Page 77 of Lust

His gaze keeps shifting about, like he’s still trapped in what just happened. “The memory I told you about the first time we tried this… Every time we’ve come here, I try to focus on my breathing, but that memory keeps coming back. And the harder I try to push it away, the more intense it becomes. This time, though, I was sucked back to the worst of my pain—like when Cody brought it up in the showers. And then when your hand rested on me, something happened. Not a memory. I was right there in that moment, and I wanted to get out. But when I opened my eyes, I was still there, sitting at Dad’s funeral.”

“I’m so sorry, Luke.”

“No, I had this realization—it’s that thing you described, where you know but don’t know how you know, like in a dream. I think that memory is what’s keeping me from having the Moment. I must face it. Sit with the pain and despair of it until I get through to the other side.”

Even as he says the words, I see the terror in his expression.

“Does that sound right?” he asks, as if wishing it wouldn’t be true.

“I’m not sure. For me, I didn’t have to face any bad memories to have the Moment, but you’re not experiencing any of this like we did, so it could be that you have to do something different to get there.”

“Fuck,” he says, his chin quivering. “Not that. Anything but that.”

“Oh, Luke…”

He pulls away and pushes to his feet, heading toward the other side of the cellar, and I let him have his space. I wish I could tell him he’s wrong, that he might have misinterpreted what he just felt, but I know better. I know what those kinds of realizations feel like, and if he picked it up that strongly, it’s likely he’s right.

“You said my necklace was floating?”

“Yeah.”

He tears up. “I don’t want to do this.”

“You don’t have to do anything right away.”

“What choice do I have? I can’t let this go on any longer. We both know what will happen if I don’t find a way to get on top of this.”

We do, and he wouldn’t be the Luke I know if he didn’t consider that over himself. But in this moment, I selfishly want him to do what’s best for himself.

He takes a few more seconds before returning to me and sitting back down. His expression is full of worry; he won’t look at me, and when he does, I notice a tear break free, slide down his cheek.

“Do you need me to do anything for you?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “No. When you touched me, that’s when I knew I needed to do it on my own. No shortcut. The only path is through. The only way to have this Moment is to walk through the fires of hell.” He shakes his head. “Fuck my life.”

Silence stretches between us as my heart breaks for him. This is wrong. He shouldn’t have to do this. No one should have to relive the worst moments of their life.

“You should go,” he whispers.

“What?”

“It’s gonna be bad. Really bad.”

“I want to be here for you.”

“I know you do.” He reaches out and takes my hand. “And that’s very sweet of you, but I don’t want you to see me like this.”

That, I have to respect, but I have other concerns. “I want to be nearby. At least, in case something happens.”

“Maybe you can wait upstairs. Listen out? But you can’t come in unless I call for you. I have a feeling it’s gonna be painful. Excruciating, so even when it’s hard, you must let me feel it.”

I dread the thought of hearing him in pain. Will I be able to stop myself from bursting in when it was hard enough just to let him continue meditating when I saw he was distressed?

“You can’t disturb me too soon. This is what has to happen. The only way. And I don’t know that I can do this more than once.”

There’s not a trace of doubt in his tone. He knows what needs to be done, and it’s clear he’s doing this whether I want him to or not.

I cup his cheek, running my thumb across his smooth flesh.

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