“All those nights you said you were busy or tired?” she asked. “I was out, dressed like this, trying to convince the world – and myself – that I could be this,” I replied. “And those clothes I saw in your closet?” “Mine… I lied when I said they were my dads, that I was keeping them as mementos after he had died.” Her eyes were wide, so wide, but she was still here! Still with me. “I have a confession,” she said, and there was a trace of uncertainty in her voice. Her hands tightened around mine. My heart dropped six feet below the floor, but I was confused. If she was going to say what I thought she was going to say, why was she pulling me closer? Her hand came back to my hair, touching again. “I love this,” she said. My heart changed direction and hit the ceiling. What? Shouldn’t she be angry? I had kept this from her! This could end our relationship! It would change everything! “I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long,” she went on. She sat closer still, one hand holding. The cane strokes were continuing and as they got closer to eighteen Margaret and Linda were hoping that that would be the end of it. Indeed, as the eighteenth stroke landed, they both held their breaths hoping that they would feel the cuffs and straps being released. That didn’t happen though, and, instead, the nineteenth stroke landed and they once again let out loud yelps. In fact, as they both struggled with that stroke, they opened their eyes and found their vision was blurred, and then felt tears dribbling down their face, and knew they were about to dissolve into uncontrolled crying, just as they had seen those at the discipline centre dissolve. As the twentieth stroke landed and then the twenty-first and then the twenty-second, so the pain was just too much for them to bear, and the sobbing started in earnest as they pulled unsuccessfully at their wrist cuffs. Even as the twenty-third stroke and the twenty-fourth stroke landed, so they were pulling away, more because they.
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