Page 30 of Darling

“Okay, good. Good.” I open the bag. “I brought you some stuff. I googled what to bring people in the hospital, and there were pages and pages, so I just went with some bananas—I had them at home—and some hard candy. Oh, and your phone. It rang a couple of times, but I didn’t answer it, don’t worry. And I brought you this. I actually thought I’d given it away because, well, I hated it, but I found it in the back of my closet.” It was the book he was eyeing the day in the store, the one I’d told him wasn’t worth his time. I set everything down on the trolley table by the side of the bed and sit in the chair next to it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says chidingly.

“Yeah, I know. But I was worried, and I hated sitting at home not knowing if you were okay. I mean, I called last night and they told me you were alive, but I needed to see it for myself. Plus, you didn’t have your phone, so I figured at the very least I could bring it to you.” I lift it from the table, which I realise is out of reach given all his attachments, and hand it to him.

“Thank you. I appreciate this.” He’s avoiding my eyes now, and it feels a lot like being given the brush off. I decide to ignore it.

“So, like, what caused it? Do they know?”

This causes him to look at me, an almost playful raise of his eyebrow.

“Shut up,” I laugh. “I mean, okay, I’m fucking incredible, best ass in town— whatever town I’m in—but I’ve never caused anyone a heart attack before. Not that I know of.”

He looks like he’s going to say something else, before I see his thought path change direction. “It was a temporary narrowing of an artery, nothing too serious.”

“Sounds kinda serious to me.”

He says, “You were very calm, if you hadn’t been, things might have been different. Thank you, Thomas.”

I shrug. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad you’re okay.” Then it hits me, like a fist to the face. “Wh-how did you find that out?”

He waits.

“I mean, it’s not a secret. Not really,” I say quickly. “It’s just not a name I use anymore. Well, my sister still uses it, mainly when she’s pissed at me, which is mainly all the time. Asher’s my middle name. I wasn’t lying to you or anything.”

He nods, expression totally unreadable. There’s a horrible, uneasy feeling in my gut.

“What else did you find out?” I ask, tentatively. I knew he’d find out eventually; he only needed to do a fucking Google search of my name, and he’d know about the porn. It’s just… I wanted to be the one to tell him.

“Is there something else you think I should know?” It’s said with an undercurrent of something; he knows. Fuck.

I let out a breath and close my eyes for a second, complicated feelings moving through me. I’m not ashamed of it, but I’m ashamed of acting like I was and keeping it from him.

I meet his eye. “Yeah, that I make porn for a living.”

There’s no surprise whatsoever on his face. He says, “I thought you were an artist for a living.”

“I mean, I am. I want to be, it’s the plan. But I do this too for right now.”

He nods a few times, seemingly lost for words.

I look down at the scar on my palm and rub the pad of my finger over it. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I was going to. I know that sounds like a line, but I was. It just… never seemed like a good time. And it seemed like you were always just a single wordor touch away from bolting, and I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“Scare me off?”

“Yeah. And like, to be clear, I’m not embarrassed or ashamed of it. And I’m not looking to be ‘saved’ from it, either. I actually love it. I love what I do. It saved my life, and it keeps me alive every fucking day. I know that it’s so removed from the sort of work you do that you can’t comprehend how vital it is to people like me, but it is. It’s valid and it’s important.”

There’s a soft crease between his eyebrows now. “Thomas, I can assure you that I don’t have the sorts of feelings about it that you think I do.”

“Can you not with theThomas? There’s a reason I don’t use that name anymore.” It’s not entirely true, I do use that name, sometimes, but I don’t like how or why he’s using it right now.

“Of course,Asher,” he says. “I was surprised, that’s all. In fact, when my CIA liaison told me last night, I thought I was about to have a second heart attack.” There’s a playful smile on his mouth now. I find myself mirroring it.

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

There are a few moments of silence before he says, “You know, I think you could find a lot of people who consider what you do to be far more important than what I do.”

“Maybe not as a human rights lawyer but definitely now.”