Chapter Honor-Bound
Honor-Bound
“Don’t answer if it’s too personal,” Liko said, as they walked back to the house. “But did you fall in love with Nomi first? Ethan first? Or was it a simultaneous thing?”
“Tough one to answer,” Dane said. “And not to be even more evasive, but I gotta jump in the shower before I can tell stories.”
“Sure, go ahead,” Liko said mildly. “I’ll look in on Jeffrey.”
“You are duck-whipped.”
“I am.”
“Fix yourself a drink when you get back. Mi casa es su casa.”
Dane stripped off his work clothes, left them in a heap on the mudroom floor and went upstairs, the house blissfully cool on his grimy skin.
His neck and shoulders were demanding to see the manager, and he itched all over.
Normally he’d quickly shower and then soak in the tub for an hour with a drink.
But he felt honor-bound to be a proper host. At least for a few more days.
It wasn’t a sacrifice.
He smiled as he thought about Liko checking in on Jeffrey.
Holy hell, Diane teased. Find a man who looks at you the way a Green Man looks at a duckling.
“No shit,” Dane said, soaping and scrubbing.
I like this guy, she said.
So do I, he thought. In fact, I can’t find anything to dislike about him.
The ease with which Liko fit in with Dane’s circle of friends.
How he didn’t make a sloppy move on Meggy when he was shit-faced.
His respect for Fred’s pronouns. The raving praise of Cora’s lunch.
The genuine interest in the farm work and his willingness to chip in.
And good grief, the look on his face when he stroked a finger along Jeffrey’s downy softness.
I see you’re petting a back, Diane said. I also have a back.
“Girl, get a grip,” he said, though he was grinning like an idiot. He turned off the spray and sluiced water off his limbs.
You going to tell him about falling in love?
Dane wrapped the towel around his waist and stood at the sink a moment. Steam had clouded up the mirror. He reached and ran his palm in an arc, clearing a swathe.
He looked at himself a long time, touching the scars on his chest, thinking it had been Nomi first. Ethan not long after but if Dane had to put it in order, then of course it was Nomi because of how they revealed themselves.
1993
Nomi turns her back and shows Dane how bra straps dig painful red divots into her flesh.
Shows him the bruises and atrophied spots, made from years of binding herself with Ace bandages because she can’t find a sports bra to fit her properly.
She lets him feel the tight, bunched muscles in her neck and back, the constant strain from being so top-heavy.
She hides the mass of her immense bust with both her hands and her shirt so she can show Dane the irritated, chafed skin on the underside of her breasts and along her ribs.
“I hate them,” she says, trembling beneath the cross of her arms. Voice shaking inside the chest that’s the bane of her existence. “I hate them so much. People say I can just get breast reduction but they don’t understand. I don’t want them smaller. I want them gone.”
Dane is torn in two. One half feels honor-bound, soul-bound, to simply attend and witness with no comment. The other half is terrified, crazed, adamant that what happened to him not happen to her.
“Hating my breasts doesn’t mean I don’t like being a woman,” Nomi says, in tears now.
“It doesn’t mean I’m gay. I know who I am but nobody believes me.
Nobody’s believed me since I was eleven.
All my fucking life, the things people said about me and the names they called.
First it was tomboy in kindergarten. By fifth grade it was butch, dyke, lesbo.
Then Mister. Then when these fucking boobs started to grow, it was slut, whore, easy lay, trash.
You don’t know, Dane. You just don’t know what it was like… ”
“Tell me,” Dane says. “Tell me everything.”
“Strangers staring on the street. Male teachers leering at me in class. Boys making a game of snapping my bra straps. Some senior jock got his girlfriend to steal one of my bras out of my gym locker. He tied it to his car antenna and drove laps around the school.”
“Oh Jesus Christ,” Dane says, hands going to fists.
“I slashed his tires and got suspended,” Nomi says.
“Good for you.”
“Two foster fathers each took a swipe at my tits. The last one? His wife took his side and threw me out. Nobody believes me. Nobody sees me. They only see these…”
Her hand slices the air and she almost hits her breasts. Dane catches her wrist, keeping his eyes above her collarbones, barely blinking. He feels sick and furious and so afraid, but he doesn’t let go her soaked gaze.
“They got to decide my narrative,” Nomi cries.
“They preyed on me because I confused them. They couldn’t sort me into a convenient box.
