27. Chapter 27
Mal
I stare at the wall in Dixon’s living room, wondering how everything could have fallen apart so quickly.
One minute, I was riding the elevator up to the penthouse, a smile on my face after my evening helping Keith welcome a new batch of kittens, and the next…
“Yes, I’m goddamn angry that Mal—or Adam, as is apparently his name—is a porn star.”
I flinch when Dixon sets down a glass of decaffeinated iced tea on the coffee table. “Thanks,” I mutter, making no move toward the drink and, instead, tucking my legs up in front of me.
Niko exchanges a worried look with Dixon.
“Do you want to tell us what happened?” Niko asks, rubbing his palm over my back gently.
“I think I lost my job,” I say.
Dixon’s eyebrows pop up. “Did something happen?”
I cringe. “Kinda? Apparently Henrik didn’t realize I worked in porn.”
Dixon makes a noise of displeasure at that, almost a growl. “And that was a problem for him?”
“Seems so,” I say flatly.
“That seems pretty judgmental of someone who hired you as a sex worker,” Niko notes.
I nod. “No, I know, but…”
“But what?” Niko asks. He grabs my legs and tugs them across his lap, rubbing my calves through my pants.
Niko and I have fucked on the job, but we’ve never been particularly physically affectionate.
I think the man could tell I was retreating into myself, though, curling into a tight little ball where I could hold my issues all on my own.
Make them as small as possible and hide them away from the world so they wouldn’t feel as real.
I appreciate that he’s not letting me hide.
“I’m not surprised that he’s upset,” I say. “He’s very…possessive.”
Dixon frowns. “That doesn’t sound like a good thing.”
“No, it’s not bad. At least, it never felt like it.
It was more like…” I try to put into words the way Henrik made me feel.
How special. How safe. “It was like he wanted me all to himself. And before you say anything, let me finish.” I give Dixon’s pointed glower a look.
“It was like he wanted to be the one to take care of me. And he let me take care of him, too, even though he’s so guarded.
He let me see the real Henrik. And he put me first, even when he didn’t have to.
I felt like more than an object to him.”
I think about the time he made me pancakes. The week he spent nursing me back to health after the benefit. Visiting the cat shelter with me, and making sure I knew I didn’t have to pretend with him.
“I’ve never had that, you guys,” I say quietly.
“I’ve never felt so…coveted. So the jealousy didn’t bother me because I didn’t want to share him, either.
I didn’t want to share that with anyone else.
I just thought…I thought he knew about my job.
” I heave a shrug, exhaling harshly. “I guess I was wrong. I’ve never heard him so angry. ”
They’re both quiet for a moment.
“It sounds like you still care for him, Mal,” Niko says softly.
“Yeah,” I reply sadly. “I really do.”
“Did he say for sure it was over? Did he ask you to leave?” Niko asks.
I shake my head. “Not exactly. I ran.”
Niko squeezes my calf. “Do you think, maybe, you should talk to the man blowing up your phone?”
I look down at the device, buzzing on the coffee table. It’s the tenth or so time it’s gone off tonight, in addition to a few unanswered phone calls. I’m too scared to pick up. Too scared to face the truth.
Because I’m not ready to say goodbye to Henrik.
“Eventually,” I mutter.
Maybe, despite what I heard coming out of his mouth, it’s not as bad as I think. Maybe I don’t know the full picture. Maybe Henrik is calling to apologize.
Or maybe it’s all wishful thinking.
“Jealousy is a problem in our line of work,” Dixon points out, as if he can read my thoughts. As if he knows I’m running through the what ifs .
I nod, because that’s the real crux, isn’t it? If Henrik can’t accept me—past, present, and all—then there’s no future. Simple as that. If he can’t trust me…
“How can I trust him?”
The buzzer goes off, and Dixon gets off the couch to check the door.
“Mal,” Niko says gently, pulling my focus. “You can’t avoid him forever. You should talk to him.”
“Tomorrow,” I say. “I’ll call him back tomorrow.”
After I’ve had time to work through my own thoughts. Once I figure out what to say. Once I prepare myself for the worst.
When Dixon comes back into the room, he’s not alone. Alex trails in on his heels.
“Oh, boo,” my pint-sized friend says, frowning at whatever he sees written across my face. He plops down next to me, squeezing me in his arms, and my breath shudders out of me. “Tell Mama all about it.”
“Mal, I’d like to talk about the ‘stage fright,’ as you’ve called it.”
