“How can I ever trust you again?” He takes a step back and jerks his head as though I have slapped him, he knows how big that question is for us.
I may not know much about the lifestyle he leads, but one thing I know for sure is that trust is the biggest factor in the relationship between a dominant and his submissive. That is what he wanted from me, to be is submissive.
“Don’t…” he mutters harshly, but Jarrod interrupts.
“I think you’ve done enough here man, it’s time for you to go.” Jarrod is grinding his jaw so hard I can hear his teeth being filed down to nubs.
“This isn’t over Marguerite.” He vows. I feel my insides cracking as I watch him walk out the door.
I stay frozen in my spot for what seems like hours, unable to move, unable to completely comprehend what has happened in the past few moments. I went from extremely high to extremely low and I just want to curl into a ball and cry.
“Maggie come and sit down,” Amalie urges. My heavy feet slowly carry me silently to the sofa and my body floats down until I am sitting, my minds still caught up in a foggy haze.
“Maggs, what were you doing with him?” Jarrod asks. My catatonic state breaks as my eyes fly to meet his.
“What do you mean?” My voice holds an accusation - a dare. I wonder what Jarrod knows about Jackson and his extracurricular activities.
“You know what I mean, Maggs. I know what he’s into, fuck even Amalie has seen the guy in action,” Jarrod hisses. I jerk my head around to look at my friend and watch as heat rises up her neck to her cheeks.
“What did you see?” I ask, knowing damn well I don’t want the answer.
“It doesn’t matter.” Amalie shakes her head and looks down at little Axel.
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Jarrod asks, his voice tense.
“No, Jarrod, he wouldn’t do that, at least not physically,” I assure him. It takes me a while to convince them to leave. All I want is to be left alone. I assure my friends that I am fine, that we had only been seeing each other for a short time, and I’m not heartbroken.
I lie to them.
Jarrod huffs like a child and Amalie tells me that she will call me later as she pulls me into her arms and forces me to hug her. I do, probably a little tighter than normal because it could be the last time. I don’t know how I will ever face them again. I’m embarrassed, but mostly I am ashamed. I am ashamed of myself for throwing caution to the wind and acting like a slut.
I make a decision the moment Jarrod and Amalie close the door behind themselves. It is time for a change. I thought that Jackson was the change I needed, thought that he was what I had been craving – but obviously I was wrong.
One decision years ago changed my life forever, the decision to marry Sammy. Now that is over. Sammy is gone and I need to change the course of my life or I will continue to live in this place that we called home and I won’t ever move on.
I so desperately need to move on. It’s as if I am forever tied to baseball, to the game and the men who play. I need to get away from it. I need to get away from all of the reminders that surround me. The games, Sammy, and now Jackson who ties it all together - forcing me to lose the grip I thought I had on my new life. Shattering what I thought I wanted. I am so sick of baseball being shoved at me from every single angle of my life.
I grab my suitcase and I pack it with everything that I can. I’m running, I know I am, just like I ran when Sammy asked me to marry him. I would have stayed with Sammy until the day I died; I would have allowed him to do as he pleased because I felt trapped and I was under some illusion that I loved him.
I didn’t love Sammy because I didn’t know him.
I step outside of my door and lock it, maybe for the last time, maybe not. Sammy bought it outright with his first big check. I don’t have to worry about never having a home, I can come back after I find whatever it is I need to find. Is it that I am attracted to the same type of man? Am I attracted to men who look pretty on the outside but lie and hold back huge pieces of themselves from me? I want truth and honestly, I provide that. Why can’t the men I fall for give that to me as well?
I fucked up and I know that I did. I could feel that shit was about to go down, which is why I was planning on telling Maggie right after we fucked. I should have told her beforehand. My dick started thinking for my brain and I fucked it all up with the only woman I have ever truly craved. I am a fucking idiot.
I should have told her when she came back from the dedication. No, I should have told her at the club, the moment I laid eyes on her. I could have won her over, even if she had turned me down that first time. She is meant for me. I can feel it deep in my bones, an ache that will not go away, that that woman is meant to be mine.
