by Cee Smith
“How was breakfast?”
“Good. Is there anything you’re not good at?”
“I’m sure there’re a few things.”
“I don’t think it’s fair that you know some of my flaws, but I haven’t seen any of yours.”
“Haven’t you?” he asked, as he passed behind my chair to move deeper into the kitchen. “Analytical. Unapologetic. Workaholic—at least so I’m told.”
“Oddly enough those are the things I admire about you,” I said, laughing at the honesty of my words.
“I have something for you.” He disappeared from sight as he entered a door tucked at the end of the galley kitchen. When he returned he set a small bag atop the counter. I watched him wrestle with tufts of paper as he dug deep into the bottom of the bag. Due to the height of the counter, I wasn’t able to see what he pulled from the bag from where I sat at the dining room table.
While he walked around the counter, I pushed my plate and utensils away, eager to see where he was going with this. It wasn’t until he stood behind my chair and placed the objects before me that I realized what he’d removed from the bag. His right hand fell over my shoulder setting a black fountain pen down on the table. From his left hand, he produced a small journal—not the kind I’d used as a child made of obnoxious bubblegum colors and oversized lines—but an elegant one. One worthy of the fountain pen that probably cost ten times that of a regular old Bic pen. The leather cover was brown with gold damask embossing and a gold-plated lock.
“I don’t get it. Do you want me to draw you a picture?”
“No, Indigo, I want you to tell me the story of us. I want to know everything.”
I swallowed past my sudden cottonmouth. There was that word I’d been dreading—everything. Turning in my seat, Everett looked down at me unmoved in his demand for the truth. I expected him to ask as much. Writing the truth granted me a type of distance and freedom that verbally telling him wouldn’t allow, but the fear was still there. Stronger than ever.
Acting as my silent cheerleader, he dragged his knuckles across my face—a reminder of the gentility he possessed. His movements were a passing of torch, a handing-off of strength. A belief that I could do this. I could do the right thing. Of all the chances Everett had taken on me, I could do this one thing for him. I could be honest.
As if he could read my mind, he nodded his head and left me there at the table—journal and pen in hand.
Unsure with how much or how little to say, or where to even begin, I was tentative with my words. I wanted him to see things through my eyes. I knew I would never be able to rationalize the irrational things I’d done, but if I could just evoke the same emotion in him, maybe he’d understand.
It’s silly, even now. I write as if this isn’t for you, as if you were never meant to read these words, still fearful of the outcome of every rock overturned and every truth to come slithering out.
I don’t know how long I sat at his table. Once I’d found my groove, the words just came pouring out as if my soul needed to be purged. As the sun danced across the sky, marking the hours I was lost in our story, Everett gave me space, letting me sit just as he’d left me.
Everett left me alone even as he set food on the table for me to eat. His calm demeanor only strengthened my resolve to reveal myself to him, flaws and all.
After dinner he returned to wherever he’d been all day, while I returned to my new journal, fresh with scribblings that looked so eager to tell a story. I worked diligently, unaware how late the hour was—only noticing that at some point the light had burned out outside, becoming replaced by the amber glow inside. Knots in my fingers forced me to stop and work out the tension building in my hand. I don’t think I’d ever written as much in one day, not even when I was in college. I knew what was at stake though.
Truth was a drug, and the more I revealed, the more emboldened I became by the choices I’d made. I remembered everything I’d felt building up to each decision that led me to where I was—sitting at Everett’s table. With single-minded focus, I went after something. There was a determination in me. Drive. Focus. I wasn’t delusional in my pursuit of him. I was inadvertently encouraged. Empowered by Everett’s inability to just fall. To take a leap. An uncalculated risk. I was willing to do something he couldn’t.
I took a chance on us. For us.
Perhaps that was my superpower. Or maybe in my entrance to real womanhood I’d forgotten what it meant to be young. Or how it felt to be invincible. It felt freeing. There was freedom in reckless abandon.
With a renewed conviction, I went back to the beginning.
“I’m done,” I said to the empty room. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but I knew it’d been hours. Yawning, I looked around the room to find the time.
“It’s late.”
“Shit!” Startled by his presence, I clutched my hand over my chest. “How long have you been sitting there?”
“A while. You’ve finished?”
I looked down at the book. My confidence was fleeting now that I was being confronted about my written words.
