Page 92 of Taint My Soul

“I want to have sex differently. I don’t want it to be just about our bodies.”

“Look, the first thing you want to do is get their trust. Ask him what he wants. Be present. Touch. Feel. Explore.”

His words don’t make sense at all. The last time I looked into Mason’s eyes, something had undone inside of me. I don’t think I can trust myself doing that with him. Not when the memories of all the ways I have taken from other men linger at the back of my mind.

“Or you can give yourself to him.” He suggests with a smirk.

“What?”

“Yes. Let him make love to you.”

“But I have never…”

“Well, you can try. Just trust yourself. Let yourself soak up the moment.”

I have never trusted myself or felt in the moment. It had always been about satisfying my cravings. My sickness. Nothing more or less. A contract keeps all emotions at arm’s length. Letting myself feel the moments mean I have to face the shadows I have been running from. I have to look past the consumption. Because it never served me. It only depleted me.

The party goes on until midnight, then I meet Mason outside the building, waiting for his ride. Inches apart, I release a nerve-racking sigh. “I know I asked you to come home with me tonight, but I need some time for myself.”

“Of course, anything you want. We’ll meet at the office.”

“Sure.” I nod with a smile and take his hand, pulling him to myself and embracing him tightly. I don’t let him go. I don’t want to. Hell, I want us to stay here together, wrapped in the heat of each other’s bodies until morning.

“Saint, my ride just arrived.”

“Can’t you just come home with me?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Maybe next time.” I hum and let him go.

“Goodnight.” He waves at me, and he jogs to the car.

Cross drops me off at the parking lot, and I head upstairs to my apartment. My thoughts race with Syn’s words. Confusion sinks its claws deep into me. I try to push those thoughts away, to bury them in a box, but the voices in my head only get louder.

I’m not sure I can escape this anymore.

I can no longer compartmentalize the shame I have carried my whole life. Shame that my father had seeded into my heart. I stride hurriedly to my dressing room, stripping myself bare in front of the large mirror.

I stare at my reflection. The white and black ink on my skin. The scars and bullet wounds. The humiliation and the fierce need to live in denial of who I am.

“I’m a homosexual,” I whisper to myself, but I don’t even believe it. Not for a fucking moment. “I’m a homosexual. I’m a homosexual.” Pure terror ravages my voice. I come apart from watching myself in the mirror. The truth chips away at pieces of myself. I have never voiced those words.

I hide behind lies.

I hide behind contracts.

I hide behind the fear of losing everything.

“I’m a homosexual.” I fall to my knees next to my clothes. I pull out my phone from my pocket and dial Mason’s phone number.

He picks up on the second ring, and his voice pours through the speaker. I shut my eyes, inhaling sharply and reveling in its magnificence. “Saint?” He repeats my name. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine.” I mutter quietly.

“Take your time, Saint. Talk to me when you’re ready.” His tone softens behind the speaker.

I breathe heavily, chest constricting as air saws through my lungs. “At the party, I never made a wish.” I whisper.