Page 50 of A Mistake of Worth
Henri stared at the carpet, focusing on the weave of the fibers because if he looked up, if he met Michael’s eyes, he might fall apart completely. “I don’t know. But I can’t stop feeling like I’ve forgotten something. Or... like I’m waiting for someone to punish me.”
“It’s alright,” Michael said, voice a soft constant. “We’ll figure it out.”
Henri’s laugh was sharp-edged, bordering on hysterical. “I think it’s the freedom. Not having every second dictated for me.” His fists clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms. The pain helped. Gave him something to focus on. “I feel... untethered. Like I’m failing at being a person. I mean, who needs instructions for how to live? But I… I think I do.”
Michael didn’t speak, merely watched him with that maddening, patient quiet. And somehow that made it worse.
Henri inhaled, or tried to. The air wouldn’t go deep enough. His chest compressed, ribs refusing to expand. “I know how it sounds. But I’m used to being told what to wear, when to eat, when to speak, what to think. And you choose my clothes and that helps, but everything else—” His breath hitched. “Breakfast. What book to read? My phone notifications. Such small things. They’re nothing. But I don’t—I can’t—even those feel impossible.”
His vision started to narrow at the edges. Tunnel vision creeping in. His heart hammered against his ribs so hard hethought it might break through. This was it. This was the panic attack he’d been fighting off all morning. The one that had been building since he woke up in Michael’s bed, safe and warm and terrified that it wouldn’t last.
“It’s pathetic…”
“It’s not pathetic,” Michael said. “It’s survival. You adapted to what you had to. That’s not shameful.”
Henri looked away.
“I don’t know how to ask for things,” he said finally. “Especially when I think they’re wrong.”
Michael tilted his head. “Wrong how?”
Henri’s gaze flicked to the nightstand. He hadn’t meant to. But he saw Michael track the movement.
And understood.
Michael’s voice stayed steady. “Would using it help?”
Henri’s laugh came out sharp and bitter. “What kind of person needs a sex toy to function? I can’t even—” He pressed his palms against his eyes. “It’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous. Normal people don’t need to be controlled with that just to get through the day.”
“Henri.” Michael’s voice cut through the spiral, firm but gentle. “Look at me.”
Henri dropped his hands, forcing himself to meet Michael’s eyes.
“You’re not ridiculous,” Michael said. “You need someone to take control right now. That’s not shameful—it’s honest. And this?” He gestured toward the nightstand. “This is a safe way to do it. A way for you to give me control without it being... without it being what Marc made it.”
“But it’s still—”
“It’s still a choice,” Michael interrupted. “Your choice. You’re asking for what you need. That’s the difference.”
Henri’s throat tightened as his tears threatened to fall. “I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”
“It makes it yours.” Michael stepped closer, not touching yet, giving Henri space to decide. “This isn’t about me taking something from you. It’s about you trusting me with something you’re choosing to give. Do you understand the difference?”
Henri wasn’t sure he did. But he nodded anyway. “If you’re the one holding the remote...”
Michael took his hand without hesitation, leading him to the bed and guiding him to sit. He crossed the room and opened the nightstand drawer, retrieving the sleek, charcoal-gray device. A plug—vibrating, high-end, deceptively elegant.
Henri flushed the moment he saw it, heat coiling low in his belly, shame and arousal rising in tandem.
Michael caught his reaction immediately. “Are you okay with this?”
“Yes,” Henri breathed. “The thought of you using it—” He broke off with a strangled sound, burying his face in his hands, humiliated by how badly he wanted it.
Michael gently tugged one of his hands away, thumb brushing over Henri’s knuckles. “You like it.”
Henri gave the smallest nod. “Yes.”
Michael sat beside him, voice low and grounding. “This is about giving you a space to let go, safely. On your terms.”
