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Something inside me twists at the pet name. But I tell him what I’m thinking because that’s who I am. I don’t have a choice.
“I’m a good person, Trap. I follow the rules. I’m the type of person who goes to the police, who explains what happened, who relies on the system to do what has to be done.”
“Princess, maybe youwerethat person. Maybe youusedto live in a black-and-white world with absolute right and absolute wrong. But you’re inmyworld now. Welcome to the world of gray.”
I shake my head. “That can’t be true.”
He reaches out, catching my chin between his finger and his thumb. I don’t want to look at him. Don’t want to pull away.
“Is it right,” he asks, “that I tie you up and hurt you?” Before I can answer, he tightens his grip. “Is it right that you like it? Is it right that you’re getting wet right now, just thinking about what I can order you to do?”
I can’t say yes. I can’t say no. What we do—what wehave—is rightandwrong. It’s good and bad. It’s sane and insane, and if the only way I can keep it, the only way I can preserve that beautiful, terrifying gray is to step off this plane and tell the fractured story Trap is spinning out of whole cloth…
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay?”
“Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll say what I have to say. I’ll tell them what they need to hear.”
“Good girl.”
They’re two simple words. Words I thought I hated when I was an independent grad student, when relationships could be sawed into perfect cubes and fit into neat little boxes.
But I need those words now. Ilustfor those words. They’re the perfect capsule of everything Trap is for me, everything he does for me, everything we are together.
So I’m not surprised when he says: “Right here. Right now. We’re going over your answers to all the questions you’ll face from the cops.”
I’m tired. And I don’t believe this will work. But Trap cares about it so much—cares aboutmeso much—that I sit back in my chair and nod my acceptance.
I don’t realize how tense he was until he rubs his face with both hands. He tugs at his hair hard, like punishing himself will make everything better.
“Okay,” he says. “First things first. The only thing you say to the press isno comment.”
I shrug. That’s basic. And it won’t be enough, not in the long run. But I can agree for now.
“I need to hear you say it,” he pushes. “No comment.”
“No comment.”
“And if the police get you alone, your only words areI want a lawyer.”
I give him what he needs. “I want a lawyer.”
“Now, if Samantha’s with you, or your own lawyer, the one she’s lining up right now, you’ll have to answer questions. So will I. And it’s important we both remember things the same way.”
I hear every word he says. And I hear all the ones he doesn’t risk out loud. I understand that we aren’t just talking about whetherI’llgo free. Trap’s life is on the line too.
So I sit up straighter in my chair. I drain the last of my coffee, hoping it will sharpen my thoughts. I take a steadying breath. And I say, “Ask away.”
“Where did you and I meet?”
“At Debasement,” I say.
“When?”
“My birthday, three years ago. June 21.”
“What happened after that night?”
