Chapter 11 #2
Jayne’s words washed over me like a gentle ocean wave. Her light brown skin was illuminated by the light of her smile, and her amber, nearly golden eyes radiated serenity that matched my own. Her perfect black ringlets were shiny, and her deep blue gown accentuated her every curve.
“Notice the synchronicities, the repetitive lessons, the precognitive dreams, the revelations gained through pleasure,” she continued.
“And for those of us who have already conquered our essential fears, I urge you to never forget they can always return if we’re not careful.
We must stay connected, always growing and healing together.
Alienation is killing this world we love, but closeness will heal all. ”
I lifted my hands to clap with everyone.
“To remind us of what it means to step out of fear and into authenticity for the first time, I’ve invited the lovely Nova to share a few words about her journey.”
Wes slowly slid his hand away from mine. “Easy,” he whispered.
I nodded. Easy.
The sound of my chunky heels against the floor was covered up by the echo of clapping hands. When I reached Jayne, she did that thing wealthy Manhattanites did—pretended she was French and greeted me with la bise.
On the second kiss, she paused with her cheek against mine. “Speak from the heart. We’ll celebrate when you’re done. Tonight is all about you.” She pulled back with a wink.
My usual skepticism was overridden. Her enthusiasm and undivided attention fueled my confidence.
I took the pulpit. The crowd was silent, waiting.
My mouth hovered close to the microphone.
I thought of the hundreds, maybe thousands of hours of comedy I’d consumed in my lifetime—the rise and fall of a story, the tricks used to keep a crowd engaged, the bravery I thought I’d never claim for myself.
The audacity to lay one’s vulnerabilities bare before a group of strangers.
Wes’s words moved through my mind like a gentle caress, like he was right beside me. Speaking to the nave will be as easy as speaking to me.
I didn’t speak to the crowd. I found his eyes, and I spoke to him. “I was raised in a staunchly conservative religious community,” I began. I couldn’t remember what the community was called or where it was, only that this piece of information was crucial to the build-up.
I saw several heads nod, maybe in encouragement. Or maybe in solidarity.
“My friend recently said it wasn’t enough to leave a toxic place, or toxic people, behind physically. You have to leave them behind mentally too. And many never do, no matter how far away they travel.”
Wes leaned forward an inch. Above the crowd, I saw figures moving on an upper level of the nave. They were cloaked in darkness, their faces obscured. I might’ve gotten distracted by this, but Wes’s gaze focused me on my task.
“I thought I’d left home behind in all ways, but I’m realizing now that was a self-righteous lie I told myself because the truth was uncomfortable.
It is uncomfortable.” I paused to take a breath.
“The truth is, there are still parts of myself I hate because of them.” I shook my head.
“I don’t even think hate is the right word.
It’s just easier to hate than to admit something makes you afraid. Or, God forbid, ashamed.”
The crowd reacted to this line—I could see the agreement in their faces, their movements, but my eyes always returned to Wes.
“My roommates and I watched the movie Babygirl together earlier this summer. They found it hilarious,” I said, remembering the looks on their faces watching Nicole Kidman get dominated by her much younger intern. “But I had a different reaction. I was taking that movie very seriously.”
This drew laughter from the crowd, and it was different than Hudson and Delilah’s laughter had been that night.
“It felt like they were laughing at me,” I said.
My palms warmed slightly where they rested on the lectern.
The laughter stopped. Wes’s eyes were unwavering, steady.
“There’s this moment when Nicole Kidman’s character is sitting with her colleagues at a restaurant, and her intern is across the room.
A full glass of milk is sent to her table.
The camera only focuses on her and him, even as other characters speak—telling her they didn’t order it, not to drink it, they’ll get a waiter to take the milk away.
She tells them not to. She and the intern—her Dom…
” I nearly stumbled over the word, but no one noticed, because I could feel the command I had over the room.
