Release Me
opportunity.
“Do you shoot digitally or on film?” he asks. Now that we’re in the air, it’s surprisingly quiet.
“Film,” I say. “My camera’s pretty old.”
“Do you develop your own film?”
“No.” I shudder involuntarily and hope that Damien won’t notice. Of course, he does.
“I didn’t realize that was such a loaded question.”
“I’m not crazy about small, dark spaces,” I admit.
“Claustrophobia?”
“I guess. It’s being enclosed in the dark, mostly.” I lick my lips. “And locked rooms. I don’t like feeling trapped.” I look down and realize I’m hugging myself.
He reaches over and presses a gentle hand to my thigh. I close my eyes and concentrate on steadying my breathing. It’s easier now that I have his touch to center me.
“Sorry,” I finally say.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
“I should be over it. It’s stupid. Just childhood crap, you know?”
“Things that happen in childhood stay with you,” he says,and I remember what Evelyn said about shit being piled onto him when he was a boy. Maybe he does get it. And right then, I want to share. I want him to see that there’s an explanation for my quirks. Maybe I think that without a reason, I just look weak, and I don’t want to seem weak to Damien Stark.
Or maybe I just want him to truly know me.
I don’t know, and I don’t want to wallow in self-analysis. I just want to say the words. “My mother had me competing in pageants from the time I was four,” I say. “She was strict about a lot of things, but the one we battled the most on was me getting my beauty sleep.”
“What did she do?” he asks. His voice is gentle, but clipped, as if he’s holding on tight to control.
“At first, she just told me lights out at whatever time she set for my bedtime. Always at least two hours before my friends. I was never tired, so I’d go to bed, turn out the lights, then pull out a flashlight and play with my stuffed animals. When I got older, I’d read. She caught me one too many times.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the heaviness in the air between us. He’s anticipating my next words.
“She started searching my room. Taking away my flashlight. Then she moved my bedroom to an interior room so that I didn’t have a window, because there was some light that crept in from a streetlamp, and she’d read somewhere that you can only truly sleep well if you’re in pitch-black.” I lick my lips. “And then she put a lock on my door. From the outside. And had an electrician move the light switch to the outside, too.” I’m damp with sweat, wondering if I should have started talking about it, because even though the sky is bright outside the windows, the darkness feels like it’s pressing in around me.
“Your father did nothing?” The anger in Stark’s voice is palpable.
“I don’t know my dad. They divorced when I was a baby. Helives somewhere in Europe now. I almost told my grandfather once, but I never quite worked up the courage before he died.”
“That horrific bitch.” He spits out the word, and though I completely agree, I can feel social niceties rising to my lips, as if I have to find excuses for my mother.
I tamp them down. “My sister tried to help.” I smile as I remember the way Ashley used to shine a light under the crack in my door and read me stories until I got sleepy. At least until our mother found out.
“She didn’t have to have her beauty sleep, too?”
“She didn’t win enough, so my mom eventually quit entering her in pageants.” The freedom had given Ashley time. It had given her back her life. I had adored my big sister, who’d always been my guardian angel, but I’d been incredibly jealous, too. I used to think she was the lucky one.
And then she’d killed herself.
I shiver. “I really don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I say.
He doesn’t acknowledge my words, but after a moment he speaks again. “I thought I knew a bit about photography, but I guess I know less than I thought. I always assumed some light was allowed in.”
I glance sideways at him, grateful for his discretion. He’s stepped away from my personal issues with the dark, but kept the thread of our original conversation. “At a certain point in the process, yes,” I say, letting my fears and memories fade under the weight of a subject I love. “And a red or amber safelight is common when making black and white prints because most of the
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