Page 109 of Monarch
“You don’t get to feel pleasure without pain,” I tell xem. “From now on, with us, you feel it all.”
Lex’s whole face crumbles, like xe is about to burst into tears, but then xe composes xemself and xe looks at me solemnly and nods. Xe nods and nods and nods, watching me as I move around Roos to the other side. I deliver three sharp hits to that side of xir upper thigh and xe grunts through each one, all while thrusting up into Roos’ mouth.
“Is that what you want?” I grip Lex’s chin with my spare hand and force xem to look at me. “Do you also want to feel it all, the good, the bad, the ugly?”
Lex’s nod is weak and tired. I think about how much xir whole body must ache from being bound to the cross like that. Xir jaw must be burning with pain from being gagged so long.
“And we’ll feel it together?” I half-demand, half-ask. Because I need Lex to agree to this. I need xem to know xe can never run away like that ever again. Not without our knowledge and our understanding.
Another slow nod. Xe closes xir eyes slowly and then opens xem again. I study xem to see if xe does it two more times, but xe doesn’t. Instead, I watch more tears brim over in xir dark eyes.
I drop my hand to xir throat, just like the painting. I suddenly want to feel xir pulse against the palm of my hand. Squeezing, I stareat xem as xe starts to moan and writhe against Roos’ mouth. I watch as xe comes with three violent shakes and three long, exhausted moans. I squeeze harder, aware I’m threatening Lex’s airway, which I never normally do when playing, but I need to do it now. Just for a few seconds, I need to feel just how fragile Lex is. Just how immortal xe is. I need to know that xe is just like the rest of us. As xir tears reach my hand, I need to know the power is mutual – the power xe has over me is equal to the power I have over xem – and that will never change. As I remove my hand, I also need to know that I have the ability to help xem heal. As I push up on my toes and kiss the butterfly I drew, I need xem to know it too.
Lex is sobbing now, making strangled noises I never imagined xir body capable of. Roos stands and is tall enough to kiss Lex’s face and neck, which she does, like a woman possessed. And me. I wrap my arms around Lex’s body – St Andrews Cross and all – and I hold xem as tightly to me as I would when we were teens sleeping in xir childhood bed. We stay like that, Roos and I covering Lex with our kisses, our bodies, our love until Lex falls silent.
Only then do I step back and reach up to remove xir ball gag. When I drop it to the floor, Lex sighs heavily and jerks xir jaw side to side before finally closing xir mouth.
Xe can speak now but doesn’t.
Roos starts to undo Lex’s wrist cuffs, and I bend down to do the ones at Lex’s ankles. We help xem step down with shaking legs, and it’s no surprise when seconds later xe falls down. I catch xir fall but lose my balance and end up crouched on the stage with Lex in my arms. Roos drops down less than a second later, covering us both with her arms. I don’t know who starts to cry first, but in no time, all of us are in tears.
We stay like that, a blended blur of breathless bodies sobbing in front of a painting of the three of us smiling and laughing, and it’s so fucking perfect. There we are, distraught and adrift, but with thepossibility of happiness right there, within reach. Putting my artist hat on, I wonder if that’s exactly what Lex was going for tonight: the juxtaposition of our raw pain with the hopeful joy in our future. Maybe. Maybe not.
Regardless, as I hold Lex and Roos holds us both, I know it’s everything I want. And it’s everything I know we can be for each other.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Lex
After not properly crying for more than twenty years, tonight is a true education.
I have learnt that some sobs come from your gut and that they take a piece of it with them as they claw up your throat and out of your mouth. I have learnt that bawling isn’t a useless verb; it’s a very real action that contorts your face and involves sweat and snot and more tears than I thought my body could make. I have learnt that crying takes immense energy and effort, leaving the body depleted and mind drained. And I have learnt that when you are so diminished from all the sobbing and bawling and crying, then sometimes all that’s left is silence and stillness as tears continue to slip down your face.
