Page 113 of Pierced

A smile comes over my lips and I can’t help but chuckle. I pick up one of the cock cages and my chuckle turns into a laugh. And then my laugh fades and I get unexpectedly forlorn. Which is not the usual reaction one has to a cock cage. Or maybe it is. I dunno. Could go either way, I suppose.

The woman working the tent—a woman who has multiple piercings in her ears, nose, eyebrows, and, I presume, elsewhere—asks if she can show me anything in particular. I’m just about to answer, “Non, je vais bien,” when off to my side I hear, in English…

“He’ll take one of everything.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - MYRTLE

I’d be lying if I said that Paris was a random choice when I decided to leave town and try to start over.

I’d be lying if I said I haven’t imagined a chance meeting with Pierce while I was here.

I’d be lying if I said my heart isn’t beating irrationally fast in this moment.

Because all those things are true.

When I got to the airport I looked up at the departures board and saw many possibilities. Most of which would’ve never ended with me staring straight into the eyes of Pierce Chevalier. I saw Anchorage. I saw Maui. I saw Orlando.

But Paris was on that board too. A non-stop to London with a layover, then on to France a few hours later. So I booked the one remaining first-class ticket and left. Telling myself the whole time that this was it. I was walking away for good. The end.

But inside I had this little dream. Little fantasy, if you will. That I’d be walking out of a classic Parisian coffeehouse, glance across the street through traffic, and our eyes would meet.

Not quite like this. I never imagined we’d both be standing in front of a house de Sade table admiring their dungeon wares. But it feels close enough to fate to justify my galloping heart rate.

“Myrtle,” he says.

“Pierce,” I say back.

I want to say so much more. Things like, You hurt me. I expected more from you. You remember my middle name but you forgot that you lied about the magazine? And the entire party was just a way to keep me busy?

But all that has been in said in some way or another. And it feels sad. It feels like it would lead to an argument and I don’t want to fight with him.

Because I have lost my fight. I am the tamed tiger, after all. And what I really want to say is, You hurt me and I’m sorry I walked out, because in doing so, I just ended up hurting myself. I want to tell him I’ve been miserable. Sad. Maybe even a little bit depressed. I want to tell him that I’d like to come home. I’d like my old job back. Not the VP job, but my job. The one he chose for me. The one I did better than anyone else. The one that made me whole. The one I looked forward to every day because it involved being on his team.

I want to tell him that he looks good. And ask him if he’s happy. And say congratulations on the booming success that Le Man has turned into under his leadership.

I want to tell him I’m sorry I didn’t give him a chance to explain. That was wrong. He deserves to be heard just as much as I do.

I want to tell him I miss him. Terribly.

I want to tell him I love him. Because I do. And there’s no way to deny it anymore. I feel this in my heart. I feel like we were meant for something bigger than this little string of misunderstandings.

But when I open my mouth none of that comes out.

Why, Myrtle? Why can’t you just say what you feel?

Some might blame past experiences. I was in a relationship once when I first got to Colorado that didn’t involve feelings like this. Or open communication. And even though I didn’t enjoy being that man’s submissive, I did enjoy his… detachment. So much so that when I left, I started up my own string of detached relationships.

It felt like the right way forward for me back then. And I was smart enough to know when it stopped feeling like the right thing to do and then I walked away.

And I’ve been thinking about this whole walking away thing since I got here to Paris. How I have done it several times now. How I have reshaped myself. Remade myself into a new woman.

That’s all I thought I wanted when I left but… turns out that’s not what I want.

Not even close.

I want him. I like me, with him. I want us to be a team again.

“Say something,” he says, swallowing hard.