“Most people don’t, unless they have one.” He exhaled. “Actually, they’re so poorly understood by most people that it took me years to understand what had been happening to me, for all that time. I never knew. I never thought to attribute it to a phenomenon like that. I actually remember asking my grandmother - even being so little, I still didn’t want to bring it up to my parents - I remember asking her if she’d ever felt like she couldn’t believe she was real. But she didn’t understand what I was asking. Most people still wouldn’t.”
“That’s awful,” I said. “You had them when you were a kid?” I couldn’t imagine.
He nodded. “Lying in bed,” he said. “Always lying in bed. It would start with the feeling that I wasn’t real, and the panic would grow and grow. At that age I think I actually believed there was a possibility that I’d somehow be pulled out of my body, or lose my sense of reality altogether, and that certainly didn’t help. I used to endure it for as long as I could, then I would run down the ladder of the bunk bed and shake Lindsey awake and make her tell me I was still real.” He smiled. “She actually tried to complain to our parents about it once, but she often had strange dreams and night terrors, so I think they wrote it off as more of the same.”
“That’s awful.” I was beginning to rethink how much I wanted to know about his childhood. My heart was literally aching for him, and I didn’t know what to do with the feelings. But, at least they were better than boundless panic.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to…anyway, are you feeling better?”
I nodded. “I guess I’m just…” I was trying to think of an explanation other than trying to figure out whether I should tell you that your father might still be alive, but I couldn’t quite come up with one. “…tired,” I finished, lamely.
There was a flash of something skeptical across his face, but he just smiled and squeezed my hands. “Well, hopefully you can get some rest tonight.”
I still felt slightly shaky, but I honestly couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do than pick up right where we left off. Just, maybe without the silent isolation that had sent me into my panic spiral. “I hope this isn’t going to ruin your plans for the evening.”
He looked at me with an eyebrow slightly raised. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” I said, slipping my hand out from under his and resting it on his chest. “Nobody takes care of me like you do.”
“I should certainly hope not,” he said, leaning in for a swift kiss before he broke away and stood up. “Just give me a minute, all right?”
I nodded. “Just don’t go too far.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t leave you alone tonight.”
The promise settled in my chest; it was a warm, comforting sensation. I stayed there obediently as I heard him run up the stairs, then quickly come down again. He approached me from behind, and I felt something light and silky brush against my neck. Then, he lifted it up, and suddenly it was covering my eyes.
“Is this all right?” he asked, as my vision turned to darkness.
“Yes,” I said, which surprised me. As long as I could feel the warmth of his body behind me, and hear his voice, I didn’t mind at all.
“Tell me right away,” he said, “if you don’t feel like you can handle anything.”
“I know,” I said. We’d established that precedent long ago.
“We’re going to walk upstairs now,” he said. “I’ll guide you, but I think you know them well enough by now to avoid stubbing your toe.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
“I hope so,” I replied, archly, letting him raise me to my feet and guide me over. It was actually harder to gauge where I was in space than I would have guessed, but once I’d begun to walk up the stairs, it turned out he was right. I instinctively knew just how far to lift my feet for each step.
I knew when we’d reached the bedroom as well, and not just because he stopped walking. The room had a different feel to it, in a way that I couldn’t quite explain.
“I’m going to undress you,” he said, his voice low. “But first, I’m going to ask you one last time. Are you sure you’re up for this?”
I swallowed. “Of course I am,” I said. This was something about which I was confident: Daniel would never give me more than I could handle. He’d never push me further than I could take.
His fingers slid under the bottom hem of my shirt, brushing against my stomach and sides. I couldn’t help but giggle a little, flinching away from his touch instinctively.
“Oh, no,” he said, sounding very amused. “You aren’t ticklish, are you?”
“Not usually,” I said, although of course he already knew that. Something about this experience had left my nerves heightened to the slightest touch. “You won’t take advantage of that, will you?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He was grinning. I could tell. “Lift your arms above your head, darling.”
He rarely ever called me by anything but my name, so when he broke that habit, it made goosebumps rise all over my body. I did as he asked, and I felt him lift my shirt over my head and toss it aside somewhere. I made a slight clucking noise of disapproval.
“What?” he said, his fingers resting on the clasp of my bra. “Don’t tell me you just ironed it, because I know as well as you do that you’re incapable of operating such a device.”
