Calling the same cab company I used earlier, I get a different dispatcher than before. This one sounds bored and grumpy as she tells me there are no cars in the area and it will be a half an hour wait. I knew luck was a fickle friend, but, damn, I could have used just a little more. I contemplate walking home, but it’s several miles and I have these stupid fucking shoes on. Hoofing it in these, or even barefoot, is a terrible idea, so I’ll be forced to wait. I can only hope that Jesse stays right where he is until I’m gone.
***
I should have known better. Of course, Jesse couldn’t stay put. I’ve been down here waiting for almost thirty-five minutes when he comes strolling out the door, keys jangling in his hand. I know there are cameras out here, but he must not have been checking them because he seems surprised to see me out here.
“Why, I, um… You’re still here?” He stumbles over the words.
“Looks that way.”
“Why?”
“Because I really wanted to sit here and contemplate my life for a while before going home.”
“No, seriously, Allie, come on.” He looks around the deserted parking lot. “Where is your car?”
“I may have been stupid enough to show up for your abuse tonight, Jesse, but I am still not a complete fucking idiot. I didn’t drive. I was drinking, remember?”
A dark look crosses his face as he growls, “Oh, I remember.”
“Head on home, Jesse. My cab should be here any minute and I’d rather just forget tonight ever happened.”
“Allison, I know you’re angry, but at least let me take you home.”
“No way. No fucking way I’m getting in your car right now.”
“I owe it to you to see that you get home safely. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Well, it’s too late for that, isn’t it?” I quip.
“That’s not fair. You know what—”
“You know what’s not fair? Being blamed for your poor decisions. You were angry with me for some mystery crime way before I showed up drunk. I may have reacted differently had I been sober, but your actions were still yours.”
“I know. Believe me, I know,” he says, his hands raking his hair for the umpteenth time this evening.
He started to say something else, but the headlights of the cab appeared at the entrance to the parking lot and I turned to him, saying, “Have a nice life, Jesse,” before running barefoot to the bright yellow getaway car.
Chapter Four
A week later, my ass has finally healed enough that I can’t feel anything when I sit down. There are some faded yellow bruises, but in a few days, there will be nothing left of that horrible, stupid night but my memories.
I don’t know who I’ve been angrier with this week, myself or Jesse. On one hand, I’m angry with him for breaking my trust, for pushing me further than I could go and not realizing it. I’d come to rely on his ability to know me better than I know myself and I feel like he failed me.
All of that brings me to the anger I feel at my own actions. It’s possible that I was unreadable for him that night. He said I seemed unaffected by the events leading up to the caning. I was affected. The rice was awful. The forced blowjob, something which has been erotic in the past, was miserable and damned near frightening. So why couldn’t he tell? The only thing that comes to mind over and over is that my drunken state caused my reactions to be “off.” It caused me to seem blank, to seem fine if a little distant, when I was screaming inside for him to show me an ounce of affection. Had I been thinking clearly, I’d have asked his permission to speak when he brought the cane toward me and we’d have discussed the punishment.
At times, he’s been harsh, but never unreasonable. He’s told me time and time again that this is a time to learn, to ask questions. While it’s true that he’s acting as my Master and should be treated as such, he’s also my teacher. In so many ways, I’m just as guilty as he is for letting the session get out of hand.
I’m so torn about what comes next for me. The morning after I left Jesse standing in the parking lot, I called HJR Services and spoke with Kara. When I told her I was discontinuing my sessions, she seemed concerned, but didn’t ask any questions. She said she would forward my file to her husband, Heath, who is in charge of all exit interviews. She said he would be calling to schedule that shortly and wished me luck before hanging up.
Heath did call; in fact, he called several times over this past week. I haven’t answered the phone for anyone. Jesse called once. It was about an hour after I left him. He left a message saying he just wanted to make sure I got home okay, but I never called him back and he hasn’t tried again. Caroline has called six times. I called when I knew she’d be at work and left a message cancelling our lunch on Wednesday. I can’t see her, can’t talk to her right now. She will know that something is wrong and she is the last person I can go to this time.
I’m a complete mess these days. I’ve been wearing the same sweatpants all week and I only changed my shirt because I spilled soup on it and couldn’t stand the smell after a while. I showered once, but the effort just left me feeling weak and tired, so I haven’t done it again. I feel like someone died and left me here to live alone. It’s stupid, really, because my “relationship” with Jesse was always a temporary one. I just hadn’t gotten around to convincing myself there would be an actual end to it all before it came so abruptly.
From my experience with him, I know I was born for the BDSM lifestyle. I can’t ever see myself as a sex slave per se, as someone who exists solely for the pleasure of their Master, but I can’t see myself having another relationship with anyone who can’t tend to my submissive needs. In my ideal relationship, my partner and I would be equals in many ways, but the release would come for both of us when we were able to slip into our respective roles and play out our sexual fantasies with each other. When I could drop the need to have control and he would assume that position. When he could assert a power over me that would make us both heady with lust and need. When I could freely seek the pain/pleasure mix that takes me to another place. I long for all of that, but there is a glitch in the whole scenario. Every time I imagine that ideal partnership, it’s Jesse right there beside me.
