Page 44 of Shame

“What will happen?”

“Self-doubt. Panic? Self-recrimination.”

“I’m familiar with all three. I call them the shame monster.”

I look at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Therapy.”

That’ll do it.

“How’s the stillness going now?”

“We’re still talking,” I point out.

He mimes zipping up his mouth. Then he pours the wine, and it’s good. We make it almost to the end of the bottle, just sitting there together, sipping the bubbly.

“It’s a bit of a bittersweet end to the day,” I finally say.

“Yeah.” He brushes his pinky finger against mine. “Is that what came out of the stillness for you?”

“Yeah.” I make a face, then realize my eyes are wet. I swipe away the sad tears.

“I’m sorry I’ve broken everything so badly.” The way his voice cracks, I know he’s sitting with an even bigger helping of self-recrimination than I ever could.

I move my hand on top of his and squeeze his fingers. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“It really was incredible.”

“EvenDeath of a Marriage?”

He makes a wounded noise that turns into a coughing laugh. And he nods. “Yes.”

“I have a confession,” I whisper, ignoring the fear wrapping its cold fingers around my heart.

He turns his head, his handsome face bare and soft and fragile.

For the first time in what feels like a lifetime, I don’t want to hurt him. “I’m sorry,” I breathe. “In advance.”

“It’s okay.” He pokes his tongue at the corner of his mouth, being strong and brave in the way that only being truly vulnerable allowed one to be. “Whatever it is, I’ll understand.”

Was I there yet? I take a deep breath. “I’ve been going to Alex’s kink club for the past year. It started as research.”

Luke’s expression doesn’t change, but even in the dim lighting, I see his Adam’s apple bob up and down, and then I hear a tortured inhale. “Oh?”

“It never crossed the kind of lines you crossed. It wasn’t like that. I didn’t want anyone else. But I started to explore my sexuality, and I never had any plans to tell you about it. Deep down I had resigned myself to the fact that at some point, we had fractured beyond repair. I didn’t owe you an explanation of what I was doing.”

“You didn’t,” he said softly. “I said it was okay, and I meant it. Thank you for telling me.”

I nod.

But I’m not done.

I’m so scared it hurts, in my shoulders and down my arms. I’m holding myself so rigidly it’s painful, but it’s painful inside my chest, too.

Like I might break if I finish the confession.

Like I might shatter if I don’t.

---