to sit. I promptly settle in, purposely positioning myself so as to face the stage and the front door, patting the chair beside mine.

I shouldn’t find such a sick thrill in Lucy’s discomfort. Nonetheless, I can’t help but fight back a grin while she slowly sits beside me, stiff as a board.

Thing is—I never claimed to be decent.

14

“How was your relationship with your husband?” Imogene asks in her soft voice, every syllable wrapped in silk. She typically uses that tone when the subject becomes too delicate.

Sometimes it feels like everything about me is too delicate… and it angers me.

I pick at a loose thread in the stitching of the chair cushion, facing my therapist, yet, avoiding her gaze as always, watching that same tree outside the office window.

I bite my lip, letting her question echo inside my head.

How was your relationship with your husband?

“Normal,” I finally say.

I know my answer will lead to more questions but I do not know how else to describe the only reality I ever knew. How else can I describe the way of life I was subjugated to from birth?

What is normal anyway?

I can fight against my past and blame it on a lifetime of brainwashing. But both Imogene and I know that deep down I was vaguely conscious that normal was a synonym for abuse. And why I was so willing to leave with Lenix when she escaped the second time with the help of Connor and the Sin Eaters.

“Lucy… you were a child for half of your marriage with him. Nothing about that is normal.”

“I am aware,” I mutter, wringing my hands in my lap. “Most of us were children.”

If I would look over to Imogene now, I know I would find her kind eyes looking tenderly my way. I would rather avoid that look as long as I can.

Her pity never tastes as sweet as my denial.

* * *

I am in a strip club.

I am in a strip club withBastian.

These two thoughts have been circulating in my head for the past fifteen minutes. I pretend to be riveted by what is happening on stage and ignore the heat rolling off of Bastian sitting so close to me.

I chew on the plastic straw that came with my vodka soda and finally sneak a glance over to the enigma sitting beside me. He looks displeased. But he looks displeasedanywhere. Still, not an ounce of him looks uncomfortable or out of place here. If I look hard enough, it almost looks like the side of his lip is tugging upwards, a ghost of a grin wanting to shine through. I do not linger on the sight, quickly turning my gaze back to the crowd around us, the chewed straw still lodged between my teeth.

It is hard not to avert my eyes when I find a few of the dancers grinding on men’s lap, it is an unconscious reflex as if trying to avoid anything that feels like it could further corrupt me.

To counteract that feeling I stare. Unabashedly so.

I manage to quiet my mind long enough to take in the woman on the main stage. The effortless sway of her hips and the twirl of her flexible body on the pole pinch at a confusing part of me. She looks so… free. And most importantly, sexually liberated.

The antithesis of the women back in Sacro Nuntio. We never spoke about sex, even amongst ourselves. I am sure it would not be called that evenifwe spoke about it freely—more like performing our matrimonial duty. Which is why it took me this long, after some private online investigation, to realize Patrick always took me from…the back. Why it always seemed to hurt no matter howpracticedI was. And explained why, after even more research, the mystery of how I never bore children.

It might have not felt like it then, but never getting pregnant was a blessing in disguise.

After a few minutes of studying the dancer on stage, I finally recognize the nagging feeling for what it is—jealousy.

Or maybe it is closer to envy.

Both sinful emotions nonetheless.

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