Her laugh’s low and scratchy, her voice well-used. “No. No, that’s your trick. That’s how you fool them all.”
“What?”
“You seem so simple.”
“Wow, thanks.”
“That’s not what I mean.” She pokes me and I trap her hand against my shoulder and keep it there, caressing her palm with my thumb. “I mean you’ve got that easy, slow, southern thing. Like, I don’t know, Matthew McConaughey or something.” I go still, outwardly calm, while something simmers beneath the surface. I feel an edge approaching. A sharp cliff. “I’ve seen you arrive on set, all lazy, like ‘Hey! How’s it hangin’?’ Looking like you never have to try all that hard.” Something’s dawning as she leans in close, her breath heating my face, her focus intense, like she’s searching for something and got it just on the tip of her tongue. I can’t tell if it’s relief that I’m feeling or something entirely different. “You pretend you don’t, but I’ve seen you work your ass off for every role. I’ve seen it.”
“I have to work hard. I’m dyslexic.”
“Oh.” She pauses. “I didn’t know that.”
“A few people know, but I don’t really advertise it.”
“Last minute script changes must be a nightmare.”
She’s right. I dread it when a scriptwriter’s right there reworking lines ’til the last second. “My memory’s good, thank god. And I’ve got tricks.” I flick her a quick look. “I’ll ask the director for a line reading and go with that.”
“You must hate it.”
I shrug.
She moves in and hugs me, her head rubbing as she nods against my chest. “I think you’re amazing.” Another tight hug. “I could help you. Only if you want.” The proposal’s careful, her voice light.
So light, I could pretend it’s not a big deal what she’s asking. But the subtext is there, loud and clear.
Will you let me in?it asks.Will you let me see your weaknesses? The real you?
And that’s just the thing, isn’t it? After all the time I’ve spent doing this balancing act between one existence and the other—the entirety of my adult life—I can’t honestly say I know who the real me is. My life’s like those people who’ve suffered an accident that severs the two sides of their brain. Connections lost. Or maybe they were never there. I’m one thing here, another thing entirely out there in the world. What if I’m neither? Not worth getting to know at all?
I could tell her how it feels to live in a world where my compartments are made of stone or steel or something more solid than that. All it would take is opening my mouth and letting the words out.
It would be such a goddamn relief. To share the truth, to open up and be…what? Who? I’m good with easy-going Zion and filthy, hard-edged Zed. But that third person? The one I’ve stifled all these years? I can’t let him out of his box. He was raised by wolves. Or might as well have been. A feral child whose only experience with love died with his mama when he was five.
I picture Twyla’s reaction to that kid: incomprehension, shock, pity? I can’t do it. I’m a coward, I guess, because all I say is “Sure, I’d like that,” not once looking her way.
She makes a happy sleep noise and I let out a breath I’ve been holding and close my eyes, though I didn’t realize they were that wide open.
I think of this marriage and feel guilt and shame and the sense that I’m lying by omission. But there’s not a chance in hell she’ll want anything to do with whoever poor little Zion Mason grew up to be.
Twyla snuggles close, our bodies probably too hot to stay like this ’til morning, but I don’t care. I want this. Her. Whatever I can get, for however long I can keep myself secret. Though my brain’s telling me otherwise, my body craves the closeness and, in this moment, it feels so right, I let it go.
She shifts and gasps. “Crap.”
“What. What is it? Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Dammit, I knew I was going overboard. I knew I shouldn’t—”
Her hand lands on my mouth. “Stop that, Zion.” I hear the friction of her hair against the pillow. “I need to get something straight, okay?”
I nod.
“I’m just as…” She goes quiet for a moment. “As, I don’t know, dirty or kinky or perverted as you are, okay? I am. I just haven’t had the opportunity to practice what I’ve fantasized for most of my life.”
My pulse quickens. I breathe through it.
“I like the…the come thing. A lot. Okay? I like feeling used. Taken. Forced. I like a little pain, although it didn’t feel nearly as good before you were there.” She snorts. “I’ll admit that was you, okay? And me. And this chemistry we’ve got. I mean, I didn’t hate the flogging before you came around, but the second I saw you, it went from kind of pleasant to holy shit, I’m burning up. So, it’s you and it’s the attention you gave and your…your…your…”
“Jealous glare?”