I nod, fidgeting with the strings of my lightweight hoodie.
Delilah waits patiently as I stall, my foot tapping against the soft, carpeted floor of her psychiatrist’s office.
It’s nice in here. Cozy and warm. The colors are light and airy, and the couch I’m on is wide enough I could easily lie down and take a nap if I wanted to.
But Delilah wants to talk. That’s what I’m here for, after all.
It’s only our second appointment since I resumed my therapy sessions, but we dived right back in where we left off before.
And even though I’m feeling raw this morning after my night spent sleeping fitfully, tossing and turning and resisting the urge to check my messages from Henrik, I know what we do here is good. It hurts, but it’s helping.
“It’s only happened twice,” I finally say.
Delilah nods. She knows as much, seeing as I told her about the recent panic attack I had at Henrik’s benefit. The first time was at an industry convention for Elite 8 Studios years ago, when I had to go on stage to accept an award. “And both times were particularly hard on you, you said.”
I nod.
“So what is it about the stage?” she asks gently, her legs crossed in front of her. Delilah is about my age, maybe a few years older. I like that it feels like talking to a friend. Not someone older than me, who might not understand my way of life. Not someone motherly.
“Uh. Summer Blessings,” I say, the words staccato.
“The abandoned church camp,” Delilah fills in for me.
I nod. I wasn’t able to tell her all the details before, but she knows the gist of what happened there. The so-called “conversion therapy camp” and the men from church who ran it. How my mom was the one who sent me there.
“There were a dozen of us. Kids, I mean. The camp was small, but there were some bunks, and that’s where they kept us. And the church. It was this, uh, little building. Drab and brown. Musty. It was basically a log cabin.”
I can still taste it in the back of my throat, the rotting wood from inside that old, decrepit church. It tickles at me now, but I take a deep breath, clearing my lungs.
Delilah gives me a nod of encouragement.
“Every day,” I say, voice tight, “as part of the program , they brought us there. Dragged us, really.” My pulse starts to hammer as I recall that terrible feeling of helplessness—of being too young, too weak, to fight what I knew was coming.
But I focus on the present, rolling my hoodie strings between my fingers as I talk.
“One by one, they would…uh, they would bring us up onto the pulpit. On stage.” My voice cracks on the last word, and I clear my throat.
“Take your time,” Delilah says softly.
I nod, bouncing my leg, trying to view it from the outside, as if it weren’t happening to me.
As if only remembering a dream. A bad one.
“They would strip us down. Naked. It was cold. The, uh, church didn’t have heat, and it was the middle of winter.
So we were already freezing. But there was this, uh…
this tub almost. Metal, big enough for a person.
And it was filled with water. Cold water, like ice. ”
Delilah nods again, gently urging me to continue.
“They called it a rebirth.” I exhale shakily, feeling as though I’m shrinking.
Feeling like I’m that scared teenager again, confused, alone, terrified .
Stuck in a nightmare that wouldn’t end. “They’d dunk us in the water.
Over and over again. Hold us under. To cleanse us, they said.
To absolve us of our sins. It was frigid.
I…I couldn’t breathe. And the whole time…
the whole time we were up there, they’d lecture .
They’d read scripture about sin and make us do the same.
” I shake my head harshly, feeling, for the first time, a tinge of anger overriding my fear.
“When it was our turn in the pews, watching, they’d make us recite those words about how we were wrong .
Immoral. And when it was finally done, when they pulled us out of the water and we stood there on the pulpit, dripping wet, toes too numb to feel, they’d tell us it was okay…
it was okay because we could still be saved.
” I look up at Delilah. “They weren’t trying to help us. They wanted us to be ashamed.”
“Yes, they did,” she says, her tone soft but firm.
“They failed,” I grit out, tugging at my hoodie strings roughly. “I’m not ashamed of my sexuality. I don’t think I’m wrong .”
“That’s good,” Delilah answers, her eyes wide open and kind. “That’s really good, Mal.”
“It didn’t work,” I go on, my body flushing hot.
“It didn’t even work, so why can’t I forget it?
Why do I still feel it, that numbness prickling at me sometimes?
Why can’t I let it go? It was just water and words.
” Just water and words . “It wasn’t like they beat us.
They didn’t do anything all that bad. They didn’t…
” I shake out my hands, trying to slough off the heavy feeling blanketing me. “It could have been so much worse.”