We’ve talked about my tics. The moments I use for self-soothing and how it allows me to escape from reality.
Swallowing down an apology, I carefully take my hands and place them on my thighs, careful not to tap.
I stare at the plant behind her shoulder and make myself be specific. “I want my life back. I want my job at the hotel back. I want the man with the clean shoes to look at me and realize he miscalculated because I’m responsible for him suffering until the end of his days. I want to be wanted the way I used to be wanted here. I want the way it feels when they stop pretending and…just take.”
Tamsin’s face doesn’t change, but she tilts her head. “You like pain and degradation in sex with them.”
“Yes.” I don’t blink. “When it’s only them. When it’s mine. I like how it shuts off the noise. I like how it makes everything simple. I like being handled. I like that I can choose to be small, and they get big because I made room for them.”
She nods. “And right now?”
“Right now I’m in a gilded cage and they touch me with kid gloves,” I say. “Queen mattress, queen rules, queen schedule, queen guards in their ergonomic chairs. They treat me like I’llsplinter if anyone breathes too hard. The only one not treating me like a piece of glass is Conrad, and even he won’t trulyfuckme.” The word comes out too loud and ugly in the quiet room but I don’t take it back. “At least, not when I’m fully conscious.”
Tamsin’s eyes flick to my face, steady. “Tell me what that last part means in slow motion. What do you remember?”
I exhale through my nose. “Waking up with his arm around me. I turned into him. I knew his voice. I knew his hands. I told him to stay.” My chest tightens, then loosens as I say it out loud. “I wanted him. I chose him. But later, I felt used anyway. Like the night and asking him for it ate parts of me that I didn’t see.”
“That’s a good description of two truths living together,” she says. “You consented, but your nervous system is still raw. Even though you weren’t raped on the ship, youwereassaulted by Danner, Phoenix. And after trauma, even wanted touch can register as a threat in hindsight. That doesn’t mean you were assaulted when Conrad touched you, when you made love with him. It just means you need more scaffolding for you to give them a definitive yes.”
“Scaffolding,” I repeat. “Like what?”
“Like building how the four of you hold together,” she says. “You’re in a non-traditional relationship. Non-traditional relationships require intentional structure, or they tip and shatter. Right now they’re doing what men do when they’re afraid of breaking something valuable—they stop using it. They hover. They starve the thing they love by trying not to touch it because all they know how to do is keep and take. And they want to give you everything.”
I huff a laugh that isn’t funny. “You’re not wrong.”
“You don’t need them to stop,” she says. “You just need to give them rules.”
“I hate rules.”
“Then call them protocols,” she counters. “A framework. You like control outside of the bedroom. You like giving it away on purpose. Protocols let you decide when and how. Kink folks use frameworks for this—traffic-light language, safewords, consent check-ins that aren’t wooden or measured.Greenmeans keep going.Yellowmeans keep going but adjust to your needs.Redmeans stop, no questions and no worry. If your mouth can’t find words, you choose something non-verbal—tap the bed twice, squeeze a hand twice, whatever you pick. You set aftercare as a requirement, not a favor.”
“Aftercare,” I say. “Like water, blanket, touch…the quiet after.”
“And the words after,” she adds. “Affirmation. Ownership of any harm that was caused. Repair plans to fix that harm. You also get to write yourstanding orders.”
I cock a brow. “Standing orders?”
“Daily protocols that make you feel held without asking for those needs,” she says. “A good morning check-in if you want or need it. A requirement that one of them texts you before a meeting that matters so that you can join if you want. A rule that they don’t discuss strategy about you when you’re in the room unless you ask to be part of it or the opposite. A rule that someone sleeps in the chair outside your door because that makes your body breathe easier while you’re recovering. You’re the queen in the cage, yes, but you write the visitation schedule, and you own a master key that no one sees. You decide who holds it when. Whenyouhold it.”
The image lands hard, and the corner of my mouth ticks up. “My cage. My key.”
“Yes,” she says. “Right now, they’ve built a safe for you because they love you and because they’re terrified. Love and fear are terrible architects. But that doesn’t mean you destroy the safe. You put your lock on it, and you decide when it opens.”
I touch my neck. “I think Conrad put a lock on me without asking,” I say, before I can stop it.
Tamsin’s gaze flicks briefly to the tape at my neck, then back. “Do you know for sure?”
“No.” The word feels like swallowing a coin. “I…think. The pain is new. The timing—” I stop. This is where I spiral or I don’t. “If he did it, it’s because he would choose my safety over my happiness every day of the week.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“Angry,” I say. “Relieved. Angry again.”
“Two truths,” she says, quiet. “There’s a conversation there. You don’t have to have it today. You do have to have it, though.”
I nod once and let it go for now, because she’s right—I’ll either blow up or drown if I try to hold everything at once, and honestly I don’t care that much about him protecting me. I care about him notasking.
But that’s Conrad. He doesn’t ask. He acts. And I can fully imagine him that night, full of relief and terror and resolve that the terrible thing that had happened would never, ever happen again. Not on his watch.