Sammy may have had her for a short amount of time, but he didn’t know how to handle her, how to cherish her, how to worship her and how to guide her.
My phone rings and I don’t even need to look at the caller ID to know exactly who it is calling me.
“Lexington,” I clip harshly.
“The fuck man?” Jarrod Harrison says into my ear, his voice harsh and his tone sharp. A lesser man might be frightened of the giant on the other end of the line, but I’m not scared of anybody - except the little honey blonde tornado that has just pushed me away.
“I fucked up, I should have told her who I was, but I like her, man,” I confess, skipping all the bullshit.
Maybe it makes me a pussy to admit it, but whatever. I would boldly sport the label of pussy if I got the girl in the end, because that is all that matters to me in this moment.
“No shit dude.” The line goes quiet for a moment. “I guess understand why you didn’t,” he continues. “I just… does she know what you’re into? I’m sorry, I’m trying to wrap my head around all this. Maggie is so shy and sweet; I can’t imagine her knowing you like to whip chicks and being down with it.” Jarrod chuckles nervously and I can’t help but smile. This fool has no clue who the real Marguerite is. I’m just barely starting to scratch the surface myself. I hope that she allows me to continue to learn more about her wants and desires.
“I met her in a BDSM nightclub. I guess Sammy was into that shit, but she never knew. She was there to check it out. I didn’t let her participate and I sent her home before she saw too much,” I explain. I leave out the details of where we were before I brought her home tonight. What Marguerite had seen just a few hours ago was the real deal, the hardcore elite of the D/s circle, and - fuck me - but she liked it.
“Christ, you got to be fucking me. So that’s what Sammy was doing when he was cheating on her, going to these clubs and meeting subs?” he asks in surprise. I nod like Jarrod can see me and then I verbalize my agreement.
“Do you really like her? I mean give it to me straight,” he asks.
Jarrod is one of the best guys that I know. He’s a devoted husband and father to his wife and baby boy, Axel. Jarrod, however, does not need to know the depth of my true feelings for Marguerite, not until she knows at least.
“Yes, Harrison, I like her. She’s special,” the words tumble from my lips and I know they are facts.
Marguerite is special. She is vibrant and colorful and full of an un-ignited passion that I was just starting to fuel. I know she has it in her to burn so bright, people would have to shield their eyes just to be in her presence. But she is lost – her confidence shot. I want nothing more than to build her up and mold her into the most confident and beautiful woman on this earth.
“Whatever goes on between the two of you is your business, but Maggie is family. She’s like my little sister. If you hurt her, at all, I’ll fuckin’ kill you. I can tell that she feels something for you, so just give her a little space and she’ll forgive you. Maggie is the most forgiving, levelheaded woman I know. If it’s meant to be, it’ll be, man.”
After Jarrod hangs up, I sit back in my chair; with my phone in in my hand, my fingers are itching to dial Maggie’s number as my legs bounce with the
urge to go to her place.
I do neither.
I decide to give her time.
THE AIRPLANE LANDS AND I almost gasp as I step off and into the dry desert heat. I will never get used to the weather here in Vegas, it’s as hot as the devil’s dick. Standing in line at the luggage carousel, with all the young frat boys and sorority girls, already tanked from the flight and ready to party, I have to resist rolling my eyes at them. I watch them and, while I am only a few years older than they are, I feel ancient in comparison. I spot my shiny, hard, black suitcase and grab it, struggling for a moment before I am able to unfold the handle and guide it toward the line of car rental places.
For the first time in years, I am able to do what I want, drive what I want, and go where I want to. I ask for the cutest car they have - the sleekest and the sexiest. The girl behind the counter gives me a wink before she hands me the keys to a sporty little Cadillac convertible. It’s black and sexy as hell, not to mention physically so hot I feel as though my skin is going to melt as I slide my ass on the black leather seats. I should have asked for something practical, I think to myself as I drive into the Vegas traffic. Fucking hell.
