by Lexie Syrah
We’d sat in those worn-out theater seats until everyone had left. When we stood up to leave, I asked my mother, “Mom, can I go to space and be an astronaut when I get older?”
She hadn’t known the answer. She didn’t know anything about the space program or the strict requirements for astronauts. What she did know was that her daughter wanted to be an astronaut, and she wasn’t going to tell her a lie to encourage her, but she wouldn’t discourage her either.
She bent down and looked into my dream-filled eyes. She was wearing a striped dress with a tiny hole at the bottom. I remember it even now because it had been her favorite “going out” dress. She said, “Maggie, you’re the smartest little girl I know. I wasn’t as smart as you when I was your age. Your dad wasn’t either. The only thing that’s going to stop you from doing or getting anything you want in this world is yourself.”
“If you always look inside and find the thing that truly makes you happy, you’ll always be able to get it. Just remember never to accept being unhappy. So if being an astronaut is the happiness that’s buried deep inside you, you’ll become one. You just have to be willing to do whatever it takes to get it.”
I’d looked up at the planetarium’s stars and told her, “Then I don’t want to be an astronaut. I don’t want to spend my life trying to leave the world.”
When I was eight, I was so much more understanding of life and happiness. I had known that actions weren’t how you became happy. It was spending time with other people in the world that brought happiness. And tonight, I’d done the very opposite. I’d looked for happiness in a place that I didn’t belong. I’d looked for happiness outside of myself and my relationship with Mr. Sheffield, and the world had told me how wrong I was.
As I continued to look out of the BMW’s windows, I thought about what my mother had said to me. I’d finally found that happiness. Until tonight, I’d been happier than I was in high school or college. I’d been happier cooking, cleaning and spending every possible moment with Mr. Sheffield than when I’d spent every moment trying to find something that made me happy. For the last few weeks, I’d lived a simple life of domestic servitude, but I’d finally found peace.
My employment had started as a way out of a miserable hole I’d dug for myself, but now it was much more than that. Other people lived with their spouses and said “I love you” over and over again. I’d met plenty of those people. They didn’t have what I had. I felt peace and love, not because Mr. Sheffield made me happy, but because I made him happy.
That’s real love and real happiness. It’s when you go to sleep every night hoping that you are less happy than your lover; it’s hoping that you’ve given everything you could to them so that their day could be just a tiny bit better. I’d spent the last month feeling that way every night, but tonight I knew that I wouldn’t. I had spent tonight being selfish, and that realization was almost as bad as seeing Mr. Sheffield kiss Elaine. Selfishness had been the end of his marriage, and selfishness was the cause of our current troubles.
I turned to Mr. Sheffield and said, “Mr. Sheffield, can we just forget that tonight ever happened? I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to say sorry or have that talk about why’s and how’s and why not’s. I just want to lay down in my bed and wake up tomorrow with a memory of a club that’s not quite as clear as it is right now.”
He didn’t say anything for a few moments. His breathing became deep and slow. If he hadn’t been driving, he’d have closed his eyes as he let the words fill his mind. I’d seen him go to this nearly meditative state numerous times when I’d asked him something that he was torn about. It was his attempt to let his subconscious have input on the decision, and most of the time it worked well.
“If you don’t want to talk about tonight, it will be difficult to understand a lot of the things that happened and why you didn’t enjoy it.” His voice was completely controlled, almost as though he were a machine spitting out a computed answer. I wanted to reach over and slap him. He knew that there was tension between us for the very first time. I didn’t want anything to change, and I was afraid that if we talked about it, it would only make it worse. He’d told me that he loved me tonight, but now I felt less loved that I had yesterday.
“Exactly. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to tell you about anything that I felt tonight, and tomorrow we can just go back to our normal life where we love each other.”
He turned to look at me, and a chill ran down my spine. He’d worn his mask until now, but my refusal to talk about tonight had pushed him too far. He didn’t have any control now. His face displayed every emotion that he felt, and they boiled in absolute rage. I’d never seen him look like that before. I’d never witnessed any kind of true anger. Yes, he had been angry at the club, but it was hidden behind a mask of control. But right now, there was no mask. It was raw and unadulterated rage.
“Fine. That’s just fucking fine.”
I tried to make myself as small as possible to minimize the possibility of enraging him further. I didn’t know what he was capable of when he was like this. I didn’t feel safe or loved. I felt like I’d been thrown into a lion’s pit with a steak tied around my neck. And now the lion was pacing, not trying to decide how to kill me, but how best to play with me. He knew that there was no way out for me. Mr. Sheffield had turned his hunter’s gaze upon me.
I was completely silent for the entire car ride home. He unlocked the house and immediately went to his room, slamming the door behind him. I wet a washcloth and cleaned the sticky remnants from between my legs before putting on my most covering sleep clothes. I made sure to set my alarm for 5:30 am. I didn’t want Mr. Sheffield to wake up before me even though it would be Saturday, and I was allowed to sleep in. The last thing I wanted to do was give him any reason to be frustrated with me tomorrow morning.
