Page 107 of Country Contract

Me: I want to watch bloody gory movies where men are bleeding to death. I want to get oral without complaint. I want to get a massage and be told how perfect I am, even though I’m bloated and a complete disaster. I want a new dead bug.

Heath: LOL

Did he just LOL me? He knows how to LOL?

Heath: Ok, now what do you really want?

Me: I meant it.

Heath: You want to watch men dying from blood loss?

Me: It’s my cycle, and you asked.

Heath: Fine. What are your go-to movies?

I think back on my last cycle, with Harrison. How he came over each day and massaged me. The movies we watched together and the time we spent just being. Hedidn’t mind any of the gore. He didn’t mind that I was horny, kind of aggressive, and wanted people screaming in the background while I sucked him off.

Me: I’ll get back to you on that.

I got my IUD years ago when I was with a long-term boyfriend and in no place for kids. I considered getting a three or five-year one, but I hear some women pass out from pain during placement. I didn’t want to be that woman every three or five years, so I got the copper ten-year. The downside to that is I still get my cycle. So, until I’m ready to have this bad boy pulled out, I’m protected but bleeding.

Pulling out my phone, I come to realize that I’ll be on my cycle right before I leave. I wonder if Harrison will be put off by a bloody show at the end. He offered multiple times to help me get off on my last period, but I wasn’t as comfortable as I am now.

I wonder how fast Heath plans on progressing our relationship physically. I just told him I wanted oral during my cycle . . . so I think it would be fair to ask. He asked me about my period, so I can ask him about his physical expectations.

Me: How soon are you looking to be physical?

His answer is immediate; I’m surprised he was able to read and write a response as fast as he did.

Heath: Tomorrow if you want. I could fly you home, or I could come there. You name it.

That’s not happening, especially since I was justintimate with Harrison last night. I don’t know if it’s out of respect for Heath or Harrison. More likely, it’s out of respect for myself and how I don’t want to move into anything too quickly. While I don’t hate Heath, I don’t feel the kind of attraction I did to Harrison when we first started all of this.

Even as my departure gets closer, I can’t seem to kick the chemistry. It’s just there. As I wait for Harrison to show up here tonight, my body is buzzing. I have this attraction to him that I can’t deny. Despite our differences, our bodies seem to know something that is basic.

I go up the stairs of this house and think about what I would do if I had a house like Hunter’s or one even small like this. A home that has its own plot of land and a driveway longer than the length of a car itself. If it was freestanding by itself without neighbors’ homes kissing mine.

Would black walls with gold and brass fit in a home like this?

What color would I want the banister to be?

Me: Well, I’m not quite ready for that. I didn’t think you would be either.

Heath: I don’t think I’ve been subtle about my attraction to you.

Me: I guess you haven’t. I appreciate you giving me the time I need.

Heath: I’m patient when I need to be. It’s a great characteristic to carry when you work in business.

When I get to my room, I pull out one of my notebooks that hold the poems I’ve been working on. Writing these poems has become a large part of my self-care routine. TheBDSM novella I wrote is coming to a finish, and it’s exciting to think about writing another one to carry on the series. Giving my female main character the strength to gain control of her life and find enjoyment sexually after her extensive abuse is . . . healing.

I’ve only had what I think are healthy relationships, but being with Harrison and talking to Heath are making me realize that they were too superficial to last. Heath offers stability and a promise that my other partners didn’t. Harrison offers passion and understanding, which I think some of my partners had, but not like this.

I write a poem about masking. About how sometimes we aren’t comfortable enough with ourselves to let others see our vulnerable parts. About peeling off the layers of shielding we have to put on to be around others. About washing away that mask and being able to breathe again.

When Harrison shoots me a text, I smile at my phone and feel myself relax deeper into my bed before reading it.

Harrison: My parents wanted you to come to dinner tonight. I told them that yesterday was enough. I did grab enough beef stew for two. Should I still pack that bag?

---