I can’t face him. Not because I am still angry, but because I’m ashamed of my behavior that night. I’m ashamed that I was drunk and ashamed that I didn’t stay to hear him out. I’ve come to realize that the only reason I was so quick to lash out at him, was so very disappointed in him, is not because of his actions. It’s because I was in love with him. Up until that moment, he was perfect. I’d built up this image of him over all the years I’d longed for him, and he’d been just what I needed until that night. The pedestal I had him on was just too high, and with the first mistake he made, he came crashing down, shattering at my feet. We both made mistakes, but talking it out and admitting my part in them isn’t enough. To fix the damage we’ve done would require complete honesty and I’m not ready for that. I’m nowhere near ready to tell Jesse Marks that I love him.
***
Somewhere between a bag of potato chips, a pint of ice cream, and a late night marathon of Golden Girls, I fell asleep. An obnoxious banging noise enters my consciousness as the potato chip bag crinkles loudly beneath my arm. I fumble for my phone and realize it’s two o’clock in the afternoon and my anger that someone would be banging at dawn is unfounded.
It takes me another moment to realize that the pounding hasn’t stopped. Not only that, but it’s not coming from next door like I originally thought, it’s coming from my own front door. Glancing down at myself, I brush chip crumbs off my shirt in a futile attempt to make myself presentable. The only things that could make me look and feel halfway decent right now are a very long shower, some fresh clothes, and a gallon of coffee. Not to mention an intense session with Jesse…
Brushing those thoughts aside, I smooth my hair as I walk quietly toward the door. In case it’s someone I don’t want to see, which is pretty much everyone, I don’
t want to make it obvious that I’m in here. Looking through the peephole, I see Caroline impatiently hammering one fist against my door as she balances a tray holding two coffee cups in the other.
“Shit!’ I swear before I can stop myself and the pounding stops.
“Allison Elizabeth Coleman, I heard that! You answer this door right now or so help me, woman! I have a key and I’m trying to be polite, but I will use it if I have to!”
Well, fuck. It looks like she’s coming in either way and I could really use that coffee, so I give in and open the door, standing back as Tropical Storm Caroline breezes in. My best friend can be the sweetest person on this earth, but when she’s pissed off, Caroline Lane is a force to be reckoned with.
I brace myself for the scolding I’m sure comes next, but it never happens. I look up from my intense surveying of the kitchen floor to see Care staring at me, mouth wide open. It takes a moment for her to get her wits about her, but when it happens, she blurts out, “What the fuck happened to you?”
If it were anyone else, I’d either be pissed or not give a damn, but there is something about your best friend calling you on your shit that makes you step back and assess your life as you know it. I’m suddenly embarrassed that I let this situation drag me so far down into my personal pit of despair. Seeing myself through Caroline’s eyes humbles me and the way she is wrinkling her nose tells me that I flat out stink. Literally.
She holds out a cup of coffee, which I already know will be a Pumpkin Spice Latte with skim milk and no sugar. It’s the only thing either of us will drink in the fall, getting our fill before waiting for the season to come around again. I reach out to take the cup from her, but she pulls it back a bit at the last second.
“Take the coffee, take a fucking shower, and I’ll be waiting right here when you’re finished,” she demands.
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply, smiling at her words despite the situation. I head toward the shower with the thought that she and her brother might just be more alike than I ever knew.
***
I take my time drying off and putting lotion over every inch of my body. It’s pointless to procrastinate since I know Care isn’t going anywhere until we talk, but I can’t help myself. I mentally rehearse a version of my story that doesn’t include any identifying details about her brother and cross my fingers that I will get out of this conversation alive.
I down the last couple sips of my now ice-cold coffee and decide it won’t hurt to brush my teeth before going out to face certain doom. I rinse and think briefly about repeating the process before deciding it’s better to bite the bullet and get out there, than to give either one of us any more time to think.
Cautiously reentering the kitchen, I see Caroline sitting at the table with two steaming omelets and a fresh carafe of coffee.
“You made breakfast?”
“Well, it’s more like brunch or a mid-afternoon snack, but I figured you could use some real food.”
“What gave you that idea?” I ask her defensively.
“Well, based on the menu I was able to piece together from the mess in here and on the coffee table, your recent food groups have been grease, chocolate, pizza, and sugar.”
Wracking my brain for a halfway intelligent argument, I come back with, “I also had peanuts. Peanuts are healthy. Nuts have good fats, and…” I trail off when I see my attempt to defend myself is missing its mark.
“Peanuts can be healthy in small amounts, yes, but not when they are just a small part of the twelve Snickers bar wrappers I found in the living room.”
“You were snooping?” Man, I just can’t stop with the defensive stuff. I’m digging a bigger hole here.
