Page 12 of Audiophile

Carrying around this anxiety and resentment is exhausting. I wish I could shed my past like a moth emerging from its cocoon. I want nothing more than to see the world with new eyes and lift my wings to the breeze. I want to watch my fears shrink away to nothing.

But I can’t do that with this hanging over me.

I dial Amanda’s number, but shame burns hot up my neck and into my cheeks, and I hang up. I don’t want to tell anyone. I want to leave this notebook on the side of the road for the lambs to eat, and pretend that I never took it in the first place. But I can’t. My writing is everything to me, and I’ve stolen these words from someone’s soul.

I groan, rubbing a hand over my face. I’m a horrible person. I’d be aworseperson if I left Petra’s diary here to rot. Maybe one action doesn’t make a horrible person, but those actions pile up. Can I continue justifying and taking and ruining, until I hate who I am?

Fuck. Fucking Fuck. I hate this. I hateme. I hateeverything. Rage builds up and I want to stomp and yell like a toddler to let it out. My shaking fingers press into the paper. I swallow hard, forcing them to relax.

It takes a minute to unclench, and I smooth out the wrinkles my anger left behind. My thumb traces over her words,And yet, I continue to exist.I could’ve written that. The familiarity of them throbs in my chest. Her ink sinks beneath my fingerprint—an invisible tattoo to carry with me. OneI’mchoosing this time.

I close the book and carefully lower it back into the bag. I can’t take back what I’ve done, but I can give Petra back her words. I can offer her something that Kinley will never give me: an apology. It’s not enough, but maybe I’ll hate myself slightly less.

The number for her store is easy to find online, and I dial it with lumps curdling in my stomach.

“Mulberry’s, this is Ray,” a man answers. Not exactly what I was hoping for. “How can I help you?”

“Could I speak to Petra?”

“She’s not in until noon,” he says. “Can I take a message?”

Don’t you know not to give that out randomly?I want to reprimand him, but it won’t do any good. “No, I’ll call back.”

But I don’t.

It’s over an hour drive to Swift River, and it manages to pass in seconds while also taking entire days. I don’t notice any of the scenery while shame and anxiety build in me. It bounces out of my fingers and legs with rapid motions that do nothing to ease the tension.

I pull up to the mostly empty parking lot and dart through sleeting rain to the front doors. I stop in the doorway, because Petra is right there in the front of the store, oblivious to my arrival. I’m frozen, searching for some clue to the puzzle she’s become.

Petra is shy and bold. She laughs though she hurts.

She’s a reflection of how jacked up I’ve become. A victim of my rash, panic driven actions.

I swallow my pride, and step forward.

Chapter six

Reed

Petra sits alone infront of the coffee bar and bakery section, sipping a warm drink with a book spread out in front of her. She doesn’t look up as I walk over to the chair across from hers. “Is this seat taken?”

Petra bolts upright in surprise and pulls out an earbud, already blushing. “You’re—hi. Sorry, what?”

Her reaction ups my original guess. I’m ninety-five percent sure she’s a subscriber, though it’s no excuse for what I’ve done. “Can I join you?”

A short, bright laugh escapes her—like a car horn—and she claps a hand over her face. It’s unusual, endearing, and makes me smile. “Yeah.” She shakes her head at herself. “Go ahead.”

I drop into the chair, at a total loss for how to move forward. “What’re you listening to?”

“ASMR,” she says, pulling out the other earbud. “It’s a coping mech—uh, I listen to it a lot.”

“Ah.” I take the plunge. “Mine?”

“What?” she asks too loudly. Her eyes widen, and a new flush creeps up her chest and neck. She breaks into silent giggles and buries her face in her hand. “Oh God, it is you. I didn’t consider it until later when I—oh no. If you needed confirmation, I gave the game away.”

When you what?I want to ask. It would be easier to slip on my Daddy Knight mask than to deal with the mess of a human I’ve become. Especially when she makes me forget how much I despise what DKP has become.When you got in the car? Whenyou woke up in the middle of the night? When you listened to my audio?If she reacts this way without anything sexual behind it, I’d love to push her and see what happens.

“I didn’t need confirmation.” Petra’s cheeks darken all over again, and a smile tugs at my mouth despite the guilt I’m shouldering. There’s no trace in her face of the vulnerable, aching words from her diary.

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