As I drive away from the bright city lights of the strip, I look up the most recent address for the person I am trying to find; after I’ve found it, I plug it into the car’s GPS system. Once I am out of the city, the traffic thins out and is almost nonexistent. The desert is so expansive that it feels desolate out here. I close my eyes for a moment and inhale deeply, knowing there won’t be cause for alarm out here in the middle of nowhere.
My nerves are coiling deep in my belly, but this trip is something I must do. I have to go back to where it all started. I have to see if I was running out of fear or necessity when I left town with Sammy.
Do I just run when life is hard?
Do I run when I have no other options?
Am I broken?
The trailer park comes into view and I cringe at just how run down it looks. I remember it being crappy, but I don’t remember it being so disgusting, battered, and just plain filthy. I drive toward the correct trailer and notice the beat up, brown pickup out front, eighties Trans Am right next to it.
I remember that Trans Am. I learned how to drive that thing. I used to have to go to the store for cigarettes and booze for my mother in that car. More than once I hunkered down in the back of that car while my mom worked a pole all night long. I can’t believe she still has it, all of these years later.
Climbing out of the shiny Cadillac, I smooth down my dress - the blue wrap dress from Sammy’s dedication speech - and I pull together every single bit of courage I’ve got as I walk toward the dilapidated trailer house. The stairs are rotten and frightening, threatening to break with each step of my high heels as I climb them. I knock firmly on the door and wait. There is some clanging, some rustling, and finally a woman stands before me.
I stare into blue eyes that so closely mirror my own, except the woman looking back at me looks like death. Her eyes are lifeless and her skin has a grayish pallor to it. She looks like skin and bones beneath her barely there tube top and her skin tight jean skirt. I didn’t know people wore jean mini-skirts anymore.
On her feet are a pair of kitten heel sandals. The sight of them almost makes me giggle. She looks like she just stepped out of a White Snake video. Her thick blonde hair is permed and teased out as far as it can go; her eyelids are coated in bright blue, frosted shadow; and her hot pink lips finish her ensemble. It is taking all I have not to burst out laughing at my own mother.
“Who in the fuck are you?” she sneers. My head snaps up and I open my mouth.
“It’s me, Mama. Marguerite,” I say softly. Her eyes narrow as they roam over me, taking me in, much the way I took her in. Instead of the humor I know is in my eyes, she gives me a look of disgust.
“Where the fuck you been all these years? Workin’ on your back, obviously,” she snorts. I shake my head. Though, I’m honestly not surprised by her words.
“No. I was married and living in New York City,” I confess as I try to look past her. “May I come in? It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other.”
“Sure, get your ass in here before my neighbors think I’m buying from my dealer and call my parole officer again,” she rasps. I blink and then shrug off her words; knowing them to be typical.
The trailer smells – no, it reeks of old come, sex, and rotten milk. I gag a little before I notice a very large man sitting on the sofa. He is about as clean as the trailer, which means he’s absolutely disgusting. He smiles at me as his eyes travel over my body. I know he’s trying to imagine me naked and it makes me gag a second time.
“This is Wade; he’s your step-daddy,” announces my mother.
“Hey there, little girl,” he drawls with a leer. I wrap my arms around my stomach and try to smile at him without looking as disgusted as I feel.
“Where’s your man?” my mom asks, grabbing a new cigarette and lighting it as she leans a hip against the counter.
“Sammy passed about eighteen months ago,” I answer and
She shakes her head as she asks, “Married an oldie, huh? That’s good; those old men die all the time and then you get your money. Nothing’ wrong with fuckin’ an oldie for a while for some good cash and a good roof over your head,” she says with a grin.
I press my lips together, “No, Mama, Sammy was my age. He was killed. Wrong place, wrong time,” I offer. She doesn’t’t look sad, pitiful or even affected by my words; she just shrugs.
“You’re a pretty girl, baby, you could make a mint dancing at the club or being an escort here. Do you know how much the high class ones make? I could be your manager. I know everybody there is to know here.” She smiles widely and I can almost see the dollar signs in her eyes.