“Come on.” He held his hand out for me and I was torn, second-guessing all of the bravado I had while writing. With one last look, I rose from my chair and followed him upstairs.
Friday, December 4th
Sir,
Surely you’re making me write a journal of us as a form of punishment for what I’ve done, but despite it all, I’ll happily tell you the truth. All of it. I’m sure you would agree that I’ve left you in the dark long enough. You can’t blame me for the things I’ve done. For how I went about all of it. Don’t read these words as excuses, but as a simple fact. I am human—we all have our vices, our secrets, things that burrow into the darkness, thinning into crevices that are glossed over by the many who can’t see beneath the surface. You did though, didn’t you? I never believed in love at first sight. I suppose all of the others that claim they don’t have never experienced the moment where you know, as sure as the blood running through your veins, that your soul has met its match. Where the threads of your soul have met and merged unbeknownst to you. That’s what I felt that day. You know what day I speak of, but because you demanded, I’ll give you details. You always did get off on my humiliation. I must say though, I think you underestimate how relieved I am to finally reveal everything to you. You’ll have to find another reason to spank me later. If you haven’t surmised already, I’m not sorry for any of it. Perhaps after you read this, you’ll understand.
Yours always,
Indigo
At some point while reading, Indigo left my side. Her obvious anxiousness had reached a boiling point. Biting her fingernails and tapping her feet weren’t going to alleviate the tension mounting inside. She paced the room, desperate for a reaction, an indication, anything to clue her in on my thoughts. She was always seeking approval, even when she didn’t know she was.
I read her words, following the script of her retelling of what had occurred over the last few months—how she vacillated between a feared distance to impassioned righteousness. Written beneath the context of every word was fear. A feeling I appreciated—it showed me she had something to lose.
Indigo held nothing back. I relived the last few months through her eyes—her desire, lust, admiration, gratitude—it was all there for me to see. All of the things I missed out on by compartmentalizing my life. While I danced on the line of indecision, she was lost there in the jumble of what our relationship consisted of. While I had been sizing her up, trying her on to see how she fit into my life—to see if I could make space for a relationship—she had already decided that I was the right size. Her assurance of me, despite my distance, was flattering.
There was no doubt I cared for Indigo. As much as I tried to fight my affections for her, she had worn me down. I’d never met a woman who fit so well into both aspects of my life, and there she was practically beating down my door. Stubborn, I didn’t want to upset the balance of a life I’d grown so accustomed to. Indigo w
as the wrecking ball, the upheaval to my perfectly structured life. She brought forth feelings I’d repressed long ago. She made me think about unnecessary things, impossible things—a future less orchestrated. Indigo lived outside of the lines, and with every word she wrote, she wanted so desperately to sway me. To her, right and wrong was irrelevant in comparison to her feelings for me.
What I struggled with was what I was supposed to do with all of this information. Her arrival at my house that night gave me pause. At a time when I was just welcoming the idea of there actually being an “us,” she showed up at my house and brought with her a slew of doubts that left me questioning what a future with her would look like.
I closed the journal, feeling her eyes watching my every move. With fevered cheeks and large brown eyes that screamed for mercy, she waited, her breath frozen in those few moments I spent organizing my thoughts.
“I can’t believe you broke into my house,” I said astonished by the one thing I just couldn’t wrap my head around.
“I swear, I didn’t touch anything and you should know, of everything I did, that is the one thing that I would probably take back if I could.”
“Probably? Or did you mean to say unequivocally?”
She shook her head, wild black hair flying, exaggerating her movements. “Yes, unequivocally.”
I shook my head, more at myself than her. Even after everything she’d disclosed, I was intrigued by her unwavering conviction that there was something special here. I wasn’t one to wax poetic about professions of feelings, but from the moment I saw her on the train there was something about her that caught my attention. Finding myself staring at her, I wondered why she had avoided eye contact. Was it the boy who hung from her arm, brandishing her around like she were a prize he’d won?
All I wanted was to see her eyes, but then she looked up at me and I knew I wanted more than a look. My dick rejoiced at the quiet whisper of her brash request. Her naivety was as charming as she was beautiful. But even lodged within the depths of her throat I still didn’t see her as submissive—I was just a conquest, something to say she did once upon a time. Not until she bent down to tie my shoe could I see it—the beautiful sub she could become someday. Someone else’s sub.
“So…what do you think?” Her question cut through my memories.
