Page 10 of Press Play

Wren

Theo’s high-risepenthouse is lavish. While he places our usual takeout order at our favorite Thai restaurant, I plop on the couch and allow it to swallow me whole. The cushions are white and made of chenille. He has a navy throw blanket folded neatly in the corner, and I quickly unravel it and hug it close to my chest. As I listen to his voice in the background, a peaceful sigh leaves my lips.

I didn’t know it was possible to feel this way. For years, my body was at war with itself between stomachaches, never-ending periods, and my mental health decline. I was always in pain. I’ve dealt with stomach issues since the second grade. Mom and Dad passed it off as normal, so I learned to live with it. It was random at first, a stomachache here and there, but when it happened, it was brutal.

I would cry and beg for the pain to stop. The issue was never addressed. Mom told me everything was fine—and she convinced Dad I was too. I wasn’t provided with proper medical attention until it was too late.

To this day, I remember the meal that sent my health over the edge. We didn’t have much money growing up, and we didn’t have food in the house often either. Multiple factors played intothis. Dad was often out of a job, not because he wasn’t a good worker, but because my mom was always cheating on him. His trust dwindled, and he looked to drugs for comfort. Then, Mom went back to work to support the household, but this also gave her an opening to cheat more. It was an endless cycle. Over time, I learned how to eat properly and got on birth control to regulate the bleeding, so I’m nowhere near the shell of the person I was.

I’m content at home, but Theo exudes this natural calming aura and makes me feel protected. He always has.

And to think I was scared to tell him about my celiac disease. . . that he might disappear once I did.

“Wren, can you find something for us to watch?”

His words shake me from my thoughts. “I get to pick?” I call out while reaching for the remote. “What’s the special occasion?”

“I’m feeling generous,” he says while sitting on the couch, his thigh near my head.

While humming happily to myself, I put on one of my favorite cartoons, and my smile widens when he exhales, “Really?”

“You said I could pick,” I chirp while tilting my head to look at him, but my expression softens when I notice he’s frowning, and his eyes are glossed over in annoyance. Sitting up, I grab the remote. “I’m sorry, we can watch something else. What would you like?”

He covers my hand that’s holding the remote to stop me. “Put it back on; I just had a rough day. I’m sorry.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask while crossing my legs over one another, giving him my full attention.

“I had to do something that I’m not proud of,” he says without looking at me.

“Okay, knowing you, you did it because you had no other choice.”

“I mean . . . I did, but I took the coward’s way out.”

“What happened?” He finally looks at me, and I offer him a sympathetic smile. “You can trust me.”

“I had to fake an orgasm.”

It’s not what he said that makes me choke back my laughter. It’s his bluntness.

“Oh,” I manage while keeping my composure. “And may I ask how you managed it?”

“Do you really need to hear the specifics?”

“Yes,” I respond, even though I don’tneedto hear them. Curiosity has me itching for more details.

“You know Lucy, the woman I’ve been filming with?”

I nod.

“She was giving me head and using her teeth. . . on purpose.”

“On purpose?” I repeat incredulously.

“She said the other guy she films with likes it.”

“Are we sure he’s okay? Should we send him an ambulance? I mean, for all we know, his dick might be composed entirely of scarred tissue.”

“Wren,” Theo says scoldingly.

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