Secrets In Our Scars

by Rebecca Trogner

  “I’ve made a reservation at the spa with instructions regarding your care. Manicure. Pedicure. Massage. Whatever you want. And there’s an indoor pool and a gym.”

  “Oh.”

  He sweeps me into his arms. “Or I can have them come to the suite.”

  “I just…”

  He leans back trying to read my face. “I’ll cancel my meeting. It can wait.”

  “No.” I force my lips into a smile. “Go.” I wiggle out of his hold and walk back inside. “Are these meetings about your trip?”

  “It’s a convenient time to meet clients in person. I’m sorry. I’ll be back in a couple hours. And when I come home from overseas, we’ll go away.”

  “To the island.” But I want him now. I don’t want to be in a strange place without him. It reminds me of Charlie at the dance. No! I close my eyes and force it from my mind.

  From behind, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his chest. “I promise we’ll have a few days alone.” His lips brush the shell of my ear.

  I want to melt in his arms and forget about everything but the feel of him. Before I can, a knock at the door interrupts our quiet calm.

  He kisses my neck and turns me in his arms. “Do you need me? I can stay.” He steps back and tugs at his shirt cuffs. “Nothing is more important to me than you.”

  I want to say yes. I don’t. I smile. “I’d like a massage.” I wiggle my fingers towards him like I’m putting him under my spell. “And maybe some festive nail polish.”

  “Thank you.” He grasps my fingers, turning my hands over to kiss each palm. “For understanding.”

  “No need.” I walk with him to the door and watch as he exits. The click of the latch as the door shuts sends a shudder through my body. “Now what?” I stroll through all the rooms. Go back to the balcony. And walk back to where I started with me facing the door like a puppy waiting for its owner to return home.

  “We’re alone now.” Charlie hisses. “Want to play a game?”

  God forgive me, but my eyes glance over to the desk. A silver letter opener sits like a temptation from the Almighty.

  Not waiting for Charlie to say more, I march to the door, open it and step into the hallway. After the door closes, I realize I don’t have a key.

  “The spa?” Proctor’s voice, flat and emotionless, startles me.

  “Are you guarding me?” Nothing from him, not even a blink. “Fine. Whatever. Lead the way.”

  Silence as we ride in the elevator. Keeping pace with him is difficult in the high heels. I wish I’d worn flats. We round a corner and there is the spa. Like a small palace of glittering glass and crystal chandeliers and smiling staff waiting to assist.

  Proctor opens the door for me and steps inside. Is he going to stick by my side the whole time?

  “Miss Aldridge.” A woman with grey hair and kind eyes greets me. “We hoped you’d come. What can we do for you?”

  To the left are hairdresser chairs, empty. I don’t hear any activity. “A haircut.” I cough and clear my throat. “Maybe a manicure and pedicure.”

  “Of course.” She waves her hand toward the back. “And a massage. If you like?”

  I shake my head. I wouldn’t feel comfortable with a stranger’s hands on my body.

  “Very well. Come with me.”

  I turn back to see Proctor standing at attention just inside the door.

  I’m tucked into a thick robe and should be having a relaxing time. I’m not. I don’t care for this, at all. I want Roy. I want to be home. But I make the most of it.

  A lovely lady does my nails. They’re buffed and polished in a nude shade. The manicurist applies a small band of sparkling polish at my nail tips. I smile and thank her.

  My hair is washed and conditioned and trimmed until it falls in beautiful curls down my back. Not a hint of frizz to be found.

  Finally, I’m done. Proctor is right where I left him. I don’t think he’s moved a muscle.

  “Tell Mr. Blackwood we thank him for his business,” the receptionist says.

  I nod and follow in step behind Proctor. I’m antsy in the elevator. Surely Roy is back in the suite. I rush ahead of Proctor and shift my weight impatiently while he uses the keycard to open the door.

  “Roy,” I call out just as the door closes behind me.

  “You didn’t think he’d be here, did you?” Charlie asks.

  I’m transported back in time. I’m at the dance. Wearing the beautiful dress my aunt’s made for me. Abandoned. Discarded. Unwanted. Like my mother left me. Just like Charlie. Like Roy.

