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283 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 4, 2016
"Gould is magical and gives everyone happiness and dangerous confidence, like cocaine made from unicorn dandruff."
I'd grown up shy. Hearing from my mom that the squeaky wheel got the oil, but knowing I'd rather fall off the fucking wagon than make a sound.
For me, submission wasn't a game, wasn't temporary, wasn't some bonus facet of my identity. It was the way I kept a promise alive, it was the way I let myself need. It was my voice.

I knew I wasn’t the only one who felt the loss: my friends, the community, Kel and Greg...lots of people had suffered. But sometimes I thought I was the only one who wasn’t healing with time. My friends struggled with their grief occasionally, but for the most part, they’d moved on. Found relationships. Started families or new careers. And I was still stuck on one night, one thought: Bill shouldn’t have gotten away with it. He shouldn’t have fucking gotten away with it.
My memories of Hal worked like that sometimes—I’d feel, for a few minutes, like he was right beside me. Feel his warmth, the movements of his body. Then it would all fade suddenly, leaving the space around me so empty I almost couldn’t stand it.

Nothing will bring Hal back. Not hating Bill. Not burying yourself in memories. Not asking Kel to strip you down to something less than human.

Was there such a thing as grieving too much? For too long? At what point did it become...inappropriate, I guess? Right after Hal had died, everyone kept telling me my feelings were natural. What about now? What about nearly three years later, when I still thought about him every fucking day? Still missed him just as much?
Hal was gone. But I got him back in dreams. I got him back in memories. I batted the years away from my eyes like smoke and saw us as we had been—young and wild and clawing at each other to escape some imagined prison. Happy and reckless and seeking adventure in each other’s body. Protecting each other. I got him back a million times, and each time I was more thrilled than the last.





We started the Subs Club to make the kink community safer for subs. Except now the others are so busy chasing their happy endings, it’s like they’ve forgotten what Bill did to Hal and the fact that he got away with it. They used to think I was betraying Hal’s memory by hooking up with the owners of the club where he died. Now they don’t seem to care about any of it anymore.
Maybe I am sometimes angry with GK and Kel for giving Bill a second chance, but they’ve been mentoring me for a year now, and whatever else they’ve done, they make me feel incredibly safe. So I want to try something: I want to offer them my complete submission, 24/7. To serve the people who forgave Bill. That’s the way I want to hurt.
Except I’m starting to care about them in a way I never meant to—and I think they feel the same way. But after Hal, I don’t know if I want to be in love again. Because what I really need, more than anything, is to see Bill brought to justice. Even if I have to do it myself. Even if it means losing GK and Kel.

"For me, submission wasn't a game, wasn't temporary, wasn't some bonus facet of my identity. It was the way I kept a promise alive, it was the way I let myself need.
It was my voice."