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He said, “Now you.”
I wanted Laurel to protest, but she took the belt from Don and sat in his chair, waiting for him to settle Clem over her lap. It looked so wrong, like Laurel was playing dress-up, pretending to be her father again. Clem’s face was bright red, and she was crying, but Laurel wasn’t moved. She said, “Tell Don you’re sorry.” And then she struck Clem—again and again, until Don said, “Enough. It’s Shay’s turn.”
I was torn. I can hardly describe it, the weight of the pressure, with all their eyes on me. I didn’t want to hurt Clem. Even if she did deserve it, a little.
Don said, “Shay. Be a good girl.” Like I was five years old.
But it worked. My legs straightened automatically, and I got up, took the belt, and Don laid Clem over my lap. She was warmer and heavier than I’d expected. A real human body. I know that’s strange to say. But watching her be punished, I’d started to see her as… I don’t know. You remember in elementary school, that one kid who never stopped acting up, bothering the teachers and interrupting class all the time, and you were supposed to feel sorry for him, but everyone secretly wished he’d just go away?
JAMIE:Kyle Barnes.
SHAY:Like Kyle. She’d turned into more of a problem than a person.
It felt wrong to hold her. There were raw, red marks all over her, and two pinpricks of blood where the leather had broken her skin. The belt trembled in my hand.
Rachel kneeled in front of me, breathing heavy, her eyes on the blood. She looked at me and said, “Make her sorry.”
I wanted it to be over. Suddenly, I hated Clem for making me do this. The hate made it easier to say, “Tell me you’re sorry.”
She didn’t. I could feel her body stiffen.
Rachel said, “Makeher,” and before I could think, I’d struck. Hit Clem hard enough to hurt my own arm. But she still didn’t say it, and everyone was looking at me, so I hit her again, and then it was easier to hit her than anything else. To take all the shame and confusion inside me and beat it into her.
Clem screamed, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,I’m sorry!”
I froze and dropped the belt. Don said, “Enough,” and took Clem away. I had no idea where they were going. My head was a mess.
Laurel said, “She deserved it. She’s being selfish.”
I couldn’t think… I might have nodded. We sat there in silence until Don walked back in, looked at me, and said, “Come with me.”
I thought I would faint from fear, or anticipation. I couldn’t tell them apart anymore. I could’ve sworn, when I followed Don out, that Laurel looked like she would cry, but I might’ve imagined it, might’ve been projecting.
He led me upstairs to his bedroom, all the way on the top floor. It was enormous, with a big bed in the center, all snowy white, and a wall of tall windows. Now that I think about it, I guess it looked a lot like this hotel room.
He shut the door behind us, and that’s when I knew I was finally going to get what I’d been waiting for. I was terrified.
He pulled the curtains closed and said, “Come here.”
When I got close, he lunged and gripped me by the shoulders. His fingers dug into my skin, but I wouldn’t cry out, wouldn’t risk messing this up. He spun me so I faced the bed and unzipped my dress slowly, like men do in the movies, until it dropped to the floor. Then he pressed me down into the sheets. Hard. I tried to raise my head, but he twisted his fingers in my hair. I started to struggle, but he whispered, “Trust me. Let go.”
I’d readTwilight. The library’s worn paperback copy ofFifty Shades of Grey. I knew what it meant when a powerful man, a man who could crush you, made taking you his sole devotion. I knew what it meant when he told you to let go of yourself. It meant you were above all other women, something special, and your life was about to be bigger than anything you could’ve made it yourself. It was what every woman wanted.
So I went limp in his hands. With my face pressed into the cotton, my vision started to blur, but I wouldn’t give up. Right when I thought I would black out, he released me, I gasped, and he slid his hand between my legs. It could have been the dizziness, the sheer relief of breathing again, but his touch sent lightning through my body. I shuddered, and he whispered in my ear, “No shame. Tell me what you want.”
I could’ve told him I knew he’d invited the three of us to stay the weekend because he wanted me so badly he was willing to break the rules, engineer the whole scenario. That I suspected thoughts of me had plagued him, kept him awake at night, until he couldn’t take it anymore. I’d had little tastes of power with men before, but my power over him was intoxicating, and what I wanted more than anything was more of it, proof that I was right.
Of course, I didn’t have those words back then—only in hindsight. So instead I said, “You tell me what I want.”
I think that’s what he’d been waiting for. He used one hand to hold me against the bed and the other to tug down my panties. I could feel him hard and warm against my back. He said, “You want to obey. No questions.”
I’d only started to nod when he grabbed my hips, and I drew a sharp breath. He clapped a hand over my mouth and said, “Only when I tell you.”
It wasn’t the first time I’d had sex, but it might as well have been. First over the bed, then up against the wall. When I tried to twist to breathe, he tightened his hand over my mouth. My world narrowed: There was nothing except the sensation of his body surrounding me, the rub of the plaster against my cheek, the desperate tightening in my chest.
Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, I thought: What would my mother say?
It was like a switch flipped, and I felt indescribably wrong. My eyes grew hot; then there were tears on my cheeks. I thought,Look at me. How will I ever show my face outside these walls?