That’s the stage I’m at now as I lie in bed in Roos’ arms and with Mari’s body curled around my back. We have showered together. Mari has applied aloe vera to my thighs and stomach, and Roos has made me drink two bottles of water. I’m dressed in just a pair of underpants, while Roos and Mari each have robes on, and the softness of the towelling material is more comforting than I can put into words.
We have barely spoken since we entered the aftercare room, and I am grateful for that, but I know it needs to happen. That awareness has kept me on edge since the scene ended, and so even though my body aches to fall asleep, my muscles heavy and my eyes half-closed already, I resist. I stay awake.
And eventually I start to talk.
“The first time was on my sixth birthday,” I say, my voice croaky and thick with tears, but I don’t care, and that feels like a slice of freedom in and of itself. “He came into my room as Mum and Grandma were tidying up from a party we’d had. I’d already been put to bed, but I was wide awake thanks to all the excitement of the day and far too much sugar. He sat on my bed at first and talked to me, and I liked that. That wasn’t unusual, and I liked our chats.
“Mum worked a lot, so she wasn’t always available for long one-on-one talks, and my grandmother was left to pick up the pieces at home, and with three boys all playing at least two sports each, there was always washing to do and belongings to pick up and tidy away. My grandfather was different. He took time to talk to me. He asked me about my day. He wanted to know who I was friends with at school. He was the one who bought me my first set of colouring pens. Felt-tips. I can remember exactly what the set looked like. I felt so grown-up carrying them around in their plastic case that I’m pretty sure anyone else would have thrown away.
“Anyway. That night, my sixth birthday.” I pull in a breath, aware of how still and quiet Mari and Roos are. It’s a strange thing to say, but I can feel them listening. “He pulled the covers off me. He said it was hot in my room. It wasn’t. When he put his hand on my leg, just above my knee, I didn’t think anything of it. When he then moved it up, I didn’t really notice because we were still talking. When he flattened his palm against the front of my… of my genitals, over my My Little Pony knickers, I remember thinking,That’s strange, but I didn’t move and I didn’t say anything.”
“Then he asked me to lift up my pyjama top. It was my favourite set. He-Man pyjamas covered in the cartoons of the characters. They used to belong to Bart. I didn’t want to, so I didn’t. I told him I was tired and tried to pull the covers back over my body. He yanked them out of my hand, and that’s when everything changed.”
I pause, noticing an increase in my tears. My arms yearn to reach out and hold six-year-old me, to grab xem and take xem away from that bedroom. To stop the horror before it started. But I can’t do that.
Roos’ hold on me tightens, and Mari tucks their head into the crook of my neck. Still, they don’t say anything. They know this story is far from over.
“He didn’t rape me that night, but he may as well have.”
Mari sucks in a sharp breath. Roos sniffs and squeezes me to her.
“It was the perfect moment, to be honest. I was old enough to have some sense of free will, of my own mind, but I was too young to know I could be in complete control of that. I was still at an age when I thought all adults knew better than me. I was still looking to them for guidance with most things in life, and even after what he did to me that night, I still looked to my grandfather to tell me how to deal with it. Of course he told me not to tell anyone. He said my brothers would be jealous that we had such a special friendship. Friendship. That’s what he called it. So I thought,okay, this must be friendship.
“He told me not to tell my mum because she wouldn’t understand, and my mum was so busy already. I wouldn’t want to make her angry, would I? And he told me that my grandmother would call me silly and stupid for not wanting to have this special friendship with him. For an evil fucker, he was also very smart. My mum was working two jobs at that point, and the occasional shift at the pub down the road. She was tired and grumpy most evenings. There was no way I wanted to add to that. And my grandma, she always teased me for being ‘Pops’ Little Lady’. She would always talk about how I could get him to agree to anything – extra sugar on my porridge, an ice cream when the van showed up at the park, cutting my hair short when he took me to the hairdressers. I could practicallyhear her telling me off if I told her that his hands in my underwear didn’t make me feel good.”