“I was cleaning, Allison. I scrubbed the god damned ice cream off the couch cushions, vacuumed up the potato chip crumbs you managed to mash into the carpet, rinsed and recycled about a hundred cans of soup your sodium level won’t thank you for, and managed to make you a healthy meal. I knew you’d take your time avoiding me in the shower, so I made use of the time.”
“I wasn’t avoiding you, Care, I had to shave, and…”
That fucking look she gives is gonna cripple the kids she’ll have one day. Shit. “Okay, so maybe I was avoiding you a little. I’m just not sure what there is to talk about.”
“Well, sit down and eat before your eggs and coffee get cold and disgusting and we’ll figure out where to start. Probably with something like, ‘Oh, wise and loving friend Caroline, I’m so sorry I’ve been avoiding your calls.’ You know, or whatever comes to mind.”
“I am sorry I avoided your calls. I just wasn’t ready to speak to anyone,” I say quickly before taking a huge bite of my omelet. Ohmygod, this is so good. There are onions and peppers in here along with some kind of spicy cheese, Pepper Jack or something, and it’s heavenly after my steady diet of yuck this week. I shovel another bite into my mouth quickly, hoping it will save me from having to say too much.
It doesn’t.
“Why is that, Allie? What happened that you’re not ready to recover from? Because last I knew, you were happily getting laid regularly and in the best mood I’d seen in years.”
Caroline somehow times her next statement so I’m just swallowing when she finishes and I narrowly manage to avoid choking at her bold words. I have a choice; I can either answer her or be completely rude and obvious by taking another big bite.
Stunned, I ask, “What is this about getting laid? I never said a word abo—”
“We might be sitting here together, but you’re still avoiding me. I’ve known you for, well, forever, and I remember what it was like when we were younger and you’d fall for some cute boy for the millionth time. You’d get all smiley and giddy and the world was your happy place. It was even that way with Robert in the beginning. Face it, Allison, you love being in love and it shows. This time, though, it seemed different. Deeper and more intense. I figured you were finally getting some prime sex out of a relationship and we wouldn’t have to avoid the subject any longer.”
“I, you…” I splutter at her, but can’t find the words to form a complete sentence.
“Let me put it this way. Do you often know what I’m thinking just from a look on my face? Do you sometimes know what I’m going to say before I say it?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“So why would you think it’s any different for me? I know when you’re happy and when you’re sad, so if that extends to knowing when you’re getting laid, and well, why is that so shocking?”
“We’ve just never really talked about this stuff.”
“Why is that, Allie?”
“I don’t know. I guess there was never really much to talk about.”
“For you, maybe that’s true. For me, it’s just been a topic I avoided because it made you uncomfortable. In high school, we never got that serious with anyone, so there was nothing to talk about. In college, when I finally started exploring sex and relationships, you were already dating Robert and the two of you were waiting it out. I totally supported that, but got the message loud and clear that the topic was completely off limits. Then you and Robert got married and I wasn’t looking for details, but I thought we’d at least be able to talk more openly. Instead, you shut me down again and again until it became clear that talking about anything sexual would always be off limits.”
“I didn’t mean to be that way. I really didn’t. I was just embarrassed at my pathetic lack of sex life even after marriage. As we got older, I still felt like an inexperienced kid sexually and I didn’t want to share that side of me with anyone. Even you.”
“Allie, I’m sorry that it was like that for you. That’s why this new relationship, or whatever it is or was, seemed like it was a good thing for you. Hell, ‘Talk Dirty to Me’ came on the radio and not only did you manage not to change the station, but you fucking sang along! That’s like a miracle in itself, Al. You’ve completely avoided anything sexual for so long, that it hit me like a ton of bricks. You were getting laid, and than
k God for that, because you needed it!”
“Thanks, I think,” I laugh as I take the last bite of my omelet. She hasn’t touched hers and I get the impression she made herself one out of solidarity more than actual hunger.
“You’re so welcome. But that leads me to the reason I’m here. What the hell happened, Al? Even when things went to shit with Robert, you talked to me. You called me, I called you; we talked it out every time. This time, you shut me out. I came over here expecting to find something going on with you, but I was shocked at the person who answered that door. I’ve never seen you look even remotely like that. You look like someone who had her heart broken. Badly. So, did you?”
Avoiding the question, I ask, “Did I what?”
“Allie, did you have your heart broken?”
Instead of an answer, the dam breaks inside of me and every tear I have left starts trying to get out at once.
Standing, Caroline takes my hand and pulls me into a tight embrace. “Whatever it is, we can fix this. Whomever I have to kill, I will do it. Whose legs should I break?”
Smiling through my tears, I take comfort in the fierce protectiveness of my dear friend. No matter what you’re going through, it always helps, at least a little, to know there is someone out there who has your back one hundred percent.
“There’s nothing you can do. Really. There is nothing I can do, or anyone can do. We just aren’t meant to be anything more than what we had. We’ve had an expiration date from the start. It just came a little sooner than I anticipated.”
Please, Sir Page 6