by Shannon West
“My…secret?” I was almost whispering now, feeling full of panic that he might actually know.
“That you’re not so special after all,” he said softly, pouring the poisonous words in my ear. “That’s what you believe, anyway. You think you’ve been lucky enough to fool people so far, but you believe all that luck is bound to wear off soon and people will see you for what you really are. In fact, when that girl put you in jail, you weren’t even surprised. You were probably thinking, ‘Okay, here it is. Here it finally is. That house of cards is about to fall down around me. Not that you were guilty of anything. But because of the timing, someone was going to replace you as quarterback, and then they’d see that you weren’t so necessary, so irreplaceable and perfect after all.”
“Shut the hell up! Please!”
But he kept on talking like I hadn’t said anything. Killing me with every word. He was spilling out my innermost thoughts for the whole damn world to see.
“So, you cut yourself to take off the pressure—to let out some of that fear and shame and stress. You cut yourself because deep down you think you deserve the pain. Don’t you?” He shook me a little. “Don’t you?”
“Yes,” I said, turning my head away in shame, so softly I knew he had to strain to hear me. “I cut myself, damn it. And it’s none of your business, because I know what exactly I’m doing! I don’t need a keeper. I don’t need you!” I tried to wrench myself away from him again, but he held onto me like grim death.
“Tell me something, Kingston. Why do you like hurting yourself so much?”
I turned a frown toward the arrogant ass and gave him a flippant answer. “It’s the one thing in my life I can control. And besides, it feels good.”
“Stupid answer.”
“Maybe it is. Okay, I don’t know why I do it, all right?”
“That’s not good enough. I think you know exactly why you do it.”
“Not good enough? I don’t have to tell you anything!”
“No, you’re right, you don’t. You can just keep on the way you are and being miserable—sounds like a genius plan.”
I bit the side of my lip and stared up at him. Fucker was right—it did sound stupid when he put it like that. “Hell, I don’t know why, okay?”
“Then think about it. Why did you go to the club and let those Doms tie you up and flog you? Why do you cut yourself? What’s in it for you?”
I shrugged. “It always starts out bad—really bad like I can’t just take it another second, but if I can make myself wait—just a few seconds, it’s…it’s like something else kicks in. Endorphins, maybe. I read a little about those. I don’t know, but I start to get this floaty feeling. Kind of like being high, but even more intense. Each cut I make on my skin—every strike of the flogger on my ass or my back from the Doms—it just brings it on more and I feel like…I feel…” I broke off, feeling embarrassed.
“Do you feel like you need punishment?”
“No,” I said, sarcasm dripping off the word. “I don’t like the idea of standing in a club letting some stranger beat me. But I like the feeling that comes from it. It starts out painful, but then it gets all mixed up after a while and it starts to feel really good. Hard to describe if you never felt it.”
“A BDSM club is not a place to work out your emotional issues. There are psychiatrists and psychologists for that.”
“Damn it, my parents took me to those when I was a kid. They didn’t help! Not a damn bit. They didn’t understand and just kept threatening to put me in a hospital to ‘protect’ me. I lied to them and told them I’d stop to make them go away. I’ll do it again if I have to. Whatever it might take to make them leave me alone. If you tell my parents...” I gave him the dirtiest look I could muster.
“I told you I won’t. But you’ve been indulging yourself in some risky behavior, Kingston. And if I hadn’t stopped you that night I first saw you at Checkmate, that Dom could have really hurt you. If you had kept on, if that recklessness had kept up, you’d have eventually found some crazy son-of-a-bitch who would have seriously injured or even killed you. And it’s the same with this self-inflicted pain—this cutting. You’re risking yourself every time you cut. But it stops now. Do you understand?”
“But I-I like…”
“It will stop. If you agree to let me help you, then I might give you a little of what you seem to like. But I won’t hurt you past a certain point. That’s a hard limit for me—do you understand hard and soft limits?”
