There were candles everywhere: lining the tables, lining the walls and even in the host's hands. I was already on edge (not in the good way), and I felt like I had just walked into someone's sexual fantasy. Room dimly lit by the candles, I could just make out the pillows scattered across the floor, thrown in pairs of two. Sensual music already playing, Lamar led me to a pair of cushions.

      As we waited for the cushions to fill, I was told that this was the retreat's biggest event. It was what they were most known for. People were buzzing with excitement, while I was nearly shitting myself. I knew I ought to have taken that Pepto. Heart pounding, palms sweaty, that banging potato salad from earlier was threatening to ruin the beautiful set up. I could feel it in my bones that this was the moment everything went wrong. A newly developed sense of knowing the turning point in a set up. This was Glenn taking his pants off. This was Émile petting my hair. This was Laurence lying about going to the bathroom.

     When the cushions were full, the host spoke for a while, which was admittedly nice. It was talk similar to the affirmations Lamar had made me repeat earlier that day. This kind of talking was easy, and I couldn't say that it was completely failing to create any sort of connection. Using his words, I did think that Lamar was pretty dope. But again, that line that went above friendship, never wanted to be crossed.

     I had been at ease with the repetitions and promises of trust, until the workers began passing around oil and blindfolds. Panic mode immediately reinstated.

      Host stepping away from the mic, the music grew a few beats louder. As if living a nightmare, my movements slowed, requiring much encouragement from Lamar to follow the host's instructions. There were hardly any instructions. She basically told use to use the props and have fun. She wanted us to embrace the simple, sensual pleasure of touch, of skin on skin. But we were to keep the more intense stuff for our rooms. People had laughed at the joke. I had not. I was too busy catastrophizing. I was picturing sirens. Firetrucks and ambulances. A bunch of horny people burned by the actions of a panicked 28-year-old Jasmine flower.

      "Just do what feels right," Lamar tried to reassure me, readying the blindfold. We decided that he'd go first. I didn't want the expectations of following his lead. Better to get it over with. "There is no wrong way to do this."

      Clearly, he didn't know me well. There were countless ways this could go wrong. For starters, I think he'd disagree with his latest proclamation if I got up and ran to the nearest bus station.

      "This isn't really my type of thing," I reminded him. "This is hard."

      Dark eyes illuminated by the candlelight, they sparkled mischievously. "Not hard yet." He smirked. "Maybe in a few minutes."

      Under any other circumstances the joke would have made things so much worse, but in the heat of the moment, I couldn't help but laugh. Lamar released a soft chuckle of his own, before placing a friendly finger to my lip.

      "Shh," he laughed. "This really isn't the giggling type of event."

      "Right." I nodded, pressing my lips shut.

      Laying down on his back, he positioned the blindfold. "Just think of it as a massage," he suggested. "I bet you've given a massage before."

      I hummed in agreement. I had gifted my mother countless spa days as a child. Something told me this was going to be very different.

      I went about the massage very technically. I sought out knots and tight spots. I didn't bother with soft touches and the scratching of fingers to make the experience more sensual as the other pairs were doing, if the moaning was any indicator. Despite my tactic, few moans did escape Lamar, and something hard had definitely nudged my leg. I ignored both. So long as I didn't think too much about, the lump in my throat could be kept at bay.

     I managed to relax just in time for the bell to ring. Indicator to switch positions, I stiffened again. With slightly shaky hands, I took Lamar's place, blindfold transferred to my head.

     "Just say the word and I'll stop," he promised before by vision went black.

      As fingers immersed in oil simmered up and down my skin, from my toes to the edge my bikini bottoms and up to my torso and to my lips, I willed myself to stay still. I kept the squirming and flinching at a minimum despite his touch being feather light and teasing. Drifting off into my thoughts, I tried not to think of his touch. I focused on the lavender smell emitting from the burning wax and the way it reminded me of Sabi's backyard. I focused on the smell of the oil and the way it was nearly identical to the tanning lotion Josie used.

       When I didn't think too much about it, it wasn't so bad. It was just contact; neither pleasing nor completely displeasing. But when I let myself remember where I was, let myself acknowledge the other people, I shrank, body weighed down by emotions. I didn't understand. The content sighs and moans were a reminder that I wasn't feeling what I ought to.

      Overwhelmed, pressure on my chest rising, when the bell rang and we were instructed to sit calmly and hold our partner's gaze, I couldn't help it. I broke. I broke for the wrong reasons. With whispered encouragement and praises of meaningful connections from the host, her words affected most of the guests. Sniffles and whimpers could be heard across the room. Even Lamar sported a few unshed tears. But her words went completely over my head.

