Don grinned. “Surely that’s still on your Whitney syllabus? Dante found his Beatrice—his beautiful muse—and only then did the words spill out. Think about the power of that symbiosis, man and woman each playing their part, creating one of the greatest works of literature in history. We’ve lost sight of the wisdom we used to hold close. Nowadays, I worry women like you are afraid to be who you really are. There’s power in beauty and gentleness and submission. I can show you.”
Clem turned to me, eyes all lit up at the word submission, but before she could say anything, Don turned to Rachel and said, “I’d like you to place your hand in the candle.”
Clem and I said “What?” at the same time.
But Rachel was already getting up, walking to the candles in the center of the table. And she didn’t even blink, just stuck her hand in the fire. Laurel, Clem, and I jumped back, our chairs clattering to the floor. I shouted at Rachel to stop, but she wouldn’t. Her expression didn’t even change. It was remarkable. There was this awful smell… I’d never smelled burning flesh before.
Finally, Don told her to stop, go run her hand under cold water. When she pulled her hand out, her skin was red and bubbling. Don said, “Rachel’s trust makes her brave. She’s mastered fear. She’s powerful. That’s what real submission can do for you.”
My heart was pounding. I felt scared, but also…confused. Was Rachel weak, or was she strong? I felt like I didn’t know what those words meant anymore. I’d only ever seen such a narrow slice of the world. Maybe it worked different than I thought. That was something our professors were saying all the time: Open your eyes. Expand your mind. Just because you’ve believed something your whole life doesn’t mean it’s right.
But Clem was upset. She said, “This is insane. I want to leave.”
Then Laurel did something I’ll never forget. She looked at Don and said, in this firm, determined voice, “Do you want me to put my hand in the candle?”
Who would ask that? It was like she was suddenly a stranger. Clem said, “Laurel!” But Don nodded and said, “I would consider it an honor.”
And before we could stop her, Laurel leaned over the table and thrust her hand into the flame. She wasn’t stoic like Rachel; she cried out immediately and lasted all of two seconds before yanking her hand back. When her eyes found mine across the table, they were full of tears—but I saw something else there. Why she’d done it. She wasn’t trying to conquer fear or be more empowered. There was desire in her eyes. Laurel had wanted to get hurt.
Don told her that was good, and to get ice from the fridge. When she left, I realized I was shaking and I couldn’t make it stop.
We ate our lasagna after that. I’m not kidding. All of us, at the table, Rachel’s and Laurel’s hands wrapped in ice. Clem didn’t say a word for the rest of the night. I think she was in shock. I didn’t know what to say, either. But Don talked enough for all of us, and Laurel was chipper, laughing and answering his questions, even though she couldn’t use her left hand, and you could still see the track marks down her face where her tears had run through her makeup.
Eventually Don said he’d called us a taxi, but he wanted us to come back next weekend, stay the night. Have a sleepover. We all moved in a daze, gathering our jackets. Just like the last time, Don kept me behind when everyone else left, and then it was just us, alone in his house.
I was scared because I didn’t know what he was going to do. But of all things, he opened his arms and said, “Come here, Shay.” And the next thing I knew, I was letting him hold me. He whispered in my ear, “It’s okay,” and then my cheeks were wet, so I guess I was crying.
He pulled back, took one look at me, and pushed me against the wall so hard my shoulder blades stung. I couldn’t speak—the air had knocked out of me. I could only watch, wide-eyed, as he tugged my skirt up, inch by inch, and slid his hands up the inside of my thighs. He said, “I want you, Shay. Do you want me, too?”