Page 8 of Interview with a Sadist
“I see,” I say. “That’s very responsible of you to go out and do your own research. Do you mind if I ask what feelings you were having that made you look for such understanding?”
Nolan suddenly goes still. His blue eyes bore into me, pinning me to the couch while he sits with his muscles loose but unmoving beneath his tailored clothes. His eyes latch onto mine and I can feel them asking if I really want to know the answer to the question I just asked. He waits, giving me ample time to take it back, but I don’t. I’m a journalist. Our readers deserve to know what made the owner of The Black Collar who he is. Plus, while I’m being driven by the interest of the Philadelphia Inquirer’s readers, my own curiosity is in the passenger’s seat, along for the ride.
The side of Nolan’s mouth twitches upward, giving me the briefest, most subtle tease of a smile that nearly sends me reeling, but it’s his words that complete the job.
“The feeling I had …have… is a desire,” Nolan says, his eyes never leaving mine. “I did my own research because I needed to know why I had such a strong desire to cause pain.”
My eyes bulge before I can stop them, and Nolan finally lets go when he sees me. He smiles from ear to ear, and it’s breathtaking, sending a monsoon of pins and needles splashing up my entire body. It takes a full five seconds for me to clear the fog in my head, and Nolan watches in amusement the entire time.
“A desire to … cause pain?” I ask, my voice sounding weak and wavy. “You enjoy hurting people?”
“Yes,” he states, still grinning. “I find pleasure and sexual gratification in inflicting pain on others, Bree. I’m a sadist.”
ChapterSix
I’m stunned into silence. Nolan looks at me with delight dancing in his eyes as my shocked expression cements itself on my face. I don’t even know what to think, let alone say, so my recorder sits on the table in front of us picking up nothing but the sound of our breathing. I know I have questions written on the notepad in my hands, but the pen I wrote them with may as well have been filled with invisible ink, because the page is basically blank to me now. The questions no longer exist. The Inquirer’s readers no longer matter. There’s only my awe … and curiosity.
“Bree,” Nolan calls to me, tilting his head to the side. “Shall we continue?”
After exhaling, I suck in a deep breath to steady myself. I’ve never been so thrown off during an interview before, and it’s frustrating that Nolan has had this effect on me. I’m the best interviewer at the Inquirer, but I can’t seem to get myself back on track.
“I’m not sure I understand,” I finally say. “You’re asadist?”
“Yes,” Nolan answers without hesitation. He isn’t even remotely ashamed of it.
“I just … I don’t understand.”
“What do you not understand?”
“You like hurting people,” I snap, caught off guard by my own emotion. “The way I was raised, people who like to inflict pain on others are sadistic, emotionless, sociopaths. That’ssociopathicbehavior, and I don’t understand how you can admit it with such pride in your voice. I’m just shocked, that’s all.”
Nolan raises his eyebrows but doesn’t lose his cool.
“I can see that,” he says, and I’m instantly annoyed by the amusement in his voice. “Luckily, I’m very used to the incorrect assumptions made about me and the BDSM community in general, so I’m not offended.”
“I am,” I snip.
“I’ve offended you?”
“Well … I don’t know, but I feel some type of way about this,” I say, blind to the fact that the interview is going completely off the rails, and we haven’t even gotten to the meat and potatoes of it yet. “Hurting people is objectively wrong.”
“No, hurting people issubjectivelywrong,” Nolan rebuts. “If I were to hurt you, or anybody else for that matter, without your consent, then that would be wrong. However—”
“Who in their right mind would everconsentto being hurt?” I bark, cutting him off. I expect Nolan’s response to match my intensity, but he remains calm and collected with his arm resting on the back of the couch.
“Lots of people would consent to it,” he says, before raising his arms and gesturing to the office in front of us. “In this community, in this world of ours, nothing is off limits as long as there’s consent. If I have my partner's permission to hurt them, then I will gladly cause them a world of pain for their pleasure.”
“I … that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Toyou,” Nolan says stiffly, finally expressing some emotion before reining it in. “This is precisely why I’m doing this interview, Miss Barrett. I want people like you to understand that it’s okay for things to not make sense to you, as long as they make sense to the people enjoying their lives. Sadists and masochists aren’t doing anything wrong. We’re not hurting anyone by partaking in our own pleasures, behind closed doors, with the partners of our choosing. Between the two of us,you’rethe one who’s in the wrong.”
My brows shoot to the top of my head. “Me?”
“Yes,you,” Nolan answers quickly. “I’m simply living my life and hurting no one—”
“How can you keep saying you’re not hurting anyone when you’re asadist?”
“Whileyou, Miss Barrett, are riding your imaginary high horse and judging me for doing things I have consent to do. It has nothing to do with you. Just because your mind is not open enough to understand it, doesn’t change the fact that it’s a pleasure to cause pain for some people, and it’s a pleasure to receive it as well.”