If I could manage to get through two or three days without triggering that rage, it would dissolve, and we could go back to the way things were before. At least, that’s what I hoped for. I tried to fall asleep, but I was constantly afraid of him barging into the room and attacking me. I hadn’t felt like this since my first night on the streets.
Luckily, I’d had enough alcohol to force my body to release my fears and drift into sleep.
Chapter 12
I moaned as the alarm went off. My head was killing me from the liquor and lack of sleep, but more than anything my pussy was aching. I had been a little drunk last night and it must have numbed my senses, but now the waves of pain were almost overwhelming. It was just one more reminder of a night filled with bad decisions and even worse repercussions.
I turned the alarm off and sat up. Immediately, a wave of dizziness ran through me. That bartender must have really loaded my drinks last night. I’d only had two. I held the bed to steady myself as the ache in my pussy threatened to force me to the ground at any moment. Using it as a handrail, I made my way to the bathroom.
Out of nowhere, I heard the front door shut. Why was Mr. Sheffield leaving the house at 5:45 in the morning? He didn’t have anything planned today that would make him leave this early.
I finished peeing and got up. Now that I’d been out of bed for a few minutes, my pussy still ached, but I was much steadier on my feet. I walked to the kitchen island where he would normally leave me a note when he was doing something unexpected. There it was. And next to it was a sealed envelope that looked like it was going to burst.
I was so confused, and the early hour didn’t help. I started the coffee brewing before I even looked at the note because I was sure that I’d need some caffeine in my system for whatever it was that Mr. Sheffield had decided to leave without warning for.
As the coffee dripped into the pot, I sat and stared at it, hypnotized by the rhythmic sounds. The images of last night were fragmented, and part of me realized how petty I’d been. Mr. Sheffield hadn’t done anything wrong, but I hadn’t either. We’d gotten sucked into the “high” of the club, and both of our reactions
had been blown out of proportion with one building on the other.
I got a cup out of the cabinet and filled it nearly to the top, only adding enough milk to cool it off for easy drinking while I perused Mr. Sheffield’s note.
“Dearest Maggie,
I’m so sorry that I exploded last night. I never meant to show that side of myself to you. I know you don’t want to talk about it, or at least you didn’t last night. I couldn’t sleep here knowing how I’d acted, so I’ve gone to clear my head. I’ll be back later today. I wasn’t lying when I said I loved you last night. I’ve never cared about anyone as much as you. You’re my everything.
But if you can’t forgive me, I’ll understand. I’ve left enough money for you to start a new life. I desperately hope that you won’t leave, but I’d understand if you did.
With all my love,
Brian Sheffield
I took a sip of my coffee, enjoying the warmth that it gave my sore body. Men. Of course he would run off and make it so dramatic. I woke up early to try to fix things, and he ran off leaving me with the option to leave. Now he’d probably come back with his tail between his legs and pretend that nothing had happened.
Men were frustrating creatures. In college, I’d never stuck around long enough to go through this process, though I’d heard plenty of girlfriends tell me all about the drama that their men created and then ran away from. I took another sip of the coffee and tried to let the frustrations just flow through me. This kind of attitude wasn’t how you fixed a relationship. Mr. Sheffield was perfect in so many ways. There were bound to be flaws hidden somewhere in there, and this was one of them. He wasn’t a typical man that I’d try to fix. I had accepted every other part of him, and this was just one more piece of the man that I loved.
I thought about what I should do while I waited for him to return. Typically, on a Saturday, I’d read in bed while Mr. Sheffield cooked breakfast. It was the only meal that he cooked, but he had said that it was something that his father had done when he was very young. Saturday breakfasts were a time for the fathers to cook and take care of things so that their wives could rest and relax for once. I had grown to enjoy relaxing on Saturday mornings, so I finished my coffee and decided to curl up with my latest book.
Mr. Sheffield had begun to push me more towards BDSM romances because they always got me so worked up. This was no different. Bound Temptations was the title, and as I looked at the woman in chains on the cover, I couldn’t help but think back to the two slaves on leashes at the club. At the time, I couldn’t have imagined being in their positions, but if I hadn’t felt the way that I did about Mr. Sheffield, I could see the draw to many aspects of their lives.
They didn’t have to worry about anything except pleasing their masters. Everything was provided and every decision was made for them. In actuality, my life wasn’t all that different. I looked to Mr. Sheffield for all of my decisions, and my only expectation was to please him. We enjoyed fancy dinners and conversation, but why couldn’t a slave do the same things? The only problem that I had was that I didn’t want to please other people. I only wanted to please Mr. Sheffield. Everyone else could go fuck themselves. The twinge of anger that had clawed its way into my thoughts was quickly smashed and forgotten. I would relax and enjoy a quiet Saturday morning with my book.
