Vicious Carousel

by Tymber Dalton

  She nodded.

  He crossed his arms in front of him on his desk and leaned forward a little.

  Yes, definitely Dom-tude in his gaze.

  “Why did you want a loving Dominant who would respect your boundaries and make you feel safe?”

  The answer welled up from inside her, beyond her control. “Because for once I wanted someone I could trust and lean on and not feel alone, and feel like I finally belonged somewhere,” she whispered before bursting into tears.

  * * * *

  Ted handed Tilly the box of tissues before stepping out with the excuse of getting their drinks.

  Tilly immediately ripped a handful from the box and pressed them into Betsy’s hands before wrapping her arms around Betsy and letting her sob.

  “You’re not alone,” Tilly whispered. “Sweetie, you’re not alone. You have all of us. I know it’s not the same, but it’s a start. Just don’t close us out.”

  “Tilly, I fucked up sooo bad,” she whispered, barely able to speak. “Look what I did to my life. How am I ever supposed to trust any guy ever again after what I did? I should have said stop so many times and I didn’t.”

  “Are you religious?”

  “Not really. I went to church when I was a kid. Why?”

  “You know the difference between a cult and a religion, right?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you know there’s that one that’s in Clearwater? That famous one. There are people who spent decades of their lives, I’m talking people high up in that so-called ‘church,’ who devoted everything to it, just to quit. And by quitting, they lost everything, including friends, family, kids, sometimes spouses. And sometimes, they fought tooth and nail to stay in before they finally quit.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they finally realized it was harmful for them to be in it, for whatever reason. There are people who escape cults every day because they realize it’s harmful for them. But does that make other religions bad?”

  “No.”

  “Exactly. Does that make the people who got out of those cults wrong or bad people?”

  “No.”

  “Exactly. Are you old enough to remember hearing about that crazy fucker in South America who killed himself and his followers by ordering they drink poisoned Kool-Aid?”

  “Yeah?”

  “That’s earth-shattering. That’s bad. Honey, this is painful, yes. It takes, what, nine months to grow a baby. Based on what you’ve told me already, you were ready to leave Jack a while ago, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m going to borrow a trick from Ted’s book. No thinking, just answer me this—what kept you with Jack?”

  “Fear,” she said without having to think about it. She blew her nose.

  “Okay. So let’s say nine months, ballpark then. You grew a baby. Your life changed. The baby, instead of being a pooping and peeing and crying and barfing little brick of joy turned out to be a nine-pound bundle of self-realization and experience. Right?”

  “I guess.”

  Ted returned with their drinks, handing cold bottles of water to Tilly and Betsy and taking his cold bottle of Mountain Dew to his desk.

  “How are you doing?” he asked Betsy.

  “I quit drinking the Kool-Aid before it killed me,” she quietly said.

  He looked puzzled. “I’m sorry, I thought you asked for water?”

  Tilly fell over laughing.

  * * * *

  With the pizza delivered and served and Ted brought up to speed, this time he let Betsy talk, leading her through what had happened, from meeting Jack until finally making the break on Saturday.

  It took an hour and a box of tissues, but Betsy felt a lot lighter when they finished talking. She didn’t feel any less angry at herself for being so gullible, but she had to admit now she had a starting point to work from going forward. She had things to do. She had goals to make, focus to find, and dreams to define.

  She started feeling the beginnings of her returning.

  Ted was still trying to get in touch with his friends about taking her on as a client. But meanwhile, he wanted to see her back there on Thursday at ten, an appointment Tilly assured him would be kept, even if someone else had to bring her.

  Tilly went with her to the restroom to help her wash her face and reapply the concealer and powder. With the hat and glasses back in position, her disguise was once more complete.

  “How’s this?” Betsy asked her.

  Tilly hugged her. “I think in a couple of weeks you’ll look almost normal again and maybe even start feeling that way a little.”

  She drove Betsy to the mall close to Nolan and Kenny’s house. Tilly started them at an Old Navy for some basics for Betsy, including shorts, slacks, jeans, a couple of casual sundresses, and blouses. Then Tilly, who wouldn’t let Betsy carry the bags, led her to a high-end department store, where Tilly started finding business clothes for her, then some nice bras and panties.

  Betsy knew arguing would be pointless, so despite feeling guilty that her friend was spending the money on her, Betsy didn’t fight her, tried on everything Tilly shoved at her, spoke up when there was a color or style she didn’t really like…and said thank you.

  A lot.

  Tilly finished off the shopping trip at a shoe store, where she got Betsy three pairs of dressy flats, a pair of loafers, and two pairs of sandals.

  “Now,” Tilly said, finally letting her carry a couple of shopping bags as they returned to her SUV, “we’re going to go home, you’re going to change from what you’re wearing into one of the outfits I just bought you, and we’re going work on your resume.”

  “Why do I need to change?”

  “You’re going to dress the part to get the part.”

  “I should call the office I worked for, too.”

  “We’ll do that first. After you change clothes.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Tilly smiled. “Well, I’m not your Domme, but I’ll let you call me that. I’d rather you do that if it makes you feel better.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Hey, that’s what friends are for, sweetie.” Her smile faded as she started the car. “Believe me, I wouldn’t be here talking to you right now if it wasn’t for friends.”

