"Because you always have bruises, Cam. I don't think you guys know how to have normal sex anymore." My sister knows about our BDSM relationship. She was there when I first became interested in BDSM, back in college, and I would tell her all about my escapades; but she doesn't know the part where I let my husband call me a nigger. No one knows that. And I'd rather keep it that way. I don't want anyone judging him, and I seem to be more worried about that than he is.
"Will there be anyone else there?" I ask her.
"No, just you and me, and Phil. If you invite him, which you should." I look down at my hands, and at the diamond and platinum ring that resides on my ring finger. We made a promise to be open and honest with each other, and we are, but that doesn't mean that we aren't allowed to keep secrets every now and then. That doesn't mean that I have to tell him the truth about why I safeworded.
But the problem with my husband is, well, he tends to overthink things. He'll probably freak out and worry that he's fucked up in some way, feel as if he's done something wrong, and to be honest, I can't blame him for what happened. Yes, he did something I didn't like, but how is he supposed to know that I don't like it if I don't tell him? Am I really being fair to him, if I don't tell him?
Fuck. This is so stressful.
"So how have you been otherwise?" Veronica asks me as she pulls a pack of what I know is gummy bears out of her pocket to eat some. She is still skinny, despite the fact that she eats gummy bears all the time, while I have to struggle to stay at a reasonable weight.
"Good, good, I'm almost finished with my current client." I ghostwrite for people who know what they want to convey, but find it difficult to write it. I've done newspaper articles, and even essay papers for university students. One of the things that I like the most about my job is that I've learned a lot. I know how to format essays in both APA style and Chicago style, which is something that I didn't know how to do when I started.
"I don't know how you do it, you know," Veronica says to me. "I personally would never be able to fathom writing articles and such for other people and not getting credit for it."
"Well, they aren't really my views," I tell her. "I just write what they want to write, but can't."
"But still," she says. I know that Phil is in the kitchen, cooking dinner for us. He really likes my sister, and I'm glad that they can get along. But Phil will bring up what happened earlier today again, and I'm dreading it.
