Page 15 of Darling

“Yeah?” I’m distracted by the California rolls; they’re the best I’ve ever had, and I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten since last night; I never do before a shoot, so I’m not paying attention.

“You said that for years, people had told you what to believe and how to think. What did you mean by that?”

I finish chewing before saying, “You caught that, huh?”

He nods. “I assume you didn’t mean school?”

“In a way, yeah,” I say. I guess, of my two biggest ‘reveals’, this was maybe the one least likely to make him bolt. “But my parents, too, and our church.”

His eyebrows go up, and he sits up a little straighter. “You’re religious? I never… I didn’t think…”

“Relax, I’m really not. I mean, not anymore.” I sigh, wondering how deep I want to get into this tonight. If at all. “I look back now and I wonder if I really ever was, you know? Or if I was just told that I was by everyone else. No such thing as an independent thought where I grew up. Or like, there were, but we were normally punished for it.”

Some complicated look moves over his face. “That’s… I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know what to say, and I’m not sure what I even want him to say. “Is it something you feel comfortable talking about?”

It’s not. But it’s not because I’m ashamed of it. I know it makes me something of a curiosity to have been raised in such a deeply religious environment and to now be making porn and painting ‘degenerate’ art, and I also know people want to equate the two things in a sort of cause-and-effect kind of way. The aesthetic of it is interesting to people. Same with Leah. I get that. I just don’t love talking about it because it forces me to think about things that hurt to think about. But there’s something about the look on his face, the genuine interest on it, which is so unlike the usual interest people have when they find out about it. And I want him to be interested in me. I want him to know me, I guess.

I wipe my hand on the napkin and sit back on the stool. “You really wanna hear about this now?”

“Only if you’re comfortable, Asher. I don’t want you to share anything with me you don’t want to.” He means this part, too.

I shrug one shoulder. “I don’t mind sharing. But I want you to share something with me first.”

There’s a sexy-as-fuck little glint in his eye when he asks, “And what might that be?”

“Well, I don’t even know your last name.”

“Darling.”

The word, spoken in his accent, makes a warm shiver roll over me.

“Yeah?”

He smiles all the way to his eyes.

“No, my surname is Darling.”

I blink. “Seriously?” He nods. “Christian Darling,” I say,getting a feel for it in my mouth. “Suits you. A proper English last name.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. I like it.”

“I’m glad. So… you were about to share something with me…”

I thought maybe he’d want to move on. But hedoeswant to know. Which means that maybe, just maybe, he is here for more than sex. It could be the painting, but I figure he could have made me an offer for that over the phone and not bothered coming over.

“Okay, so until I was like eighteen, I lived in a sort of commune. Heavily religious, heavily controlled, led by a guy who was convinced God spoke through him—who convinced everyone else He did, too.”

“A cult?” Christian says, blinking. He says the word like it’s maybe the first time he’s ever said it aloud.

“I mean, sure, if you like. Though it never felt that way when I was inside it, that came later, after I got out. Which, I guess, even phrasing it that way sort of implies that I was trapped in some way. Which I wasn’t, not really. I just…” My heart pinches slightly in my chest as I picture my mother’s face the day I told her I was leaving. Like she knew we’d never see each other again. “I didn’t know any other way to live. And for a long time, I was happy. Joyous even. Until I started to question things... So yeah. Massive religious cult baby.” I point at myself sardonically.

His face has gone a little pale, mouth open in shock.

“Christ, Asher.”

I make a face. “Ummm, triggered.”