Page 5 of Never Kiss and Tell

Bailey

“And how are you feeling, now?”

How am I feeling, now?It’s hard to pinpoint the exact brand of disappointment I feel. Yes, I’m sad. Yes, I miss him. Neither of those options sums up how I’m feeling, though.

“I’m . . . relieved, I guess.”

Dr. Kenya Statham watches me over the top of her chic, black glasses. She takes them off, biting the end of one of the arms like she’s in some kind of naughty librarian porno.

“Can you explain to me why you feel relieved?”

I suck in a deep breath and wipe my clammy hands on my jeans. This is our eleventh appointment together and I still get nervous. Talking my feelings out isn’t my thing, but it was heavily implied by my mother that I needed to see a professional to get all my thoughts out.

“I guess because I already kind of knew something was going on.”

It leaves a sour taste in my mouth to admit it, but I know that’s what Kenya is looking for. Might as well give her what she wants so she doesn’t hound me more than she already does.

“And what led you to believe that this was already going on before you saw the proof that you needed?”

Crusty red lace hidden in the bottom of his laundry; I think. “There were a lot of signs. Coming home late, constantly pressuring me for weird things in the bedroom, he stopped replying to my messages when we were apart.”

“And what kind of weird things was he pressuring you for in the bedroom?”

Warmth spreads up my neck and cheeks. Kenya notices, her eyes narrowing just a hair. To most, it probably wouldn’t be noticeable, but to me, I picked up on the silent cue that she was tired of me beating around the bush.

“Bailey,” she starts, setting her clipboard down on the end table beside her. “You know that I am a sex and marital coach, as well. I do not judge.”

I nod, a certain queasiness starting in my stomach. That’s why Mom wanted me to come see her. I guess she thought Kenya could fix what’s broken between Drew and I. I beg to differ. “He wanted . . . anal,” I murmur, rolling my eyes to hide my embarrassment. “He wanted to tie me up, hit me. Completely out of character for him.”

“As opposed to what he was like in the beginning?”

“Yes,” I murmur, my skin suddenly too tight. I feel like I’m going to puke as saliva pools in my mouth. “I agreed to try it once. I didn’t like it.”

“And you told him to stop?”

The images of that night play back to me on a constant loop. The belt. The leather bounds he put on my wrists to secure me to the bed. Thepain. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before because I was unable to move.

“I did. He stopped. Then he left.”

“Did he perform any aftercare for you after he left?”

What the hell is aftercare?

I shook my head. “He, uh . . .” I clear my throat, clutching the locket around my neck tightly. “He left me there, tied up. He said it was mypunishment, whatever the hell that means. Luckily, my sister showed up to grab something from my closet and found me like that.”

Kenya is quiet for a moment, letting me process my emotions. Joke’s on her . . . I’ve played over the scenario a million times and each time I come up with the same fucked up conclusion: that I’m a broken, emotional, newly single millennial, living in a world of secret kinky sex and politicians.

“I’m very sorry that happened to you. BDSM is about letting go of your inhibitions while trusting that your partner is well equipped to take care of you. Aftercare is just as important as the act, in any sexual relationship. It should be entered into with the utmost care.”

I grimace. I’ve only had one BDSM partner and that turned out to be a huge flop. I don’t see myself falling into that trap anytime soon.

“As for your feelings of relief, I think it’s important to take a step back and look at the big picture. You are relieved, but I get the sense that you feel guilty for feeling so. Is this attributed to familial expectations?”

She really hit the nail on the head with that statement. Since I had called off my engagement from Drew, my mother has been up in arms with me, threatening to throw me out on the street at times if I don’t agree to work on things with him.

Sometimes — most of the time, I think she likes him more than me.

“Yes. It’s been six months, but I don’t think she really cares. It just looks bad for my stepdad that his stepdaughter broke off her engagement with his apprentice.”

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