I opened it up and began reading, but the words continued to bring me back to last night. It was as though the author had been there and was describing the scene in detail. Darkness even in light. An aura of surreal debauchery covered in shadows. The book was about a slave learning to serve her Master, but I kept seeing Elaine in place of the main character. She hadn’t been born a slave, so how had she become one? Had Mr. Sheffield trained her? Was that what he was doing to me? Holding me up while I dipped my toes into the sexual slavery pool?
He had never explicitly stated that he wanted me to be his slave. He’d said that he had wanted one when he was with his wife, but never anything more. Then, instead of telling Randal to keep Elaine, he had invited her to sit down with us. I’d thought that he had wanted her there for himself, but the more I thought about it, maybe it had been for me.
Now I was beginning to see that this book, like so many others, may have been a part of Mr. Sheffield’s breadcrumb trail for me to become a slave just like Elaine. I’d known that he was a manipulative man from the beginning. Had this entire relationship been a manipulation? Was all of this simply a ruse to create another slave to replace Elaine? Those fucking manipulative eyes of his. Never lying, never cheating, never able to be caught, but always pulling strings.
I slammed the book shut. That wasn’t what I needed to do right now. The last thing that I needed was another reason to be upset. Forces were building up around me, threatening to tear down my trust in my relationship with Mr. Sheffield. Suspicions, doubts, and silence were my enemies, and I had to build up walls until I could talk to Mr. Sheffield. I would have left any relationship in my past already, but I loved this man. I’d been with other men for much longer periods of time, but never before had I felt the way I did with Mr. Sheffield.
So instead of dwelling in the silence with my thoughts, I got up and turned on the radio. Music from my college years blared through the speakers. Upbeat pop songs poured out and filled the room with energy, pushing my thoughts away. I couldn’t think about my doubts and fears if I was singing about getting drunk and acting like a silly girl.
I put on my favorite spaghetti strapped dress from my first day with Mr. Sheffield and got to work. If Mr. Sheffield and I were going to have a long talk today, the least I could do was make sure that I didn’t forget to do any of my chores. I would not have taken a spanking well today.
I started with the kitchen, quickly doing the few dishes that were out, sweeping, and mopping the floors. I thought back to my tiny apartment in college and remembered how poorly I cleaned then. I would be ashamed and disgusted if I had to move in with my past self. It didn’t take very long to straighten it up, and I looked over the spotless kitchen. At the very least, I would never have a problem cleaning my house again.
I started a load of laundry and tried to ignore how much my clothing reminded me of the images from the many BDSM romance books I’d read. I ran my fingers over the worn dress that I wore now and thought of how it was nothing like what I wore outside of the house. It was soft, simple, and so comfortable. It wasn’t supposed to make men and women want to run to the bathroom to play with themselves. It was homely, and I liked that. It felt like it was something that a wife would wear, while everything else felt like it belonged to something or someone else. A single tear fell down my cheek. I’d missed so many thing in my blind love for the man.
I went back to the living area and tried to dance and sing my way into forgetfulness, but the fears and suspicions had firmly sunk their hooks into me. I got my phone and texted Mr. Sheffield.
Mr. Sheffield. I love you and don’t want to be alone anymore. Please come home.
I sat by the phone for a few minutes before accepting that he wasn’t going to answer. It was okay. He was probably just sleeping and trying to clear his head. I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. It was okay. Everything was okay. He’d come back tonight and he’d explain that I was just being a scared girl, that he had no sinister intentions, and that last night was all just a mistake.
I took a deep breath and looked at the face in the mirror. The sadness was written all across my puffy green eyes. That wasn’t the girl that had survived the streets or made frat boys weak in the knees. I wasn’t this weak little girl that was hopelessly lost without her man. I was going to be strong. I had to be strong. I’d survived much worse things than a man staying gone for a day, and I could handle it.
I let the thoughts fill me with the little bit of strength that I could gather. It was enough to continue on. I left the restroom and checked my phone again. 8:30 and no text or calls. It was still early. I started dusting and vacuuming. Every tiny detail was checked and cleane
d perfectly. I had all day to get my chores done, and the perfectionist inside of me came out.
Every twenty minutes or so, I would go check my phone but there were never any replies. I tried to put it out of my mind. A watched pot never boils, as the saying goes. By the time that I was done with my chores it was nearly 1 o’clock, and I was tired. I needed a reset anyways. I set the alarm for 3 pm and tried to rest. I’d have plenty of time for a shower and the pasta that I planned on making.
I laid down in my bed, and sleep came for me quickly. Thankfully, it was peaceful and dreamless.
Chapter 13
I gave a long sigh and stretched across the bed when the alarm began its buzzing for the second time today. I felt much better now that I’d gotten quality rest, but I didn’t want to move from the cocoon of blankets that I’d covered myself in. I looked at the clock, and rubbed my eyes. It was time to get up and get into the shower. The hot water would help perk me up and get me moving.