Page 73 of Make Me Scream

“I’m not sure if that’s… allowed.”

Would it bother Lane? This belt is an ongoing interaction between us, in a way. By showing Joel, I’ve brought him into the dynamic, even if it’s just as an observer. What if that was going too far? I don’t think it is, because Lane didn’t forbid me to tell anyone — but having Joel paint me in it could cross a line. Does it, though? I’m not sure.

“I get it, Gwen. Don’t worry about it,” Joel says.

At the end of the day, it’s just a painting — and Lane has nothing to fear from Joel.

Maybe there’s a middle ground.

In fact, an idea comes to mind…

“Can I have the painting when you’re done?” I ask.

Joel nods, then leads the way.

—

I make Lane wait until the early evening before I text him that I’m heading over. He offers to have dinner ready, so I take him up on it.

The belt definitely grows to be a bother throughout the day. I can live with it, even if it is a pain to keep clean, but the tight grip and hard rod eventually get to me. I need out, and soon.

Except, the last thing I want to do is show up at Lane’s studio acting desperate for his help. I’m not going to ask him to release the belt until he’s apologized, no matter how badly I have to have it off.

When I arrive, Lane opens the door without a word, his expression neutral, as if he’s waiting for me to speak. I stand still and wait for him, refusing to blink first.

“Come in, let’s talk,” he says at last.

Satisfied, I follow him in, immediately inhaling a thick aroma of rich spices. Whatever he’s ordered, it smells delicious. As soon as the scent hits me, I’d almost rather eat first and deal with our conversation later.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says as we reach the kitchen. Take-out containers rest on the counter: three colorful aluminum trays and a container of rice for each.

“You can begin,” I counter.

If that pisses him off, he doesn’t let it show. Likewise, I hide the surge of discomfort as I take my seat.

“How was dealing with the belt?”

Can he tell how much it’s bugging me, or is that just a well-educated guess?

“It was fine.”

“That’s good. To be honest, I expected to hear from you sooner because of it.”

I shrug.

“It’s a little tight, but no big deal.”

“Sure. Okay. Well, I don’t want to play games. What I did yesterday went too far, and I’m sorry for that. I knew it would be a difficult experience, but thought something good would come out of it. I should have been clearer about what I was doing. It won’t happen again.”

Wow.

Now I actually feel a bit bad for expecting this to turn into a fight.

“Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate that.”

I’m still used to the boys I knew back home, who never apologized for anything, ever. They were all so immature.

Lane nods.

---