by Audra North
Well, what was the point of leaving home all those years ago only to end up having her entire world revolve around a man, anyway?
I’m trying to grab hold of my life.
That’s what she’d said to Warren last night. She couldn’t walk away from that simply because he didn’t offer her anything to grab on to.
Of course, standing against the counter in the break room, drinking her eighth cup of coffee that morning, didn’t exactly count, either. She sighed and shuffled back to her desk, clutching the cup like a lifeline.
Dennis must have gotten in while she was in the break room, because he was settling into his chair when she walked up. He paused in the middle of pulling his laptop from his bag, though, and stared at her in concern.
“Hey, Boss Lady. Are you okay? You look—” He broke off, shaking his head slightly, as though reminding himself not to say anything that might come out as insulting. “I mean, is something wrong?”
Poor Dennis. She was probably scaring him, if the look on his face was anything to go by. She shook her head. “Nothing important,” she managed to say.
He hesitated for a second, but then shrugged and gave her a slightly stilted smile. “Cool. Well, uh, you know, if you need anything…” He shrugged again, then went back to setting up his laptop, ignoring her.
She felt awkward, as if she’d done something wrong. It felt like the ill-fitting rules of her girlhood, the ones that required her to put on a happy face in public, to never let anyone see she was hurting. She hated lying. She hated trying to be something she wasn’t.
Never lie.
She put her coffee cup down on the desk and sighed. “Actually, Dennis—” His head jerked up and she gave him a wan smile. “I had a rough night, but I’m okay. Or at least, I will be. But thank you for asking.”
This time, he nodded and even grinned. “I’m sure you’ll get through whatever it is, but let me know if you need anything. You’re tough stuff, Boss Lady.” He winked, and this time, when he bent back to his laptop, it didn’t feel like he was purposely trying to avoid her.
His comment made her think, though. Was she tough? Michelle had told her she had the makings of a great Domme. Warren and Nana had both told her that her photographs were good enough to have her own exhibit. And Dennis had said she was tough.
If so many others saw it, maybe she was the one who had been blind all along. The thought sobered her even further. Maybe it was time to take another look at herself, but this time through a different lens.
“Dennis?” Again, he looked up, and she swallowed hard before saying, “I need a favor.”
* * * * *
“You sure you want to do this?” Dennis lowered his camera and frowned at her.
Beatrice nodded vigorously. “Yes, I’m sure. Why?”
“Well, for starters, I asked you to stand naturally, but your back is all straight and your arms are really tight against your side…you kind of look like a soldier at attention. I know that’s not how you normally stand. And you keep looking at the lighting like you want to fiddle with it. And—”
Beatrice held up a hand. “Okay, okay. I got it.” She blew out a long breath. “I’m sorry I’m being a pain in the ass. It’s really nice of you to do this. I’m just…having a hard time.”
She had asked Dennis to photograph her. That had been her idea this morning, to try to see herself through another lens, but it was hard. It was one thing to turn the camera on herself and imagine taking pictures as though through Warren’s eyes. When she had done that before, she had still been the one in control. She’d been the one imagining. She’d been the one calling—and taking—the shots.
Maybe Warren wasn’t the only one who needed to give up control from time to time.
Now they were in the basement of the newspaper office during their lunch hour, and Beatrice was starting to feel even more guilty for asking Dennis to waste his time this way. But before she could apologize and call it off, he shrugged. “Hey, it’s cool. I understand. I don’t like being photographed, either. Maybe it’s some mythical quality, like how vampires don’t show up in pictures or something.”
At that, Beatrice laughed, loud and echoing, and before she even realized what was happening, Dennis had lifted the camera back to his eye and snapped a few frames.
For a second, she was caught between utter surprise and lingering amusement, and he used the opportunity to take even more photos.
“Oh my God,” she finally managed to get out, gaping at him. And then she added, with more than a little admiration in her voice, “You’re good.”
She didn’t miss the way he blushed, but she also didn’t miss how he straightened with pride. Dennis was a good kid, and she wanted him to succeed. She tried to mentor him, and of course he called her Boss Lady, but she hadn’t realized until this moment that what she said to him mattered so much.
She didn’t want to be blind anymore.
She tipped her head up and nodded at Dennis. “Okay, I think I’m finally ready. Let’s do this.”
An hour later, she was locked in a conference room by herself, staring in awe at the photos Dennis had emailed her. It hadn’t been a fancy, formal shoot—she’d simply wanted to see what it was like—but it felt significant.
She almost didn’t recognize herself.
Sure, the woman in these photos had the same dark hair, the same brown eyes, but Beatrice wasn’t that fierce-looking. She wasn’t that confident or that vibrant.
At least, she didn’t feel that way.
But the pictures told a different story, and it floored her to see the potential in herself. For all that she’d been trying to own her life, it seemed she’d hadn’t been reaching far enough. But even looking at these photos, she was still having a hard time believing she could be that woman. Would she ever reach that point?
She sighed and shut her laptop. Maybe she needed to stop questioning. To let go and start believing, already.