  I’m two steps from the desk with the awaiting letter opener before I realize it. I freeze like I’ve stepped on a landmine. Roy is a business owner. He’s busy. He will be back.

  “Maybe he will, but soon he’ll tire of you.”

  “Shut up,” I scream.

  The door slams. I whirl around. Roy is standing in the room.

  “Daisy,” his voice is cautious. “You look lovely.”

  I’m excited and happy to see him, yet I step back, stumble in the heels, and grab hold of the sofa to remain upright. I yank the straps free and throw the offending shoes across the room.

  “Everything alright?”

  No. Anxiety is mainlining through my body. “Yeah. Sure.” I plant a smile on my face. “Do you like?” I flip my hair this way and that.

  “You cut it.” He remains rooted in place.

  “A couple inches.” Maybe three or four, but who’s counting. He’s not buying my act. “I snatch my mobile from the side table and open the balcony doors. Street noise filters through the room. “Come on,” I urge. “Let’s take a picture. I promised my aunts I’d put something good on my Facebook page.” My eyes keep flicking to the letter opener.

  Finally, he moves toward me. “Delete your social media accounts.”

  “What? Why?” I’m now on the balcony. My chest heaving as I use all my energy to keep a calm exterior.

  “Do it,” his voice snaps like a whip. “No pictures. Nothing.”

  My back is now against the railing. I should be running into his arms. Why do I feel trapped? “I don’t understand.”

  “Because bad people target military operators and their families. Terrorist groups have a price on my head.”

  Enemies. He said he had enemies. And now he’s going right back to war. My emotions boil over inside me. I spring off the railing and almost shoot past him, but he grabs my arm. “Let me go!”

  “Tell me,” he implores.

  The thought of him being killed because of something I posted online makes me want to vomit. He releases me and I wrap my arms around my chest. This is insane. He’s going to leave me, and then what?

  I back away from Roy, needing space to… The pressure has been building inside me since last night. I knew it would be bad when it reared its head again, just never expected it so soon.

  My hand shakes as I snap the band repeatedly against my wrist. This morning, Roy showed me how a simple hair band around my wrist could halt my compulsion.

  “Here.” He’s gentler as he takes my hand, stilling it. “You’re bruising yourself.”

  “I have to.” I wrestle out of his grasp.

  “We”—he leans in and tries to catch my eyes—“need to learn how to manage this better. Can you articulate what’s going on inside your head?”

  “It’s all too much. You’re leaving. Going to someplace horrible. Enemies. People trying to kill you.” I point at his shoulder. “Or hurt you again. Someone stalking me. You’re leaving me.” I wheeze out, hating myself. “And Charlie, he won’t stop talking in my ear, making his nasty comments.” It just fell out of my mouth, and now he’ll think I’m crazy. Not that he doesn’t already.

  “Charlie was a stupid young man hounded by his own demons as much, if not more, than you.”

  My brain feels cleaved in two. I’d never thought Charlie could have been hurting inside and that he had been lashing out. There is something I’m not catching, or someth
ing I’ve missed. It’s a sensation of having a taste for something you can’t identify.

  “Charlie’s unimportant. What do you need?”

  Something is bashing against my thighs. I look down at my hands, rolled into fists, shaking out of control. I close my eyes and try with all my might to control my body. “I’m sorry, so sorry.”

  Why? I scream inside my head. Why now? Why so strong? I’ve never had it hit me like this. Not when I’m happy. Am I? Was I? Roy, wonderful as he is, has tossed my controlled world into chaos. My emotions maxed out most of the time. I’ve been putting a Band-Aid on a bleeding artery.

  “I’m sorry. I have to cut. Let me?”

  “I forbid it. No!”

  “Please, let me go to the bathroom for a moment. It will only take a moment.” I plead with my eyes. “Only one cut, I promise.” I hate myself. I’m nothing but a filthy junkie.

  “I’ll call the therapist. She can be here in less than thirty minutes.”

  “Don’t!”

  “Daisy I’m not going to stand here while you go cut yourself.”