I gasp at her words and take a step back. It shouldn’t surprise me that my mother would want to whore me out and manage me, too. Money for her drugs and booze is all my mother has truly ever cared about. But, I can’t help the yearning I have for her to one day care about me. Instead, she’s willing to pimp me out to line her own pockets.
“N-no I don’t think so. I came by because it’s been years mom. I wanted to maybe go to dinner together?”
“I don’t have time tonight. You should have called me ahead of time. I have to take Wade down to the bar, he’s playing in a blackjack tournament.” She takes a long drag of her cigarette and I nod.
“What about after you drop him off? Would you like to go out and talk?”
I’m grasping and she knows it. I haven’t changed. I am the same beat down girl I was the day I left.
“Sure, baby, we’ll have cocktails at the bar. You can cheer on your step-daddy,” she offers. I don’t want to go to some shitty rundown bar with my mother and this Wade person. I want to talk and try to piece back together our relationship. Knowing, it is a sinking ship at this point, especially after all of the talk about becoming an escort.
“Okay,” I concede like I always do.
I am such a doormat.
I follow my mother and Wade to what has to be the smallest and crappiest bar I have ever seen in my life. Once I am inside, I look around and decide the buy-in for this tournament must not be over five dollars, maybe ten at the most. It’s small, gross, and smells like urine and beer. Like everything I have encountered so far, it’s disgusting.
“Why are you really here?” my mother confronts me as soon as she’s “settled-in” Wade. I cringed as I watched her stick her tongue down his throat while he pulled up her short skirt and palmed her bare ass.
“I told you why. It’s been too long, Mama. I’ve lived a whole life and we haven’t talked once,” I say, watching as my mother wrinkles her nose and she throws back a shot of whiskey.
“You’re here to compete with me, ain’t you? Come in here with your perky tits and your tight ass, try to take what I’ve worked my ass off for. Work in my club and show everybody how much better you are than your old broke dow
n Mama?”
“No, I don’t want what you have. I just want to talk to you. I have no desire to strip,” I insist my mother’s sour features turn uglier and I watch as heat rises under her gray skin.
“So you think you’re better than me? Well, my body put food on the table and clothes on your back. Without it, you’d have starved to death, you ungrateful little bitch.” Her words are venom and I close my eyes.
My mother did sell herself, but I never made her. Plenty of single mother’s make ends meet without stripping or turning tricks. They also don’t have a drinking problem and a drug habit. My mother did those things because she wanted to, it had nothing to do with me, aside from that I hardly ever had food or clothes that fit.
“You’re wrong. You didn’t do that for me, you did it for booze, smokes and drugs,” I say softly, but loud enough that she can hear me. I know she’s heard me because her hand comes up and I have to stop her from slapping me by grabbing her wrist.
“You’re an ungrateful cunt,” she spits as I squeeze her wrist.
“I was right to leave you rotting here in hell,” I hiss. She pulls back her hand and narrows her eyes.
“You might be younger than me but, wake up honey, you’re alone and this life right here is exactly where you’ll end up. All the money and clothes in the world won’t make you more than the trash you are,” she spews. I just shake my head at her mean spirited, jealous words.
“I’m done. This is not what I want. You aren’t worth my time,” I announce. I stand and turn to leave when she hurls one more insult at me, because she just can’t help herself - never could.
“Doesn’t matter how you got that money; married to the man or not, you earned it just the same as I did - on your back with your legs spread.” The direct hit works and I feel like a whore as I leave my mother sitting at the bar, swimming in her own self-pity.
Vegas is a waste of time and, as quickly as I decided to come, I leave. Not even twenty-fours later, I am on a plane headed back to New York. Nevada holds nothing but bad memories and an even worse mother. I need to focus on me, on my life, and what I want. I had a long flight to consider; do I want to be in this lifestyle that both Sammy and Jackson enjoy? Do I want Jackson? I miss him. I miss his voice and the way he made me feel. He omitted the truth from me, he made me feel betrayed. He didn’t flat out lie.
Catching Maggie Page 9