“Your lyrics. Do you ever try and go deeper? Beyond the driving, angry energy to access the brutal stuff?”
He watches me now, curiosity edged with something else. “Why?”
“You’re good at the nuance. I have to scrape myself raw.” I pause. “It’s how I process.”
“Process what?”
God. Of course. How would Liam know about my past?
“I grew up in a religious sect where girls didn’t get to choose anything.” I try to keep the confession high-level. “What to wear. What to say. Who to marry. What to believe. Pleasure wasn’t ours. Curiosity was punished. Deviation from the norm wasn’t…possible.”
His expression isn’t judgmental. More like protective.
“I escaped when I was sixteen. The day I was supposed to marry a man who could’ve been my grandfather.” I squeeze his fingers. “I’d never kissed anyone. I didn’t even know how to touch myself.”
Liam’s eyes flash, but he doesn’t look away. His grip on my hand tightens.
Deciding to confess my innermost secret to Liam feels natural. “I spent two years in therapy unraveling an intense level of shame. Then I went further and learned how to reclaim my body. My pleasure. My voice. Writing is the only way I can name what was stolen and what I took back.”
“Avonna. Wow. What you describe is the bravest thing I’ve ever heard.” Liam’s eyes glisten. Not quite tears, but deep emotion.
I shake my head and lock my gaze on his. “No. Surviving was instinct. Learning to embrace the things I enjoy during sex was what took courage.”
He studies me for a long time. Fascinated. Terrified.
“I went through phases of learning,” I continue, deciding to air it all out. “Watching myself. Touching. Allowing someone else to. Giving and receiving pleasure without shame.”
His mouth parts slightly.
“It wasn’t casual. It was structured. Intentional. The final phase was when I had sex with two men.” I tilt my head. “Not for shock. Through a lot of work on myself, I knew what I wanted. Experiencing it first in a therapeutic setting was safe. I know my body inside and out. What feels good. What I need emotionally.”
Liam goes very still.
“I don’t share this with many people.” I lean in closer. “In fact, outside of therapy, you’re only the second person who knows. Knowing and accepting myself gave me my life back.”
His tongue flicks across his bottom lip. “Jesus.”
“You said you didn’t know how I write the way I do.” I look up to the sky and back to him. “Now you do.”
Liam exhales fully, like a wall lowering brick by brick.
“I wish I was as brave.” He shakes his head. “I’m holdin’ back, Avonna. You can see right through me. I wish I could bleed through my music the way you do.”
“You’re right on the edge. I think you can if you allow yourself permission.”
He snorts. “You think so?”
“Yes.”
Liam looks away for a while. Then he stares into my eyes. “Your line, ‘They wrote my vows in ash, long before I bled.’”
My breath catches. “Yeah?”
“It haunts me.”
He doesn’t let go of my hand. Doesn’t look away.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” His voice dips. Accent thicker now, words heavier. “But it makes me think about my da. He nearly killed me once. Caught me with a guy. Didn’t hesitate. Knocked me out cold. My little brothers saw it.”