  No, of course, he isn’t. But I can’t remain like this, and I can’t talk to a stranger. I’m sweaty and chilled at the same time. My eyes scan the room in desperation. Roy loosens his tie and yanks it free with his hands, those big rough hands. “I need you to do something for me.”

  “Anything.”

  A particularly bad wave rips through my nervous system, and I know I’ll die if I don’t get relief. “Please,” I beg. “Spank me.”

  “What? I’m not going to hit you.”

  “If you care for me, you’ll do it now, and don’t stop until I tell you to.”

  “This isn’t right. You do realize an assault caused this problem. And now you want me to—”

  “Yes, I know what I’m asking.” I throw my hands up and march toward the bathroom. He grabs me around the waist and clutches me so close I almost can’t breathe.

  “Alright, alright.” His chest heaves. “I’ll do it.” He pulls back to glare at me. “Are you sure?”

  Of course, I’m sure. “Yes.”

  He retrieves his mobile from an inside pocket of his suit jacket. “Proctor, we’re good now. I’ll see you at the party.”

  I’d forgotten he was right outside the door. What did he hear? Yet another item added to my list of shame.

  Roy tosses the phone on the desk and cups my face in his large hands. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

  I heave in a deep breath. My heart hammers a painful melody inside my ribcage. “I need release and pain. I need everything to spew out of me until I’m empty.” I loathe the pity I see in his eyes. “Make me only think about what’s happening.” My bones feel like they’ll shake free of their joints. “Take control.”

  “Alright, alright. On one condition.”

  I’m misery incarnate. “What?”

  “I’m making an appointment with the therapist.” He points his finger at my chest. “And you promise to go and speak with her about this.”

  I nod, not really registering what he’s asking of me.

  He lowers his head, rolls each shoulder and his neck, and, finally, lifts his head to look me in the eyes.

  I take a step back, and another one, because his eyes are primal, like an animal ready to spring on its prey. I didn’t expect this, and it makes me a little scared. He has my undivided attention focused on him and what he’s going to do.

  Eyes still on me, he asks, “Are you sure you want to play this game?”

  “Yes,” I squeak.

  I see his resolve weaken for a brief moment and his jaw hardens. He rolls his injured shoulder and takes a step closer. “Go pick up your shoes and bring them here.” He takes off his jacket and places it on a chair back.

  Right about when I’m ready to argue, he lifts his eyebrow. It’s such a small movement, yet it conveys a large threat. Immediately, I grab the shoes and walk back to him.

  “Stand still.” He crouches and puts one on, carefully wrapping the strap around my ankle. He does the same to the other shoe.

  I’m a shivery mess of panic and lust and fear, each vying for supremacy inside me.

  He stands up tall and looms over me. “Do you still want this?”

  “Spanking, right?” I ask because I’m not sure where Roy’s going with this. Which is both good and bad. Good that I’m not thinking of dying or Charlie or cutting or anything else. Bad, in I’m not sure I know what I’m getting into. Who am I kidding? I have no idea what wheels I’ve set in motion inside Roy’s head.

  “You need release.” He says the word release as I imagine Lucifer would when enticing a saint to sin. “I won’t have you hurting yourself when I’m perfectly capable of taking care of the situation.” He eyes me from neck to groin. “Take off everything but the shoes,” he orders, while unbuttoning his shirt and rolling his shoulders free. “I’ll stop when you say the word.”

  I close my eyes for a second, knowing if I keep looking at his powerful body I’ll be like Icarus and turn into a ball of flames.

  He unbuckles his belt and yanks it through the loops, causing a snapping sound when it’s freed. I jump, and his smile is not friendly. Next, he slips out of his shoes and pulls off his socks, until he’s standing with only his trousers on and the belt slapping against the palm of his hand.

  Frantically, I shake my head. “Not with the belt.”

  He tosses it aside. “Take off the dress.” He meets my eyes. “Or I will. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

  My fingers aren’t cooperating. The zipper snags. I’m standing there immobilized under his heated gaze. Roy is big, massive, but he’s fast and before I know it he’s looming over me.

