Risk (BDSM Dominant submissive Romance): Everything to lose. Everything to gain.

by Mia Moore

  When he finished, Doug asked, “Well, why didn't you try to get a job with the local paper? New York's pretty far away, you know.”

  Attempting to be sarcastic, he replied, “Yeah, I wish I could- I mean, the Sun's got Suduko, you know.”

  “Ahhh… I don't do none of those puzzles, who's got the time.”

  He nodded, “Yeah, you're right, who's got the time…”

  “Well, YOU do,” replied Doug. “I mean, all you gotta do for your daily bread is bang out some stuff on a computer nobody's gonna read anyway! Not like you got a real job.”

  Nobody's gonna read? Two best sellers? Aww...

  He stood up, fished some bills out of his pocket and dropped it on the bar. “Yeah, lucky me, eh? See ya next week, Doug.”

  “See ya around, Professor.”

  Back home, he tried and failed to write. He had no deadlines, the book was done, and he had given the Times two months worth of articles when they hired him. He went to the living room, and turned on the TV. No games on that he was interested in- the Jays weren't playing till the night time, and he really wasn't interested in European soccer.

  He glanced at the phone sitting in its cradle on the end table. He reached over and picked it up. What the hell, why not give Jessica a call?

  NO. The word in his head was resolute.

  A cold no. The sort of no you'd say if someone asked if you'd like to have dog food garnish your ice cream sundae.

  But behind that no… softly… was a murmur… like a faint voice calling…

  “Miiichael!” from far away.

  Like when he was a kid. Living on the east coast.

  He'd be on the shore on a Saturday morning, skipping stones into the surf. Conception Bay was on the Atlantic side, and the surf was often powerful. He loved trying to skip a stone off one incoming wave and see if it could hit another or even a third behind it. The surf and the beach wind made voices hard to carry…

  “Miiichael!”

  He would hear the word, like a whisper, and before turning around knew who it was, and that the rest of his day was going to be fun. Looking over his shoulder, high up on the bluff, he'd see the frame of his best friend calling him. And there would be Hamish, waving with his arms, gesturing for him to come up.

  He would go up the path to the street where his bicycle was. Hamish always had something on the go. They had grown up just a couple of houses away from each other. From the day they started to chum around, to that Saturday morning when he was ten, Hamish was always up to something.

  They'd jump on their bikes and pedal off in the morning. They’d explore, and talk, and if either or both had any money, they'd pool their coins and get something at lunchtime their mothers would scold them for. Well, Hamish's mother would scold them. With a smile though.

  If the weather was warm enough, they'd go swimming. But not just swimming, they'd be Paratroopers jumping into Normandy on D-Day. From a rock jetty nearby, they would leap fifteen feet into the ocean, shouting "Geronimo!" as they fell. He was afraid of heights, but more afraid his buddy would think he was a wimp, and so leapt. With his eyes closed.

  They'd be back home six, no later, and as usual, Hamish would ask him if he'd like to stay for supper. And as usual, he’d remark, only if there was good food. And Hamish would cuff him upside the head for taking a shot at Hamish's Mum's cooking, and they'd laugh.

  At dinner, Hamish's parents would ask all of the kids how they spent their day. Not interrogating them or anything, they were curious. With the size of their brood (Hamish had two brothers and two sisters), the stories, teasing and laughter would take over an hour. Hamish's Mum would always ask him if he’d written any new stories, and ask if he had a tale he could tell. He always did.

  “Ye watch this lad, a writer he'll be, and never ‘ave calluses on his hands like the rest of ye!” she'd say. Hamish came from a long line of fishermen, and was looking forward to the day when he could go out on the boats with his Pa like his older brothers. Craig was envious- he loved the water as much as his best friend.

  And when he came of age, at sixteen, Hamish went out on the boats. He became a fisherman like his father before him.

  Hamish, and his father, and two older brothers got caught in a storm and all drowned that first summer on the sea. Their bodies were never recovered.

  Anytime he would visit afterwards, Hamish's mother would cry for the memory of all she’d lost, and for her poor boys. So he stopped going over.

