The Absolutely True Story of Us Read Online Free Page A

busy. That shouldn't get in the way of our arrangement. How long have we been doing this, Lana?

    I don't know.

    M: Four months, Lana. Every day, for four months now, I've spent at least a little bit of my time thinking about how to shock you. Surprise you. Pleasure you. And this is the thanks I get.

    You know my situation.

    M: You always made plenty of time for me before.

    I want to say something else, to make up more excuses, but my stomach's already in knots over it. You see, M thinks my book is a true story. Like everyone else, he thinks me and "Damien" are actually a couple. He thinks I'm in love, committed, deeply attached to another man. And yet he's happy to do this with me.
    Scumbag.
    It's amazing how much I don't care, when he says just the right thing to turn me on. It's amazing how little it matters, when it's just about sex. But it's starting to feel like more than that.  
    Keep it together, Warden.
    I'm so starved for a meaningful emotional attachment with another human being, I'm actually starting to...
    I can't. It's M . For fuck's sake.
    I finally respond.

    I'm not making any more excuses. Take it or leave it.

    M: Doesn't work like that.

    What the hell does that mean?  

    I think it works however I want it to work.

    M: Wrong. That's not why you're doing this.

    Oh, really? Why don't you tell me more about my private thoughts and motivations. I'm fascinated.

    M: You have to play the competent entrepreneur in your real life, and you do it well, but it scares you. It's all new. It's nothing you were ever prepared for. What if you fuck up? All the responsibility is on your head. You need a place to go and rid yourself of all that responsibility. A place where someone tells you to jump, and all you have to do is ask how high. You need a release. And you think I'm the man to give it to you.

    I blink at the screen a few times.

    You're nuts.

    M: Search your feelings, you know it to be true.

    I love it when you talk nerdy to me.

    M: Take off your panties.

    Why should I?

    M: Because you want to. But you need someone to give you permission.  

    God, I hate him.

    You don't know anything about what I want.

    M: If only that were true. You think I enjoy dealing with you and your bratty attitude? It's basically charity work. I'm compelled to help you like the good Samaritan I am. That man of yours certainly isn't scratching that itch.

    This is the first time he's directly referenced Damien. There's a sour taste in my mouth, but I'm still throbbing between my legs.
    Because he's right. I want it. I want all of it. I don't even know what I want, and that's the point. He knows, so I don't have to. How does he have that power over me?
    Obviously it's just my mind playing tricks on me. What I really want is to follow orders, and he's just exceptionally good at giving them. He's inside my head, convincing me of my own desires so seamlessly that my libido can't even tell the difference.
    I feel a little bit lightheaded. As I unbutton my jeans, another message comes in.

    M: Don't touch yourself.

    Damn it.
    Not only has he anticipated my next move, he's aware that I'm already following his orders without having to be told again. I hate being a foregone conclusion. I hate how well he knows me, better than I know myself.
    How is that even possible?
    More importantly: How am I going to function with another human being up in my space? Dean is sleeping just a few feet away, through a way-too-thin wall. I keep reminding myself that I just need to get through my parents' visit, but those two weeks are going to feel like an eternity. M's influence over my life has grown so gradually, weaving itself into every moment, every breath, that I didn't realize how insidious it was until now.  
    I step out of my panties and shove them into the hamper before shimmying back into my jeans. The fabric rasping against my sensitive flesh is uncomfortable, but in a really nice way. I glance at myself in the mirror - my face flushed,