I had to laugh. It was true - all of our clothes that needed that sort of treatment got it at the dry cleaner. My mother had put the fear of God into me as a kid about getting burned on her iron, and the hesitancy to even go near it had stuck with me into adulthood.
“I didn’t,” I said. “But it’s still clean. I can wear it again.”
“I can’t believe you’re still thinking about something like that,” he said, nimbly undoing the hooks and sliding my bra down my arms. “I must be doing this wrong.”
He unzipped my jeans and slid them down my legs, pulling my panties down with them. Afterwards, he lingered there for a while. I could feel his breaths on my skin.
Finally, he stood back up, and I stepped out of the pile of fabric. I heard his footsteps retreat, and then return. Something brushed lightly against my ribs. I giggled again, and then shivered.
“Try to relax,” he said, in a voice that was pure silk. “Prepare yourself for the feeling, and then it won’t feel ticklish. It won’t be able to take you by surprise.”
I felt the light touches again and again, running up and down my sides, across my stomach, and up to my chest. Drawing in a deep breath, I felt my n**ples harden and pucker. A feather. It had to be a feather.
“Stay very present,” he said. “Focus on the feeling. It can’t run away with you, if you keep it in its place.”
Breathing deeply, I discovered, to my surprise, that he was right. If I really put my mind to it, the tickling sensation felt much less intense than what I expected it to.
The feather was running up and down my spine.
With my vision blacked out, everything else was thrown into sharp relief. I’d heard about this phenomenon before, of course, but I’d never actually experienced it like this. My ears picked up every breath, every little rustle, every small noise as he circled me. I felt the radiating heat of his body, and every sharp intake of breath through my nose was filled with the familiar smell of him; that cologne so expensive it didn’t have a name on the bottle. I had no idea when or where he bought it. I’d never seen him bring a bottle home, but it was never absent from his side of the bathroom vanity. Sometimes when he was away I would unscrew the cap and carefully sniff it, but it just wasn’t the same. Something about its cool, fresh scent just wasn’t quite right unless it was mixed with the warmth of his skin. Habitually, he smelled almost as good as he looked.
And I could picture him now. He was smiling. Sometimes, when we played like this, he would affect being stern and he tried to hide it. But with me blindfolded, there would be no reason to. He wouldn’t have to put any effort into pretending he didn’t practically live to see me like this, placid and obedient and pliant for him. Standing nak*d in the middle of a room without shame.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he breathed, almost as if on cue. He was standing very close behind me; when he exhaled I could feel it, hot and insistent on the back of my neck.
“Especially when I’m following orders,” I replied, dodging the question.
“No,” he said. “All the time.” He slid around so that we were face-to-face, or so I judged it. “Well - yes, all right. Especially when you’re following orders.”
I smiled.
“What else would you like me to do?”
There was a moment of silence. I didn’t always have to prompt him like this, but there were times when he was more hesitant than others. Considering what had just happened, I understood his reluctance to push things too far. It occurred to me that he must feel horribly guilty for “causing” me to have a panic attack, even though that wasn’t how I saw it at all. But it made perfect sense.
“I’m okay,” I promised him, when he didn’t respond for what felt like eons. “I’d let you know if I wasn’t.”
Suddenly, I felt his fingers on the back of my head, fiddling with the knot on my blindfold. I opened my eyes slowly, just as the cloth was pulled away.
“Maddy,” he said, his face drawn and anxious. “I don’t think I can do this tonight. I’m sorry.”
I felt a twinge of disappoint in my chest. “It’s okay,” I said. “I told you it would be okay.”
“But you…” he stopped, and swallowed hard. “I don’t ever want to see you like that again,” he said, more softly.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I insisted, folding my arms across my chest. I felt absolutely ridiculous having this argument right here, right now. “I’ve done that thing, that exact thing, a thousand times before because you told me to. And I always felt better after I did it. Not worse. This was some kind of freak happenstance.”
“I know,” he said. “But I don’t want to risk…” He laid his hands on either side of my face, locking his eyes with mine. He looked so worried that it almost broke my heart.
I couldn’t keep this secret forever.
“I have to tell you something,” I said, willing my voice to stay steady. “Can I just…can I put on some clothes, first?”
Five
“It’s about your father.”
This was, perhaps, not the best way to lead up to it. He looked, by turns, confused and then irritated.
“Go on,” he said, looking at me like he didn’t know quite what to make of me.
“You remember Genevieve?”
He nodded in the affirmative, looking at the floor.