  When he left for university a year later, he’d never returned to his village in the bay.

  So that light voice in the back of his heart calling… was a voice of impending sorrow and more loss. It was far and away from his yesterdays, but it was a girl's voice calling, calling.

  A young Jessica's voice, calling.

  Calling him home…?

  Still holding the handset of the phone, he looked down to see his hand shaking. He also felt clammy. His breath was ragged. He gulped; it sounded like a choke.

  He jumped from the sofa, still holding the phone.

  “FUUUUCK YOOUUUU!” With all his might, he flung the phone across the room. With every ounce of strength, he rocketed that handset away from him, shattering it against the opposite wall.

  “Fuck you!” he screamed again.

  He stood there panting, gasping for air.

  What the hell was that all about! What the hell is wrong with him? He hadn't thought of Hamish in years and years! He took a few deep breaths, calming himself down. Maybe he really should get that damn dog.

  Maybe not so much a dog as a shrink.

  Maybe not so much a shrink as a drink.

  Good idea. He walked to the kitchen, fished the bottle from the cupboard, and poured a stiff one.

  Downed it like water, and refilled the tumbler. Downed that slower- three gulps this time.

  What the hell is wrong with him?

  He grabbed the bottle, the tumbler, and went outside.

  Got to find something to do! He took out a hose, bucket and some detergent and started to give his Jag a wash, taking sips of scotch until half of the bottle was gone. And he didn't feel a damn thing.

  He rinsed off his car and jumped when the cell phone in his pocket buzzed. He dropped the hose and grabbed it. Maybe?

  He looked at the ID- A. Nolan? Who the hell is that?

  “Hullo?”

  “Hi Craig. It's Annik. Paradox's, Kevin, remember me?”

  Outside of the occasions they’d met at Paradox’s, they’d never socialized.

  He had to stop and think for a second. “Yes, Yes...Annik! How are you?”

  “I'm doing fine. Craig, I'd like to talk to you. Are you busy right now? I'd like to meet you for a drink.”

  That sounded like a plan. He had a few belts already. It's going to be that kind of day then.

  “Uh, sure. But it's gotta be close to my place, okay? How about Andy's on Queen and Woodbine?”

  “Okay. What time?”

  “I'm heading there now.” He rang off, picked up the hose, shut it off, and stowed the car wash gear. No way was he going to drive. And if she wanted to see him, let it be on his turf, his terms at his time. So there.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, Annik walked into Andy's and saw him sitting at a table. As she came over to him, she could see that he was already a few ahead of her. She had never seen him drink much during the times they had met at Paradox's, and so guessed that maybe this had been a tough week for him too. Which, to her mind, was actually a good sign. Sort of.

  They exchanged greetings; she sat down and quickly ordered a drink. They looked at each other in silence for a moment.

  “Well?” he said. A little rude, maybe, but he'd had a tough day.

  “Craig, I want to talk to you about Jessica.”

  He leaned into the table, his eyes flying open. “Jessica? What's wrong? Is she okay?”

  Annik laid her hand on his, “Yes, Craig, she's okay, it's okay.”

  “Then what's
up?” He drew his hand away.

  “Well, this may be none of my business…”

  “That's what people usually say before they butt in, Annik. What do you want?” Having regained control, he was now a little embarrassed.

  “Yes, you're probably right. I've never done anything like this in my life- scout's honor. I spent the day with her yesterday, she's a wonderful woman, you know.”

  “Go on…”

  “Craig, I saw the way you two were at Paradox's last week. It was obvious you care a great deal for her.”

  “Yeah, she's nice…”

  “Way more than nice. She's in love with you; and I think you love her too.”

  “LOVE? You're here telling me about love? That's a laugh.” He couldn't have helped it if he tried, but he wanted… yes, wanted to be cruel.

  “What’s that mean?” She tilted her head back, eyes narrowed.