“Yes,” I replied. Even I could hear how sullen I sounded.
“Tell me.”
I blew out an irritated breath. “A hard limit is something a-a Dom or a sub won’t do. Ever. And a soft limit is something you don’t think you’d like but you might be willing to talk about it again. Negotiate some. Maybe try it.”
Memphis nodded. “I’m glad you learned a little bit about BDSM. Now tell me what you might need or want from me.”
“Nothing. I need you to leave me alone.”
“That’s not true and it’s not gonna happen anyway. Now I’ll ask you again. What do you need from me?”
I squirmed uncomfortably. “A friend maybe. No, that’s not exactly it…someone who gets me. You have to know what it’s like. Your parents had to be hard on you just like mine were on me, so you know what kind of pressure I’m under all the time to be not only a good student but a great quarterback. I need someone who’ll be there…you know?”
“I don’t want to be your friend, Kingston.”
Damn, that was blunt. I sighed, and felt my shoulders slumping. “Okay, well, fuck you too.”
He grabbed my chin and made me look up at him. “I don’t want to be your friend. I want to be your everything. I want to be your friend, your lover, and your Dom, because I know what you need. And I will be there for you. I give you my promise.”
I looked up at him, but I couldn’t quite hold that piercing gaze of his. It seemed like he was looking into my damn soul.
“Tell me again why you love the pain.” He held up a finger to stop me from whatever smartass remark I was about to make. “Tell me,” he said softly.
I sighed again. I seemed to be doing a lot of that—I had no idea how hard it was to talk about this with him, but I knew I had to do it. “Because…because it’s real! Because it’s so fucking real! I can concentrate just on the pain and forget about all the pressure! All the responsibility. I used to cut so I didn’t have to worry constantly about satisfying the coach and the team. About making my professors think I’m smart! Making my parents proud! The pain took over and didn’t leave me any room for any of that! But now that I’m not quarterback anymore, I still cut because of the shame I feel. Knowing that my parents are disappointed in me and that I let them down. It hurts so bad, but all I have to do is cut into my skin and let out some of the pain.”
“And carve the word “Loser” on your skin.”
“Shouldn’t I? Shouldn’t I let the world know what I really am?”
“But the world doesn’t see it, Kingston. Only you can see it.”
“Yes,” I sighed softly, closing my eyes.
Just as softly, nodding his head, Memphis said, “Because you’ve been a coward.”
I gasped out loud again. Shame washed over me so scalding hot that I thought I might pass out. How did he know these things? How did he know how scared I was all the damn time? How could he say these things to me?
“Because that’s what you think,” he said, and I realized I must have asked him those questions out loud. “Only it’s not true. Are you listening to me? It’s not true. I can’t even imagine the kind of strength it would take to cut into my own flesh the way you do. But at the same time, it was a cop out. Instead of standing up to your parents and telling them to back off. Instead of standing up to that girl and the police last fall and demanding that they find out the truth. Instead of insisting on a good lawyer, you let them put you in jail! You don’t tell your professors or your counselor that you can’t ke
ep up with all the work. You don’t tell my father to his face that he betrayed you, and that he already had a great quarterback in you! Because it might tarnish that perfect image. So instead of doing any of that, you hide in a bathroom with a blade and hurt yourself to get back at all of them. To spite them and make them sorry.” He laughed—a short harsh sound. “And they don’t even know you’re doing it. Talk about cutting off your own nose to spite your face.”
“Let me go, Memphis!”
“Not until you admit the truth. We have to have it all out between us, Kingston. You have to trust me with all of it. Admit that cutting yourself is the way you get back at other people. Admit that you’ve been using the blade as a way to cope.”
I gave a final hard pull and wrenched myself out of his arms. Rolling over onto my stomach, I turned my head and glared up at him, wanting him to see how much I hated him.
To my surprise, he didn’t try to pull me back over or wrestle with me. He simply stared down at me with something in his expression I didn’t understand. Some strong emotion I didn’t recognize.