I wore my hair short, I didn’t wear makeup, I liked wearing boys’ clothes.
I had a body that frustrated men and threatened women.
Everyone treated me like a suspect. If I had a close girlfriend, they said I wanted to fuck her and all of a sudden she didn’t want to be friends anymore.
If I had a guy friend, then either I was in denial, or he was in my pants.
Nobody asked me. Nobody ever bothered listening to me. Nobody ever believed me…”
“I believe you,” Dane says, knowing it isn’t enough to say it to this extraordinary girl.
This tough-as-nails survivor, fiercely protective of her spiritual basket and slow to place eggs within, has literally bared herself to him, letting him look in secret, painful places.
Letting him see how the world has injured her while refusing to believe where it hurts or how badly.
Dane has to let her know just who she’s talking to.
Prove he knows how cruel people can be and he’s her ally.
“I believe you,” he says, reaching a hand behind his neck.
He takes the back of his shirt collar and draws it over his head, gathering it to his chest. Creating the same barrier Nomi has.
“I’ll show you,” he says. “I’ll show you what was done to me.
I don’t want this to happen to you. All right? I’m showing you because I trust you.”
His heart is an enraged gorilla shaking the cage of his ribs, as he lowers the balled-up T-shirt and shows her.
Nomi claps a hand over her mouth, backing away. The other hand piles onto the first, and she shakes her head above them, eyes flooding tears.
“I don’t want this to happen to you,” Dane says.
“Oh my God,” she says, voice thick behind her fingers.
“I’m not trying to one-up you, I swear. I’m showing because I’m really scared for you. I don’t want someone to just…carve you up and leave you with nothing.”
“Dane, what happened? Who did this?”
“I…” He looks at the floor, shaking his head. “I can’t tell you yet. I trust you, but I’m not ready to tell.”
Nomi drops her face into her hands and weeps. Dane pulls his shirt on, comes to her and they fall into each other’s arms.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” he whispers into her hair.
“I’m so sorry too,” she cries.
“I didn’t show you for me. I did it for you. Because I know. I know what it’s like to look in the mirror and be confused or angry at what you see. It’s been that way my entire life.”
She hangs on him, nodding, a hand at the back of his head. She was pruning the herb garden today and her fingers smell of thyme.
“Promise me,” he whispers into her hair.
“You do it right. You find someone, you find a doctor, you find the right person who will listen and take care of you. You find the best, you understand? No matter how long it takes, you wait until you find people who will do what you want and do it right. They’re out there.
I know they are. I have to find them too, see? ”
“Yes,” she says. “You promise me, too.”
“I will,” Dane says, holding her tight. “You and me. And Ethan, too. He doesn’t know yet. He hasn’t seen me. But he will.”
Dane goes into the bathroom and wets a washcloth icy cold. Nomi wipes her flushed face and manages a little laugh.
“It’s nothing a hot shower or a cold washcloth can’t fix,” she says.
“You don’t need fixing.” Dane tenderly pushes her bangs back and blurts, “I think you’re beautiful. I mean it. I think you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met.”
He can see the effort it takes for her to stand still next to the compliment. Her eyes close and she breathes it in, her tight shoulders softening a little as she whispers, “Thank you.”
“Listen. I’m just going to put this out there.
Whenever I have a problem with…” He awkwardly motions between them.
“With how I look, or how I feel about how I look, or sex or bodies or anything personal or embarrassing… When I need someone to talk to, I go to Huff Jensen. He’s always helped me.
At school, he gave me a lot of language and a lot of words and a lot of resources to help me figure shit out.
He helped a lot of girls, too, with all kinds of things. I trust him with my life. Okay?”
Nomi nods faintly. A little warily.
“I swear, Nome, I’m only saying this because I don’t want you to be in pain. If there’s a better way for you to bind your chest, a way that won’t hurt you so much, I think Huff would know. Or he’ll know somebody who knows. He’d help you and I give you my word, he’ll be kind.”
“All right,” she says.
“I’ll give you his number. If you want me to call, I will. We can call together. Or go see him in person. Or I’ll shut all the way up and let you do it. You or whats-her-name. Your phone assistant. Katherine Jones.”
Nomi laughs then, puts her hands on his face and draws their foreheads together. When she speaks, it’s in a velvety, professional tone. “This is Katherine Jones calling for Ms. Misteria, with a message for Mr. Strong?”
“Speaking.”
“The message is, I love you.”