But she knew from experience that was easier said than done.
Chapter Eighteen
“I shouldn’t have gone.” Beatrice swung her legs from the chair where she sat in Nana’s kitchen. It was Saturday evening and she’d just left Rose’s wedding. She had intended to go straight home after the reception, but instead had ended up here at Nana’s, still wearing her formal dress.
“Have another cookie, Bebe.” Nana pushed the plate toward her, and Beatrice complied.
“I think going was good for you, actually,” Nana told her after she’d taken a big bite of cookie. Beatrice coughed, her mouth too full to retort that her grandmother was likely going senile.
“I know you don’t agree, but I remember what it was like for you right after you’d left home. As much as you didn’t want to go back to it, you were grieving for your lost life. Today you got the opportunity for closure. And you took it. That means something.”
Beatrice thought about it for a moment. Even though she’d been hoping for some understanding but hadn’t gotten it, going back there had underscored how much happier she was now. When it came down to it, she wouldn’t trade the life she had now for even a little acceptance from that life she’d left behind. She wasn’t sure she would have been able to be so calm about it only six weeks ago. This arrangement with Warren had done something to her.
She missed him. Over the past few days, she’d thought more about their last encounter. He’d run, true, but she had also used what should have been a neutral space and time to push her feelings on him. Now that her mind was clearer, she wanted to try again, but this time outside of a regularly scheduled session.
Except, she hadn’t yet figured out how to do that. She didn’t even know if he was coming back for their last Wednesday night together.
She nodded. “I think you might be right, Nana.”
Nana looked indignant. “Of course I’m right!”
Beatrice laughed and stood up, bending forward to kiss Nana’s cheek. “This was better than Rose’s wedding,” she said. “But I’d better get going.”
She cleaned up the kitchen and left, Nana waving her out the door. On the bus, she leaned her head against the window and stared at the setting sun.
Nearly an hour later, she stepped off the second bus she’d transferred to and stopped downstairs in her apartment building to check the mail, where she found a plain brown envelope addressed to her, stuffed into her mailbox despite the DO NOT BEND stamp on the exterior.
Oh. It had to be those photos she’d take of herself on her couch the night Warren had called. She’d sent the files to a discreet printing service she’d used for some of her other work, and here they were.
In the flesh, so to speak.
She wondered if they would seem strange to her now, after having viewed Dennis’s photos of her first. Of course, the setup couldn’t be more different, but would she once again find herself looking at a stranger in these pictures?
Just open it.
She grabbed the envelope and headed up the stairs, ripping the paper open as she walked into her apartment, not bothering to even sit down before she pulled the stack of photos out and gasped.
She’d quickly clicked through the photos when she’d uploaded them to her computer, but holding them in her hand and looking at them as though she were taking in an art exhibit made her realize just how beautiful they were. These were done in black and white, but it wasn’t the starkness of the photos that made them so attractive.
It was her.
She’d never seen herself like this. Strong. Confident. In possession of herself, her body, her sexuality…
This time, she didn’t feel like she was looking at a woman she didn’t know. This time—maybe because she’d gotten used to the idea after seeing what Dennis had come up with—she saw all the things that were already inside of her. The woman in these photos was definitely her. She could still feel the sensations she’d experienced when she’d been taking the pictures. It made her miss Warren even more.
She wished there were a way to get through to him. But first she had to actually see him, and that was a challenge in and of itself.
She finished looking through the photos before setting them on her small dinette with a sigh of satisfaction. If Warren could see these, he would understand. These pictures could at least show him all the incredible things he made her feel. How she saw herself when she imagined looking through his eyes, and that it was the greatest thing she’d ever felt. It made her want to be the person everyone else saw. If she could just reach him, this time she wouldn’t let him walk away. This time, she would fight for him.
Maybe she would go to the batting cages tomorrow, on the off chance he might be there, and she could bring the photos, tell him to look at them in private. And if he wasn’t there, there had to be another way to see him in person.
Sighing, she slid the photos back into the envelope, then slipped out of the dress she’d worn to Rose’s wedding, planning to get into the shower to rinse off the slippery residue of spending several hours traveling around the city. Before she could head to the bathroom, someone knocked on the door.
Who could that be? It was only nine o’clock, but no one ever came to her door except Warren, and definitely not on a Saturday.
She pulled on her bathrobe and looked through the peephole.
Oh my God.
It was him.
In that moment, part of her was scared something had happened, but part of her was nearly crying in relief that he’d come, especially after everything she’d realized about how she felt about him. She hadn’t wanted last time to be the last time.
He didn’t look worried or tense. Just…tired, from what she could tell through the peephole. And he was in his uniform, his cap pushed high under one arm. She nearly yanked the door off its hinges, forcing a teasing grin to her face.
“Am I under arrest?”
He gave her a wan smile in return. Her teasing expression dropped, and she reached out a hand to him. “What’s wrong, Warren?”
“Nothing, nothing. I, uh, thought I’d stop by on the way home and see if you’d gotten back from the wedding.”
