Page 47 of Shame

“You brought up kink,” I point out. I’m stupid, though.

“That’s not aboutsex,” she snaps. “That’s who Iam. You don’t get it.”

“Then help me understand. Because I know I’ve fucked up, but it isnottrue if you think that someone I…used…for my own pathetic purposes is in any way comparable to you. You’reMine. That has a capital letter. The only one that has ever mattered to me, as much as I fucked up and lost sight of it. Nothing that I ever did with her mattered in the least. It was disposable and stupid.”

“That’s not a name. Mine. That’s a possessive feeling, and probably misplaced.”

“Names come in time. With trust. I haven’t earned that yet.”

She flicks her gaze away, locking on a distant point on the ceiling. “Maybe.”

I swallow hard. “I have names that I’ve called you, and only you. In my mind.”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

My heart pounds and my palms are slick with sweat, but I push through the panic.Maybe she won’t like it.Well, she doesn’t like me much as it is, anyway. Might as well burn the house down to find out what’s in the ashes. “Baby girl. Little slut.”

She gasps and her eyes dart toward me before she can stop herself. Her gaze is wide and bright. Shocked.

“It’s not like I want you to call me Daddy or something,” I add desperately. “But I guess, deep down, some of that kinky shit has always been there.”

Her face tightens. “Got it. And you played that out withher.”

“No. It wasn’t like that. She brought up the words she liked, and I rolled with it. But it was just regular sex. God, I’m not a monster. And I swear to God—”

She blanches. “No? Just a lying pig, then? Got it. Go away.”

“Let’s not end tonight like this. Please.” I take a deep breath. “Look, I’m going to go, because we’ve had a lot to drink, and I don’t want to make you more mad. But what I said…please think about it. Everything you want? I want that, too. With you. Only with you. And I want to figure out more about that together.”

* * *

The first thingI do when I wake up is look up the sexual health clinic. It opens in an hour.

I’m waiting when they unlock the doors.

It’s not unlike my therapy sessions. Cool, clinical assessment. I cheated on my wife. I don’t know if my other partner had multiple partners herself. I think she did. Yes, we used condoms. And then the rush of shame. No, not every time.

When was the last time I had sex? Five weeks ago. I’ll have to come back for a repeat test in a few months.

I nod through it all.

“Has your wife been tested?”

“Yes. She told me she did, so I thought…that’s why I’m here.”

“If you have sex again in the next two months, or any time with a non-monogamous partner, you should use barrier protection.”

Numbly, I nod and take the handout with the phone number to call for results.

On my way back to the apartment, Grace texts.

Grace: Can we talk?

I text her that I’m five minutes away, and when I arrive, she’s waiting next to my door. She looks small and fragile, although it would be a mistake to ever think that about Grace.

She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known.

The most beautiful.

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