  Chapter Eleven

  While Betsy used the bathroom, Tilly laid an outfit out on the bed, including shoes. Betsy washed her hands and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Taking off the sunglasses and hat, she looked at the swollen shape of her right eye under the concealer. The bruising still painfully evident despite Tilly’s best efforts. The stitches, of course, still there.

  But…

  The hair. No, she hadn’t had it professionally colored when she was getting it cut. Sometimes she bought store color and did it when she noticed grey, but she had to admit she liked the look. It felt lighter, healthier, had shine and bounce and a little natural curl that had been missing for months as it grew longer, stragglier at the ends despite her trying to trim the dead ends herself when Jack wasn’t home to see her do it.

  It was her hair.

  Hers.

  She reached up and fluffed it with her fingers in a way she hadn’t been able to do in months.

  Familiar.

  She fluffed it again, carefully shaking her head just a little, not enough to jostle her still-sore muscles.

  The hint of a smile curved her lips. It did look good. It looked freaking amazing.

  She went to the bedroom and Tilly helped her change clothes. Tilly let her leave off the bra, knowing she was still too sore to tolerate wearing it, but the slacks, blouse, blazer, and flats made her feel…

  Normal.

  She turned and looked in the mirror there as Tilly stood next to her. “That’s a pretty good-looking woman right there,” Tilly said to her reflection. “Wait until your outer bruises are healed up, and you’re going to be a knock-out.” Tilly winced. “Bad choice of words, sorry.”

  That made Betsy smil
e, even though it hurt.

  “You know what I see?” Tilly asked.

  “What?”

  “I see a woman reborn. Stronger, tougher, harder. In the good ways. Scarred in the painful ways, yeah. But that scarring will eventually let you take chances later on, safe chances, that will make you happy. Like calluses on your feet.”

  “You think so?”

  “Honey, been there, done that, got the T-shirt. I know where the landmines are because I laid those fuckers with my own two hands.”

  She turned to Betsy. “No, I can’t do the work for you. And no, my situation wasn’t exactly like yours. In some ways, mine was better, and in some ways, mine was worse. Doesn’t matter. But trust us to lead you through those damn landmines. We won’t carry you, but just keep up, walking with us, and we’ll get you safely through to the other side no matter how scary it feels at times. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  Fortunately, the expected disappointment of her first phone call didn’t knock Betsy totally off her feet emotionally. Yes, obviously, her position had been filled. And no, unless Betsy had a real estate license, they didn’t have any other positions. But the agency’s owner did tell Betsy to list her as a reference in her job hunt, and asked for her e-mail address so she could send Betsy a letter of recommendation she could use in her job search.

  Tilly counted that as a win, and Betsy couldn’t argue with her.

  Then Tilly got her computer booted up again, pulled up a resume template in Word, and handed the machine over to Betsy.

  It felt…weird to be holding a laptop again, even though…before…she’d spent hours on one at work, or sitting on her sofa in her small apartment in front of the TV at night doing stuff on one.

  “What do I do?” she asked Tilly.

  “Fill the stuff in where it says. I won’t do it for you. If your fingers were broken, yeah. No offense, my love is of the tough kind, believe it or not.” She pointed at the laptop. “Get busy.”

  Twenty minutes later, Tilly was reading over her shoulder and proofreading a printed copy of it. “That looks good. I’ll e-mail the file to you, along with Shayla’s e-mail address.”

  “Why hers?”

  “She’s a writer. You are going to text her and ask if she’ll proofread it for you.”

  “I don’t want to impo—”

  Tilly glared at her as she held up a finger, silencing her. “What did I just say?” she quietly asked.

  “To text Shayla and ask her to proofread it.”

  “Did I ask you to question me?”

  “No, Ma’am.”

  Tilly’s face broke into a beaming smile and she threw her arms around Betsy as she laughed. “Okay, seriously, save that only for fun. Learn to stop questioning your friends when we say something. If I thought it would be an imposition, I wouldn’t have told you to do it. Shayla already passed along to me that she would help you if you needed it. Okay? That was a test. And yes, you failed, but hopefully you’ll learn to trust us.”

  “I do trust you guys.”

  “Then trust us when we say we want to help you. All right? Or get back into the healthy habit of not being afraid to ask. Asking is not a bad thing. You might get a yes, or you might get a no, but you’ll never get an answer if you don’t ask. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “Now text Shayla and ask her.”

  Betsy reached for her phone. In less than two minutes, Shayla had texted back that she’d be waiting to receive it and get to work on it for her immediately.

  Somehow, Betsy managed to blink back her tears over that reply and e-mailed the document to Shayla from her phone, where Betsy had created a new e-mail account.

  Tilly smiled and held up her fist.

  Betsy fist-bumped her back.

  “And now, for the next part.”

  “What’s that?”

  Tilly’s smile faded as she pointed at Betsy’s phone.

  * * * *

  Apparently, even Tilly knew the limits of Betsy’s endurance. She told Betsy to plug her mom’s cell number into the phone but not hit send, that she would make the first contact. Fortunately, Betsy knew the number by heart.

