I turn, startled. Lorcan is standing in the bedroom doorway. "I didn't hear you come up." I say this as a way to explain away the fact that I was talking to myself, but also because he's staring at me and it's… weird.
"Are ya feelin' better then?"
"No," I whisper. "I'm not. I'm… I don't know."
"Were ya cryin'?"
My fingertips reach up, wiping away the tears. "Yes."
"Am I scarin' ya?"
I actually scoff. And it comes out filled with contempt and scorn. Which is such a relief because it feels like the first real sound I've made in... weeks. The kind of scoff Emmaleen pre-dark-mafia-romance would use on the regular.
"Is that a yeah?"
"Well..." I scoff again. And I can feel the spiral coming. Not the fun, self-deprecating kind that live in my head, but the sharp, pointy kind that can fly out of my mouth.
"Is it you specifically that scares me, Lorcan? No. Not really. You're very polite for a kidnapper. Ten out of ten customer service. Would recommend to a friend. What scares me is that Ihave somehow become the kind of person who gets kidnapped by an Irish mobster who thinks he's rescuing me from an Italian mobster who may or may not have started a mob war by killing the son of New York's most powerful crime family—and my first instinct wasn't to run screaming for the nearest police station. It was toget back in the cage."
I'm pacing now. Can't stop moving.
"And you know what's really fun? The cherry on top of this absolutely deranged sundae of terrible life choices? I can't even tell if I actually want to be in that cage, or if Giovanni Bavga has successfully Stockholm Syndrome'd me so hard that I think kneeling on cold basement floors while a masked man trains me like a show pony ismy idea of a good time."
Lorcan opens his mouth but I'm not done.
"Oh, and let's not forget—let's really catalog this disaster—that my body isso fundamentally rewiredat this point that the second you grabbed my throat in Giovanni's hallway, my brain filed you under 'Safe Authority Figure' instead of 'Strange Man Attacking Me.' Do you understand how fucked up that is? How completely unhinged? I should be terrified of you. I should be planning my escape. But instead I'm standing here fighting the urge tokneelbecause some part of my brain that Giovanni and Jino have apparently hijacked thinks that's what I'm supposed to do when a dominant man enters the room."
I laugh. It sounds unhinged even to my own ears.
"And speaking of Jino—let's talk about that particular layer of insanity, shall we? Because not only did I sign a contract to become Giovanni's personal assistant slash submissive, I also agreed to be trained by hiscousin,who bathes me, and edges me, and teaches me proper kneeling positions like it's a graduate-level course I'm desperately trying not to fail. And the worst part?I like it.I crave Jino's structure like it's oxygen. I crave Giovanni's attention like it's heroin. When he feeds me steakat his knee, I amsafe.When Jino makes me hold Position Three for forty-five minutes until my thighs are screaming, I feelaccomplished."
My voice cracks.
"I've read all the books, Lorcan. You were right about that. I know the tropes. The dark romance books where the morally gray mob boss falls for the innocent girl and they have all this intense power-exchange sex but it's okay because he'sdifferentwith her, hechangesfor her, he'd burn the world down to keep her safe. And I thought—I genuinely thought—I was smart enough to know the difference between fiction and reality. But here I am, living out some deranged BookTalk fantasy except it's not a fantasy anymore, is it? It's my actual life. And I can't tell if I chose this or if I've been manipulated into thinking I chose it, and that ambiguity iseating me alive."
I stop pacing. Turn to face him.
"So no, Lorcan. You don't scare me. What scares me is that I've lost all sense of objectivity. What scares me is that when you uncuffed me, I begged for my King like some sort of religious convert. What scares me is that every cell in my body wants to go back to that dungeon even though Iknow—I intellectually understand—that wanting to return to captivity is textbook trauma bonding. But knowing it doesn't change how I feel. It doesn't stop my body fromachingfor Giovanni's voice, or Jino's firm instructions, or the clarity of rules I can follow to earn rewards and avoid punishments."
Tears are streaming down my face again.
"What scares me is that I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know if I'm Emmaleen Rourke, college dropout and domestic violence survivor who's making empowered choices about her sexuality—or if I'm just another broken girl Giovanni collected and reprogrammed to polish her own chains."
I stop talking. Just—stop. The words run out like I've finally hit empty on whatever fuel tank powers my anxiety spirals.
Lorcan sucks in one of those big, long breaths you see in memes. You know that guy. The Elf guy, except he's not Elf. He's some… whoever. Holding his beer, exhaling like his day was one for the books. The kind of long exhale where you can practically see his soul leaving his body through his nostrils.
Except Lorcan's not holding a beer. He's holding his phone, standing in his bedroom doorway staring at a naked crying woman who just delivered a three-minute monologue about trauma bonding and mob bosses.
He scrubs a hand down his face. Drags it through his hair. The blond strands stick up at odd angles.
"Right," he says finally. His accent thickens when he's stressed, I'm noticing. "So… that was... comprehensive."
I wrap my arms around myself. Suddenly very aware that I'm still naked. That I've been standing here naked this entire time having a complete breakdown while he just... listened.
"Well, if it makes ya feel any better, Emmaleen, yer not the only crazy person in the room."
I… don't think that does make me feel better, actually.