They were enraptured. “Their eyes lock. She ignores the faceless voice telling her not to drink the milk, and she downs it in one go. This woman, a powerful, married, forty-nine-year-old CEO, chugged milk in front of her peers because her twenty-five-year-old intern implicitly ordered her to.”
I smiled as a small lump formed in my throat. I cleared it away.
“After, her intern finds her at the bar and offers her a good girl for her efforts. And that was that. My friends couldn’t stop laughing, cracking jokes at the absurdity.
And it was, of course, absurd. I thought it was just as absurd when my eyes watered, and I had to wipe a tear away.
Imagine crying over Nicole Kidman’s milk mustache,” I joked.
I didn’t receive the laugh I’d expected, perhaps because of the emotion in my voice, but I didn’t let that deter me.
“That was the entire point of the scene. The absurdity. And I understood in that moment, deeply and viscerally, that what the movie was trying to convey was that desire will always be far more powerful than shame or fear or hatred will ever be.”
A few snaps from the crowd. Candles glowed. Shadowed figures moved from behind the second story’s wooden railing. It looked like whoever was up there might’ve been wearing literal cloaks.
“My friends… they didn’t know. They didn’t know what I was thinking or feeling, so they weren’t trying to be callous.
I’ve only ever told one person the truth about me—about what I want, and how I’m scared I’ll die before having ever found it, let alone actually allow myself to experience it fully.
” I paused to laugh softly. “Well, I’ve only told one person, other than all of you now, I guess. ”
More laughter erupted, along with a few encouraging whistles.
“And I still haven’t explicitly said what I want because I haven’t left the shame behind, but I’m sure you can infer.
I mean, I hope I’m not giving you the impression my desires have anything to do with chugging milk—not to kink shame or anything,” I said, riding the next wave of laughter.
“I don’t know why I am the way I am, only that I asked God for a very long time to make me something else—anything else.
” Wes’s gaze was intense, his features full of an emotion I didn’t understand.
I only knew it was potent and raw, leaving heat on my body wherever his eyes touched.
It was like he was looking for something, something buried deep inside me.
“I’m still afraid of who I am and what I’m drawn to—it’s protective, like all fear.
And I haven’t ever wanted to change that. Until now.”
The last line, I’d practiced for hours, knowing it was exactly what Jayne would want to hear. I stepped back from the mic, and warm satisfaction rolled through me when this room of one hundred strangers clapped.
They were clapping for me. It felt like I was someone else, someone I never imagined I could be.
In a daze, I started walking back toward Wes, but Jayne stopped me. “Wait right here, darling,” she said. “You were incredible, just like I knew you’d be.”
“I told you all she was a star,” Jayne said into the mic, her voice seductive and smooth.
“Tonight, we’re offering impact, rope, and dungeon etiquette classes, as well as a few surprises.
Please explore, and find an attendant with a glowing badge if you need any assistance. One more round of applause for Nova.”
I stood with Jayne, smiling and at ease. When I tried to find Wes again, a body blocked my view.
Archer.
“You’re a natural,” he said. His eyes were hungry, raking from his wife to me. “Although I fear you’ve left us with far more questions than answers… Such a tease.” His smile was light and well-humored, even as his brown eyes darkened a shade.
“A woman of mysteries, just how I like them,” Jayne purred. “The milk scene was genius. I’m sorry your friends didn’t understand. It’s incredibly painful when our loved ones don’t see us for who we truly are.”
“Well, I didn’t really give them a chance,” I defended. “And it was an objectively funny scene…”
“Hey,” Archer said softly, stepping closer.
Behind him, I saw Wes break free from the huddle that had formed around him. He brushed off a woman in the process of speaking to him, his eyes never leaving mine.
“You can be vulnerable with us. We understand. We can hold the real you.” Archer reached out toward my face. I was still floating, untethered.
The moment Archer’s fingers brushed my cheek, Wes was at my side, my hand in his.
“So beautiful,” I said, scanning Wes’s gorgeous features enveloped by holy rage.
He squeezed my hand.