46. Norah

NOW

Norah was relieved when everyone retreated into their bedrooms so she could finally do the same. There, she lay in the middle of her bed, surrounded by dogs, and turned her mind to the subject she'd been avoiding all day.

Kevin had texted twice more, saying how much he was looking forward to her video. With the second message, he sent links of some examples he'd seen online. Norah had had to turn them off before she'd finished. She wasn't a prude, but it was really quite repulsive. Some of it looked painful. The idea that it came from weaselly Kevin made it all the more repulsive.

It's a transaction,she told herself. No big deal. And yet, somehow, she found she didn't believe it.

I suspect your skewed idea of sex and its power stems from your childhood.

Her therapist's comment had echoed loudly in Norah's ears all day. Though she'd never admit it to Neil, she was starting to think he had a point. As a child, Norah had had very little power. She'd had to use every means at her disposal to keep herself safe, to have some agency in her life. It just so happened that "every means at her disposal" meant sex and violence.

It was true that, as an adult, she had more tools in her kit. She had money—not a lot, but enough. She had food in her fridge. She had the dogs to protect her and her sisters to support her. In most situations, it was possible for her to do things differently from how she'd always done them. Pay for someone to do odd jobs for her. Tell people to go away rather than hit them. Save sex for—what had Neil said?—mutual pleasure. After those few moments this afternoon with Ishir and the dogs that afternoon, it was certainly an idea that she could get behind—in the future. But in the meantime, she had a problem she needed to deal with right now. And once again, as in childhood, she was powerless.

She pushed the dogs off her and sat up. The room was small and devoid of props, but she pulled the throw from the bed and arranged the pillows on top, propping her up her phone on the coffee table. Then she stripped off and sat down. The dogs were watching curiously from the bed.

"A little privacy, please?" Norah said.

They all ignored her, of course.

"Guys," she said. She'd thought she was speaking in her usual conversational tone, the same tone she used when they'd eaten one of her shoes, or killed the neighbor's rabbit. Instead, it came out scratchy, pitchy, rising into a squeak like someone starting to cry.

She was, she realized, starting to cry.

By the time she'd noted her own tears, the dogs were already getting up off the bed and circling around her on the floor, before pressing their great hefts against her comfortingly. It only made things feel more hopeless. She began to sob in earnest, her entire body heaving with it. "Stop it," she said to the dogs. "Stop comforting me. I have a video to make and I can't do it with you three lying on the set."

She wiped her face with her forearm and stood. She'd have to let them out. It was better for everyone if they didn't have to see what she was doing. She stepped into her jeans and T-shirt, and walked through the living room. The moment she opened the front door of the cottage, the dogs burst out into the night in search of nocturnal animals to torment. Norah was about to shut the door again when she saw them.

Miss Fairchild. And Jessica. Hugging.