“I can give you pain if you need it, Kingston. If it thrills you, if it comforts you. If it turns you on. I can even make you fly high on those endorphins you’re addicted to. Higher than you ever thought possible. You said you’d try. So do it. Give me the control.”
“You think you can give me what I need?”
“No, I don’t. This is about you giving me what I need.”
I could feel my face heating up. “What?”
“You’re in this position now because the cutting didn’t work. Or at least it only worked temporarily. You knew it was wrong and dangerous and that you couldn’t keep it up. You were on that dance floor tonight, being controlled by me because you’re tired of pretending. You’re tired of struggling. And for once you accepted the idea that your role tonight was not to make the decisions. Your only role was to obey. To serve. To bring me pleasure by dancing for me and by doing that, by thinking of me instead of yourself, you could bring yourself more pleasure than you ever imagined.”
I started to get off the bed again, but he stopped me with his next words, spoken in the same soft voice. “When I said before, the aren’t you special remark? You thought I was mocking you. But I wasn’t. You are special, Kingston. The most special man I’ve ever met. And you were perfect tonight. Absolutely perfect for me, and I’m so sorry I didn’t make you see that. To see how wonderful and special and fucking perfect you truly are.”
I drew in a breath that turned into a long, shuddering sigh, and he leaned down and kissed the side of my face. “Others only see what you can do to make them look good. My father…your parents… But I see you for what you really are. I see you and how beautiful you are in every way and in everything you do. I failed you tonight by not letting you know that. So I’m asking you again. Will you give the control to me again, Kingston, like you did for a few minutes tonight on that dance floor? Will you turn it all over to me? All the worry and the pressure. Will you give me all those nasty little secrets you’ve been hiding, and let me handle them for you? You won’t have to worry about any of them ever again if you do. I promise you that. Submit to me. Surrender.”
A long moment passed and I thought I wasn’t going to find the strength to do it. I thought back to those few minutes on the dance floor. Don’t worry about who’s watching. Dance just for me, he’d said and his voice had intoxicated me. I had wanted to prove to him I was as brave as he was. And for that one moment, I had been. He’d given me that. I didn’t have to think or worry or wonder if what I was doing was right. He had taken that decision away and for those few precious moments, the huge burden I’d been carrying had been lifted off my shoulders. I wanted that feeling again.
Finally, I rolled back over again and stared up at him.
“You have to surrender and stop fighting me, Kingston. Do you understand? Give yourself to me…and trust me to take care of you. Do you think you might be willing to do that?”
Could I? I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t know if this was anything I could do. But he was offering me a lifeline. It might be my last. I looked up at those eyes again and reached for it.
“Yes,” I whispered softly.
“Yes…Sir.”
I could feel myself blush, but I took a deep breath and said it. “Yes, Sir.”
“I can take you places you never even dreamed of before. I can give you more pleasure than you’ve ever known. But you have to give yourself to me in return. Give me everything that you are.”
“I will.” It felt like a solemn promise, and we locked eyes for a moment. He smiled at me then and leaned down to brush my lips with his.
“And I give everything I am to you. Now say the words.”
“I-I want you…to take control. But I don’t want the position of quarterback again. You were right—the pressure is too much. Besides,” I said, giving him a little smile. “You are better than me.”
He shook his head, but cupped my chin and kissed me tenderly. Kissed me thoroughly, until I slipped my arms around his neck and hung onto him, until I couldn’t get my breath. I might regret this decision. But he was right about one thing. I couldn’t go on the way I was. Something had to change.
****
Memphis
I didn’t get much rest that night. It was late when Kingston finally closed his eyes and started the slow breathing that let me know he was asleep enough for me to feel all right about leaving him alone. I went into his bathroom first and gathered up every razor blade I could find. Then I went to the kitchen and got the knives, taking them into my room to put them in my closet. I trusted him, trusted that he would try to keep his word and not cut himself anymore…but like the old Russian proverb says, Trust, but verify. I intended to do just that as long as Kingston was my responsibility. I’d already let him down once. I didn’t plan on doing it again.
