“They weren’t playing.” I raised a hand to my throat, and Jamie zeroed in.
“Oh shit.” He tugged me closer until I stood between his legs. “I can still see his handprint.”
He reached out to touch it, then caught himself. “I should’ve been there.”
Our eyes met.
“Do you want to call the police? We could report the guy who did this to you, just not the rest of the group. You said the women were into it. That makes it consensual behavior between adults. Even if it’s sadistic, it’s not illegal.” His eyes dropped, like he didn’t want to say the next part while looking at me. “I don’t judge people for what they like. As long as there’s consent.”
He was talking about Laurel, but underneath that, he was talking about me.
I twisted away, walking to the bed, then turned, pacing past him to the door. I unlocked it, then locked it again. There was this restless energy humming inside me, making me feel caged. It had been building ever since I’d stepped off the plane at JFK.
I gathered myself. Pressed my hands together and faced him. “Is it okay to do bad things to people as long as they agree?”
Jamie looked taken aback. “Isn’t it? It’s their choice, right? Personal freedom.”
I moved to the window, keeping my back to him. “Is it always an expression of freedom?” This time, I didn’t wait for him to answer. “What if you’ve come to believe the options available to you are limited?” My chest rose and fell. “What if the way you think the world works is wrong? What if life taught you something false, or people lied to you, convinced you they knew better than you did? Can you really choose freely if you’ve been mistaught?”
He cleared his throat. “No. Then you’re under the influence of… I don’t know. A manipulation. It’s just like you can’t give real consent if you’re drunk. A yes doesn’t count if the person’s not thinking straight.”
I pictured the woman who’d kneeled in the center of the circle, crying for the chance to grow, reaching into that masked man’s zipper. But when I blinked and focused, all that stared back at me was my own face, reflected in the window. “What if you’re a woman,” I said, feeling each word like fire in my throat, “and the world teaches you who you are, and where your place is, from the moment you’re born, but all along, it’s a lie. What if the lie chains you every day? If you’re not thinking straight any minute of your life, and even your defiance, even your pleasure, is suspect?” I pressed my palm against the cold glass. “How does consent work then? What makes you want the things you want? Is it your choice, or were you molded?”
When I turned, Jamie was no longer on the couch. He stood behind me, close enough to touch. His eyes were wide and anxious. And it suddenly struck me, the absurdity of saying these things to my childhood friend. The boy from soccer practice, and math class, and countless afternoons watching movies after school.
Jamie the journalist, I reminded myself. Jamie, who tells stories people listen to, who has power.
“Shay,” he said softly. “Help me. I want to understand.”
I stood on the edge of a cliff. If I leapt, I would surely be dashed on the rocks or get swallowed by the sea—but I would have a few moments of wild, perfect freedom, suspended in the air. Or I could do the sensible thing and retreat. Climb back down to safety.
“Get out your phone,” I said. “Please.”
Jamie looked at me and knew.
It was the rocks for me.
Chapter Fourteen
Transgressions Episode 705, interview transcript: Shay Deroy, Sept. 6, 2022, Part One （unabridged）
SHAY DEROY: Have you ever come apart with your face pressed to the floor, licking someone’s shoe?