      I didn't understand it. I felt that I had missed some sort of glorious epiphany. And because I was so confused, because I felt so... wrong. I broke. Invisible force slamming into my chest, tears welled into my eyes. I couldn't breathe. Something was wrong. I felt the unsettling tickling in my gut of knowing something was wrong, but the fact that I couldn't put it to words made my reaction so much more intense.

      "Are you okay?" Lamar leaned forward in genuine concern; brows knit tightly together.

      Choking on a shaky breath, I shook my head.

      "We can step outside," he suggested. "Get you some fresh air."

      I nodded eagerly, already scrambling to my feet. "You stay." The session was practically over. Only the debriefing was left, and he didn't need me for that. "Finish the workshop, I'll be alright."

      "Are you sure?" he inquired. "I don't mind... Or do you feel like you need a moment alone?"

      "I think a need a moment alone."

      Lamar nodded understandably, taking no offence.

      Head down, I scrambled towards the exit, before the tears could fall. I strode down two hallways before finding an exit door. I crashed through it, inhaling sharply when my skin met fresh air. Droplets of sweat running down my forehead, hands and legs shaking, my toes found sand and I let myself collapse. Bringing my knees into my chest, I laid my head in my arms, gulping breaths of air in attempt to control my breathing.

      I sat for many minutes, head down, concentrating on the sound of waves splashing against rocks in the distance. Slowly, minute by minute, the weight on my chest eased and my breaths fell in and out at a normal pace.

     Sat behind the cottage-like building, having used the backdoor, I didn't expect anyone to find me. But the soft shuffling of a tentative approach clearly marked someone's advance. I wasn't startled by their presence. It took me a few moments to raise my head in their direction. I looked up expecting to find Lamar.

     It wasn't Lamar. Mouth agape, I almost recoiled in surprise. "Oliver?"

     The blond smiled sheepishly, settling against the wall, a few feet away from me. He left a comfortable distance between us, and I smiled in appreciation.

     "What are you doing here?" I remained stunned.

      He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hairnet. "Someone heard about this weekend position that paid really well."

      I narrowed my eyes at his exaggerated coolness. Something in his tone told me that his presence wasn't just a coincidence.

      "Quinn told me about it." He sighed. "She thought it would be a great experience to add to my resume. I swear I didn't know you'd be here."

      I groaned into my hands. I couldn't believe she did that. Even during a setup, she was trying to set me up. And she had been so adamant on me accepting Bella's idea.

     "I guess I should have known," he conceded. "She was practically shaking with excitement."

     I shook my head in exasperation, mumbling apologies. Oliver was quiet, giving me the choice to answer his silent question. It was difficult to ignore the state he had found me in. Eventually I dared to look at him, turning my body ever so slightly in his direction.

     "You made the potato salad, didn't you?" I asked, voice still a little shaky.

     Oliver laughed, certainly not expecting the question. He nodded.

     "Bless you," I said. "Your salad made my weekend monumentally more tolerable."

     Oliver laughed again, but this time hazel eyes shimmered with sympathy. "That bad?"

     "I—" Tears threatening to spill, just thinking about it, I hesitated.

     "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. But if you want to talk about it, I'm listening."

      Nodding, I waited a few beats before taking a deep breath.

     Oliver's eyes narrowed dangerously. "He didn't force you into anything you—"

     "No." I shook my head immediately. "Lamar was really respectful. He was a little much to handle, but he never did anything with permission."

      Oliver waited, eyes softening to encourage a response. He was waiting for the but.

     "I just... I tried to force myself out of my comfort zone. I wanted to give it a shot. But I didn't—I didn't—I don't know."

     "You didn't like it?" he offered.

     I shook my head, blinking rapidly to save the tears from spilling. The fact that I couldn't even ascertain a reason to cry, made me want to double my tears.

     "I'm so confused, Oliver," I choked. "I don't understand. None of it was working. Everyone was crying in the last exercise, and I don't know why. And then I was crying because I didn't feel anything... Is there something wrong with me? Why can't I—"

     "Woah," Oliver whispered softly, scootching over to pull me into his side. Tucked safely under his arms, there was no chance of stopping the tears. "There's nothing wrong with you."

     Singing praises into my hair, Oliver tried to comfort me, promising that my feelings were valid. That there was nothing wrong with the way I felt, and that it was okay to be confused.

      When my cheeks dried up and I composed myself, I lifted myself off his shoulder.

     "Sorry about that," I sniffled into my arm, not quite meeting his eyes.

     "You have nothing to apologize about." He nudged my shoulder playfully. "I just finished my last shift for the weekend, if you want to leave early, you can jump on with me."

     "Really?" Instant relief washed over me.

     "Of course." Jumping to his feet, he offered me his hand. "I have a few things to pack up. Meet you in the parking lot in a half hour?"

     I felt awful for leaving early, for abandoning Lamar. But it was better this way. Pretending wasn't going to get me anywhere.