Thank God it was Sunday morning, so we could both sleep in a little in the morning. Tomorrow would begin the first day of practice and if I knew our coaches, there was no way they’d take it easy on us. Easy just wasn’t in their vocabulary. I had meant what I said to Kingston. I would have given it all up to have a chance with him, but I guess I was relieved when he told me he didn’t want that. My father would have probably stroked out if I’d quit.
I didn’t get up until ten o’clock the next morning, which was really late for me. The first thing I did was go down the hall and open the door to Kingston’s room. He was lying on his stomach, still dead to the world, so I let him sleep. This would be the last day we’d get that luxury.
We had a great strength coach by the name of Adam Bradley, who kicked our butts, bumped our shoulders, growled, cursed, challenged and inspired us every day with his workouts and his words. He had a hate-me-now, thank-me-later approach to training that I admired as much as I dreaded. He was the guy who helped hone the muscle and the motivation of the team, and that was quite a job for a group that had won three national titles in the past three years.
My dad told me that during the school semester, the team used to have to be up by five every morning for strength and conditioning training, and then they had football practice every afternoon, but the NCAA had adopted legislation a year or more ago that ended two-a-day practices for college ball. So now we started practice earlier in the year than we’d done before. Luckily for us, our school had both indoor and outdoor facilities that we could use for practice. Lucky because we lived in the south, and the heat could be hard to manage as the day wore on. But that also meant less time for workouts once school started, so most of us did it on our own in the gym we had downstairs.
As I sat drinking my protein shake that morning, waiting for Kingston to get up so we could go out for breakfast—well, lunch at this point—I thought about making up a workout schedule for both of us to follow. I thought keeping him busy and working him hard on his training was the way to go. If I could get him too tired to think about cutting himself, maybe he’d stop on his own. H
e’d been so resistant to going to a psychiatrist, I’d let him talk me out of it. Maybe that had been the wrong thing to do. Or maybe making him go to someone might have pushed him right over the edge. I just didn’t know, and that’s why this whole thing scared me so much. I was in way over my head with this, with him. I just couldn’t let him see it. He needed to think I had everything under control, when the truth was, I was already treading water.
I knew I’d been tough with him. Almost cruel, when I played back the words in my head. But I’d seen how he could manipulate people when he put his mind to it, and I knew if I was too nice to him, he’d take advantage. He’d wrapped Ben around his little finger and he was a big, badass cop. One of the best, according to what I’d heard. But hell, when Kingston started telling his story—and I still don’t think he told all of it—it broke your heart if you had one beating in your chest.
Kingston’s new position would include running back, if I had anything to say about it, and I thought I did. I knew my dad was anxious for me and Kingston to find a way to work together and he was also worried about our current running back, a guy named Jet Stallone. He had been giving my father a lot of grief over the last year. He was a good player, but he got in his own way and was hard to handle. My idea was to use Kingston at the position when or if Jet punked out. He’d be at a bit of a size disadvantage compared to the opposing linemen who would be intent on bringing him down. They’d have both height and weight on him, so he had to focus on building speed, strength and power to help him explode through the line, protect the ball and get clear into the secondary. Not to mention, keep him from getting hurt. I was surprised at how much I didn’t like the idea of Kingston hurt.
So, while I waited for him to get up, I started figuring out a workout plan for him that consisted of complex training to build the things he needed—plyometrics, like jumping rope, hopping, lunges, jump squats, and clap push-ups. Along with bodyweight exercises and strength exercises, it should really help. It would have been better if he could have been doing this all off-season, but if wishes were horses, then we’d all take a ride, as my grandma used to say. Or something like that. Anyway, I think it meant that we had to work with what we had.