  “I got a hooker, telling ME about love! Oh that's rich.” He leaned back in his seat. “Kevin told me about your arrangement, Annik; but no matter how you slice it, you have sex for money. And I've met enough prostitutes to have a pretty good idea the sort of games women of your- ahem- profession play and play well. Kevin's my friend, and he's wild about you, sure; but please, give it a break- you telling me about love.”

  She started to get up, but paused, her face softening.

  She sat back down. Silently.

  “Okay, then Craig, I'm a hooker. A whore. That better?”

  His face flushed and he looked at the floor. So much for his professed open mindedness and tolerance, huh? “Hey, maybe I was…”

  “No, you were accurate. Let me ask you- I ever make a move on you? Flirt with you? Anything like that?”

  “No.”

  “You ever see me flirt with any other guy than Kevin at Paradox's?”

  “No.” Craig was squirming under her truths now.

  “Let me ask you another question- you were involved with that girl Josee for a while. I met her a bunch of times. She went there with you. You ever see her flirt with the other men there?”

  He nodded. They’d actually had a fight about her 'just being friendly' once. Hell, more than once.

  “But I'm the whore.”

  “Hey-”

  “Look, Craig, I'm really good at what I do. I don't need to expand my clientele by flirting. I'm busy enough. But I don't have to be a gold digger. And you and I both know, Josee was a gold digger.”

  “Okay, you're not a gold digger. That must make your Dad proud.”

  She let the silence hang for a count of five.

  “My father's dead, Craig. So's my mother. Why are you trying to be cruel?”

  He sat in stony silence.

  Ahhh hell; he was being mean, just for the sake of hurting someone. He rested his chin in his hand, looking at the floor for a moment. Inhaling deeply, he looked back up at her.

  “I am, aren't I? Awww shit, I apologize for my outburst, Annik, You're right, I was mean. I've had a few to drink, and I'm having a bad day.” He looked at the floor again. “But that's no reason to take it out on you. I'm sorry.”

  “Apology accepted.” She stuck her hand out. “Shake.” They shook hands. “Hear me out. I'm here on my own to help you, you know- I think if Jessica knew I was 'butting in' as you put it, she'd be upset with me too.”

  He sighed. “So why the hell are you doing all this butting in, Annik? I don't think you got the butt to spare.” He gave a weak smile at his lame joke.

  “It's because, in your case- in your and Jessica's case- I care. I can see love when it happens.”

  “Go on, I'm trying to listen.”

  “Look, you just said something about my parents, which was hurtful.”

  “Yeah, and I’m genuinely sorry about that.”

  “No, let me finish. It served a purpose, believe it or not. I saw something between you and Jessica, and you mentioning my parents just now made it clear to me. The way you looked at Jessica, Craig, I've seen that look before. The fun, the excitement, the passion, the joy on both your faces was very familiar to me, you see.

  You look at Jessica the same way my Poppa looked at my Mamma.”

  He sat quietly taking it in.

  “Haven't you seen that expression between your parents Craig?”

  He snorted, “You shitting me? Not on your life! They couldn't stand each other! And my father bailed on us when I was just a little kid! And then-” he cut himself off. That was enough of that.

  Her heart went out to him. The pain on his face, as plain as day.

  She decided one last tactic. She took a sip of her drink.

  “Jessica said that you had an important trip to New York. How’d that go for you?”

  His face lit up. “It went great! I landed a hell of a deal for my latest book, and I got hired by the Times! It was great!”

  She cut him off while he was still feeling good.

  “Who do you have in your life to share that with, Craig? Who did you call to tell about your success?”

  He stopped still, dead in the tracks of his jubilance, which vanished like a winter's breath. “Nobody.”

  “Nobody? No one at all?”

  He shook his head silently.

  “And why is that? Who's fault is that? Who's decision was that?” She kept her voice soft, not accusatory. “Jessica hoped it went great for you too, you know. She'd be thrilled to hear how it went, not for her, but for YOU. I think you got a lot to brag about.”

  He stayed silent, looking at his now empty glass.

  “Craig, what did Jessica do to you?”

  He looked up, eyes wide.

  “She scared you. Actually she frightened the hell out of you. But Craig, it's not that she scared ALL of you- she scared a hurt, a wounded part of you. But that's all, just a part.”