  She hoped it was still a good number, because her parents didn’t have a landline since they’d moved up north. They hadn’t needed one.

  Betsy’s hand trembled as she handed the phone over.

  “What’s her name?” Tilly asked.

  “Karen. Karen Lambert.”

  Tilly took a deep breath and crossed her fingers before punching the speaker option button and then hitting send.

  In the quiet of the house, Betsy could clearly hear the phone ringing on the other end as the call connected. After three rings, Betsy was sure that it would go to voice mail, but then a cautious woman’s voice answered.

  “Hello?”

  Betsy choked back a relieved sob that it sounded like her mom. Tilly took over. “Hello, my name is Tilly Cardinal-LaCroux, and I’m calling from Sarasota, Florida. I’m trying to reach Karen Lambert on behalf of her daughter, Betsy Lambert.”

  There was a long pause. Betsy closed her eyes, afraid—no, certain—that her mom was going to hang up.

  Then, “Is she all right? Please, tell me, is she okay? Is she alive?”

  Tilly took the call off speaker mode, stood, and as she spoke quickly headed down the hallway and into the men’s bedroom office where she closed the door behind her.

  Stunned, Betsy sat there quivering, terrified, unable to process. She both did and didn’t want to know came next, wanted and didn’t want to hear what Tilly said.

  She felt like a faker sitting there in her pricey, new business suit and good shoes—better than she could have bought before on her salary—and the concealer caked across the injuries on her face. She wrapped her arms around herself and somehow managed not to cry as she waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  Twenty minutes later, she heard Tilly’s voice as the office door opened and then she walked down the hall, still talking.

  “Yes, here she is.”

  Then Tilly was standing in front of her, the phone held out to her in one hand, and a box of tissues in the other.

  When Betsy looked up, she realized Tilly had been crying.

  Correction, was still crying.

  Tilly shook the phone at her.

  Betsy finally reached out and took it, choking back fear and regret and dread as she forced the word out. “Mom?”

  It sounded like her mom had already been crying, but she loudly sobbed when she heard Betsy’s voice. “Bets? Is that really you, baby? Oh, my god, we were afraid you were dead. We love you so, so much.”

  “I love you, too, Mom.”

  * * * *

  Betsy talked—cried—to her mom for so long that Tilly had to go get the phone charger from Betsy’s bedroom and find an extension cord so she could plug it in and not make her move from where she was on the couch. During that time, her father had arrived home from work and she tearfully got to talk to him, too. It was after six thirty when she finally got off the phone with them minutes before Kenny arrived home to find Betsy and Tilly on the couch, crying in each other’s arms.

  “Oh, my god! What’s wrong?” He ran over, with such a look of horrified terror on his face that it started both of them giggling, then laughing.

  “He never called my parents,” Betsy finally managed. “The son of a bitch never even talked to them. They had no idea who he was until Tilly told my mom what happened.”

  He pulled up, looking confused, which made them both laugh even harder.

  He closed his eyes, as if thinking for a moment. “Oookaaay, I’m going to play the stupid guy card here and guess you’re laughing at me for freaking out just now, right?”

  They giggled, nodding.

  “Aaannd you were crying when I came in because you were…happy?”

  “Relieved,” the women said in unison, which started even more giggling between them.

  Betsy cou
ldn’t remember the last time she giggled.

  Giggled!

  And she’d never seen Tilly cry before, so she knew that had to be a massively earth-shaking thing she’d think about later on when she could actually process coherent thoughts again.

  Tilly took a few deep breaths, stood, and hugged Kenny. Then she wiped at her face and took one more deep breath as she pointed a finger at him.

  “You tell anyone you saw me crying, you’re singing soprano the hard way. Got it?”

  He nodded, which made Betsy giggle yet again.

  Tilly patted him on the shoulder and headed back down the hall. A moment later, they heard the bathroom door shut.

  Kenny sank to the couch next to her. “You look…wow. Did she take you to get your hair done?”

  “Yeah.” She fought queasy nerves. “Do you like it?”

  “I…the question is, do you like it?”

  She nodded.

  “Honestly? You look, well, obviously, besides…” He sort of pointed at her face with one hand and zigzagged his index finger around. “Your hair looks amazing! You look a lot more…peaceful now. Which is a weird comment to go with a hair compliment, I know, but you do.”

  “Thank you,” she said, remembering Tilly’s lecture.

  “And the outfit is great, too.”

  “More Tilly.” She laid the phone on the coffee table and turned to him. “Thank you for everything you and Nolan have done for me. Thank you for the phone, and thank you for your kindness and hospitality. I really, really appreciate it.”

  * * * *

  Kenny sensed something drastically different about this woman sitting before him, and not even her hair or her clothes.

  “You’re very welcome,” he said. “What’s going on?”

  “She took me to talk to Ted,” Betsy said. “And I’m going back on Thursday to talk to him. And we obviously did hair and shopping. And she made me type up my resume, and text Shayla to ask to send it to her. And then she talked to my mom. Then I got to talk to my mom and my dad.”