He’d remembered—from the brief conversation they’d had about Rose’s wedding, he’d kept the date in his mind. She wanted to kiss him for being so thoughtful, but there was something off in his demeanor and it made her apprehensive. For all her desire to try to show him what she felt and to share her photos, it didn’t feel right to push herself on him just now. So instead, she forced herself to remain calm, to take her cue from him and talk about everyday things.
She nodded. “A few minutes ago, in fact. I stopped by my grandmother’s on the way home. Do you want to come in?”
He nodded and stepped in stiffly, as though his limbs had turned wooden and he was having a hard time making them bend.
This was going to be harder than she’d thought. Even though something had changed between them a couple of days ago, and both of them had to know they were clearly doing more than role-playing, he apparently still had the expectations of Wednesday evenings, waiting for her to invite him inside, while she was well beyond that.
She almost wanted to tell him to leave and come back on Wednesday, when he could feel more comfortable and she could reach him, but he was acting so strangely she wasn’t about to turn him away.
She waved nervously toward the couch. “Do you want to sit?”
He looked at her with a furrowed brow, as though she were speaking a foreign language. Something was really wrong. She stopped worrying about how she was supposed to act with him now. He’d come to her in the first place in order to share the burden of control, had he not? Wednesday night, Saturday night, sex or kissing or quiet talking, it didn’t matter. He still needed relief.
And the truth was she loved him. She loved him, and wanted to give him everything.
But that part could wait. Right now, he needed her, and she was going to be there for him whether or not he accepted her love.
She used her most commanding voice to say, “Sit on the couch, Warren.”
He sat, dropping his cap onto the coffee table and lowering himself to the cushions like a dying man. She immediately followed, sitting on the table across from him and putting her hands on his knees, rubbing in soft, easy circles and feeling wildly pleased she’d listened to her instincts about him. He spent his minutes looking after everyone else, but no one ever looked after him.
She wanted to.
“Tell me what happened.” Her tone brooked no opposition, and once again he immediately obeyed, releasing the stress in his body. Giving it up to her.
He took a deep, shuddering breath. “My dad had a stroke recently. He’d had another one a while ago, but this one was really recent. That’s why I couldn’t come two weeks ago. He was just getting back from the hospital after being in recovery there. You asked me about it when we went to lunch, and I didn’t tell you then. Remember?”
Oh God. Her heart squeezed for him. He’d said he lived with his parents. It must have been hell for him the past couple of weeks.
She nodded. “I remember.”
He sighed. “So last night, I had to take Dad to the hospital again because he was having trouble breathing. I live with them, I told you that. My mom was a wreck. We were all afraid it was another stroke. Having two in such quick succession would have been the end. Nate lives there too, and he saw it. He came to the hospital too, was a trouper the whole way, but he’s gotta be having a hard time. He won’t talk about it. Everyone stayed by Dad’s side for hours, in the middle of the night—” He cut off, bending his head and pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment.
Beatrice didn’t miss the significance of him telling her about his private life. Letting her in. She waited, keeping herself open and ready to pick u
p the burden he was trying to share.
“Turns out he was dehydrated, but Kelly had to call in sick to work this morning. Her boss fired her over the phone because she’s already done this a few times because of—God, because of life. So after I left the hospital, I went straight to the diner to pay a visit to her boss. He agreed to take her back as long as it doesn’t happen again.”
He massaged his temples. “But it will. Even without Dad’s problems, Kelly has a hard time controlling her impulsiveness.”
He shook his head. “Anyway, Mom stayed with Dad at the hospital and I went home after the diner to take care of Nathan until I had to go do a detail job. They sent Dad home today and Mom is staying with him and Nate. She actually told me to stay away because I’d only be in the way.” He huffed as though he couldn’t believe his own mother had told him such a thing. “And I wasn’t sure where to go…”
He trailed off, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I came here. It was the only place I could think of where I could—” He stopped abruptly and she wanted to scream, Where you could what? but he scowled down at his hands and blew out a ragged breath before saying, “I didn’t leave things well last week and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have walked off like that. I should—fuck. I should go. I’m just bringing you down.”
He shouldn’t have walked off like that? Her heart soared. But they’d have to talk about that later. Warren was too scattered right now, his thoughts coming out all over the place. It was clear he needed something from her, and she knew how to give it.
He started to rise, to leave like he’d said, but Beatrice put out a hand, staying him. “I know why you came,” she said softly.
“’Cause I’m an asshole?” he scoffed.
She shook her head and took his hand, raising it to her lips. “To get some balance.”
Things were changing for him, she could see. But it was also obvious he wasn’t sure how to process those changes yet.
He opened his mouth as if to respond, but she shushed him, then smiled and leaned forward, slipping the buttons of his shirt through the holes and pulling the hem from his pants. She pushed the sleeves down so his shirt was hanging off his arms, revealing a white tank undershirt, but before she could remove it completely, he covered her hand with his, stilling her motions for a moment.