  She stood up, downed the rest of her drink and picked up her purse.

  “You're a pretty bright guy, Craig. You can figure out the rest. Goodbye. I hope to see you again under happier circumstances, my friend.” She patted him on the shoulder and left.

  He stayed in the bar getting well and truly drunk. He staggered out at closing time, stumbled home and fell into bed.

  And in his bed he dreamed.

  Of he, Hamish and Jessica, riding their bikes along the bluff, laughing.

  Chapter 19

  Craig's eyes creaked open early Sunday afternoon. He cracked one eye and looked at the clock. Shit- 12:15. He had things to do today. He got out of bed slowly. Thank God he had the presence of mind the night before to drink two glasses of water and take some aspirin before falling into bed. He dragged his lame ass into the bathroom and took a long shower. It wasn't refreshing, but it was enough to get his engine running.

  He wandered into the kitchen and had a light breakfast- tea and toast. Not coffee; his stomach probably couldn’t handle it. He headed back into the bedroom and got dressed. Jeans, a golf shirt, and a summer weight jacket.

  He checked his look in the mirror. Shit.

  He took off his jacket, returned to the bathroom and trimmed his beard. He hadn't touched it all week, and today he better not be too scruffy. Satisfied, he left the house, started his car and headed off.

  "Geronimo," He looked into the rear view mirror, as he got on the highway and pointed towards Kingston, the town where Jessica had grown up. This was definitely a Geronimo episode.

  He was scared to death, but he knew how to deal with real gut fears once he got his head around it. All his life, he had been afraid of heights. Uneasy on a step stool, nervous on a step ladder, and extension ladders- forget it. As an adult, whenever he was in a building that had glass elevators, he had always faced the door instead of admiring whatever atrium he was in. He’d never visited the CN tower, and that was fine with him.

  But having fear dictate what he did- how manly was that? So on his 30th birthday, he decided to combine self improvement with what he believed to be an unconscious death wish.

  Craig Forsyth went sky diving.
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  Not bungee jumping, not zip lining. And not tandem sky diving. Free fall, pull the cord and hope for the best sky diving.

  He turned up at the school, did the safety class, and got on the plane with a few other students. Already a committed hater of flying (which was one of the reasons he took the damn course), he was silent in the plane, not trading any nervous banter with the rest of the suicidal newbies.

  When they got to altitude, everyone lined up and began to bail out. By the time he got to the door, he had pee'd his pants. Holding the edges of the doorway, he shouted "Geronimo!" and stepped out.

  And fell.

  And survived.

  He did two more jumps that day. He was still afraid of heights, but in glass elevators, he could now watch the view. And flying was no longer a bother to him at all.

  This day, he was driving to MEET THE PARENTS. And he was doing it solo. No safety line, no net, a total free fall.

  Geronimo.

  A few hours later, he got off at one of the exits for Kingston and drove in to the city. The city had developed along the shore of Lake Ontario and the boulevard he entered, ended at the lake. At the T intersection, before turning towards the city proper, he noticed a museum.

  A prison museum? Unable to resist, he turned into the parking area.

  And spent a half hour looking at exhibits of governmental issue BDSM toys and appliances. There were various cages, whipping posts, racks and all sorts of devices that had been used to punish recalcitrant prisoners in the 19th and early 20th centuries.

  The irony of such devices of pain now being co-opted as tools of pleasure was not lost on him. Chuckling, he got back in his car- the gang at Paradox's has got to see this!

  Driving along King Street, he headed to the downtown section. Jessica had said she grew up in the older part of the city, not the newer sub-divisions that had been built along the outer reaches. As Craig progressed, he noticed dormitory buildings.

  Ahhh… Queen's University, where Jessica had graduated. Impulsively, he turned up a series of streets and found himself at the main intersection of the campus- University and Union streets. He got out of the car and began to stroll around. It was June, and most of the students had departed. He wandered into the nearest library. Approaching the desk, he asked the clerk if they had past yearbooks available, and was pointed to the stacks.