  “You weaken my control.” He touches my waist, causing me to jump, and walks around to my back. “No one has ever done that.” The zipper breaks, and the dress is rent apart between his hands and falls in shreds around my feet.

  “Roy,” I whimper. “I loved this dress.”

  “I’ll buy you more.” He doesn’t wait for me to take off my panties; instead, he tears the straps. “Bend over the sofa.”

  Out of nowhere, I blurt out, “I’ll die if you don’t come back.”

  He whirls me around to face him. “Is that what this is about? You’re afraid I’ll die over there?”

  “Yes…partly,” I whimper, and my eyes well with tears.

  He holds my neck and uses his thumb to wipe the drops from my cheeks. “Believe me when I tell you I’m good at what I do.” His eyes hold mine, and he says every word with a vehement sharpness. “If need be, I’ll lay waste to the whole godforsaken country to get back to you.” Too quick to protest, he spins me around, bends me over, and places his large hand on my back to hold me in place while he slides his finger back and forth between my legs. “You’re dripping, baby.”

  I’m teetering on the high heels with my butt thrust up in the air and his hand working me, and right now it’s exactly where I want to be.

  “I’m doing exactly what I didn’t want to, mixing sex with pain.” He kisses my back, whispering in my ear, “I’ll never forgive myself if I fuck you up with this. Would an orgasm work, like last night?”

  He’s worried about fucking me up? I’m thinking he’ll need a therapist after dealing with me. And no, I don’t think an orgasm will work, and I shake my head.

  His hand presses harder. “You only need to say stop. You hear me?”

  “Ye…sssss.” Before I finish the word, his hand connects with my right ass cheek, and the pain explodes out of my mouth in an animalistic cry. I’m squirming and bucking and trying to get away but he’s got me pinned. My left cheek is next, and it’s a white-hot pain that hurts worse as the seconds tick by. “Enough, okay, enough.”

  “Did you think spanking wouldn’t hurt?”

  Fuck, he’s serious about this, and it sends a spike of adrenaline screaming through my body. Skillfully, he spanks my right cheek and my left and back, again and again, until I’m desperate and m
y arms are flailing about, trying to grab the edge of the coffee table. I kick his shins until he sidesteps and try to cover my ass, but he moves my hands away. It’s impossible to deter him from his mission as my ass is inflamed and hot and stinging like a swarm of wasps has attacked me until I’m raw. “Roy, please.”

  “No more cutting.” Smack. “You hear me?” Smack. “If I have to do this all night to get it out of your head, I will.” Smack.

  Hysteria sets in, and I’m no longer Daisy. I’m a wild animal, twisting and turning and always ending up in the same space, with my ass in the air and Roy giving me what I asked for. And the pain brings me around to the humiliation of being bent over for punishment, which makes me loathe myself for needing to cut, and spirals around until the pain of his hand brings me right back to the humiliation. And on and on as he methodically and clinically wallops my ass until I’m crying and my nose is running. I’m limp and spent and unable to struggle anymore, and that’s when I realize it has passed—the compulsion is gone. I yell, “Stop!”

  Instantly, I’m lifted and wrapped in the warm cocoon of his chest and arms and carried to the bed. Gently, he places me on his lap, and I flinch from the fabric brushing against my tender flesh.

  “Daisy, you break my heart.” His voice cracks. “Did I make it better? Or worse?” He’s hugging me and running his hand over my arm and brushing my hair from my face.

  His touch is the balm my jagged emotions need. And as crazy as it sounds, I’m filled with a sense of serenity and peace and utter calmness. “Better,” I whisper. “So much better.”

  “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “It was perfect.” I nestle against his chest.

  He knows what I need and holds and rocks me back and forth until the tears dry up and I’m so tired I can’t keep my eyes open and drift off in his arms.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Miss Aldridge.” Dr. Johnson, a tall woman with a trim figure and a full head of gray hair, walks into the suite.

  “Thank you for seeing me,” I say, tugging my bathrobe tighter around my neck.

  “Not a problem.” She takes a seat on the sofa. “Mr. Blackwood told me you requested a consultation.”