“I don’t trust myself when it comes to you. Anyone else, this wouldn’t be a question. In fact, an explanation wouldn’t be necessary.”
“So once again it’s your feelings for me that give you pause.”
“It’s safe to say, my reaction is a little more complex than your generalization.”
“Can I ask you something?”
I nodded my head, prompting her to continue with her question.
“If I hadn’t shown up that day, would anything be different? I know you said you had plans to invite me over, but would I still only get bits and pieces of you?”
A saddened look crossed her face. Apparently my inability to answer fast enough was answer enough for her. To be honest, I didn’t have an answer to her question. It was something I’d been battling for weeks. Could I see past the decisions she’d made and trust the feelings she evoked in me? I prided myself on making the right choices, but this was the first time I found myself in a genuine heart-versus-head decision. Could I blame her for the lengths she went to? She was a woman impassioned and ruled by her crippling emotions, and while I didn’t agree with her methods, I understood the justification.
I was partly to blame for all of this. Dangling myself in front of her like the proverbial carrot she could touch but never hold, taste but never feast, want but never have.
Unbeknownst to me, a shift occurred after our trip up to Connecticut. Whether it was waking up next to her, or seeing how comfortably she fit into my life, I saw how things could be. How a future with her could be so simple, yet I’d complicated it with order and rules and comparing her to every other failed attempt at a relationship. While she’d been trying to reach some type of breakthrough, I should have been welcoming her with open arms. While seeking love, all she received was reservation and hesitation. Distance.
Everything changed after that trip though.
Inspired by her sassiness that weekend, I made an unplanned trip to The Shop—a place I frequented whenever I wanted to add a new tool to my arsenal. Except what I went there for wasn’t what I ended up leaving with.
With her words still crashing through my head, I struggled with indecision. The weight of her other gift had been pressing on me since the moment I had left the store, bag in hand. All of this only seemed to make me doubt my own judgment. Had buying it for her been a mistake? Maybe I acted without thinking. Was this buyer’s remorse? I didn’t have to give it to her, but somehow that thought seemed to make matters worse. Of all the chances she took on me and the patience she’d shown—something I’d seen her personally struggle with, so I knew it wasn’t an easy feat for her—she deserved more from me.
“Kneel.”
“Excuse me? Here?” She pointed to the floor where she paced my living room, thrown off more by my instructions than my silence. With eyes boring into her, I waited for her to follow my lead. Unsure, she watched me as her legs folded beneath her. When the doubt washed away from her face and she once again looked like my perfect sub, I left her sitting there while I made my way upstairs.
The very same day I bought her gift, I set it inside my nightstand. Every time I opened to find it sitting there, I questioned when or if I would give it to her. It wasn’t like me to doubt myself and I wondered if this was because I doubted her, or if I was just waiting for the right time. Or perhaps, I really did need to know everything to prove to myself that all of this wasn’t a mistake.
With the object in hand, I descended the staircase, watching her watch me. The ends of her hair pooled in her lap and the tips of her fingers curved around the front of her knees. Even from that distance, I could see the tension lining her muscles.
“Relax, Indigo. Breathe.”
She inhaled deeply, her chest rising with my instruction. A tight smile passed her lips, a contrived lift of her lips meant to disguise her anxiety. I moved to stand in front of her, bringing my hands so they were at eye level with her.
“Do you know what this is?”
The column of her throat bobbed as she swallowed. Her eyes told me she knew the answer to my question. The whites of her eyes made her pupils look like little black pearls, and her hands gripped her knees so hard her knuckles screamed out in protest. Indigo looked from my hand to my eyes and back down again.
“Indigo…”
“Vett? Are you…is this my punishment?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Are you showing me what I could have had, but this isn’t meant to be mine now?”
Tears welled in her eyes and she dropped her head, denying me the sadness her body could no longer contain. I tipped my finger beneath her chin, drawing her eyes back up to mine.
“This is no punishment. Do you know what this means?”
With the palms of my hands side by side, I pushed them closer to her, hoping she could sense the sincerity in my actions.
“It’s a collar. A collar for me?” Her doe eyes implored me to relieve her of her fears—that in fact this wasn’t just something I was showing her, but was actually hers.
“I bought this for you a while ago. Before all of this. I never wanted any of this, Indigo. You showed up on that train and changed everything. I apologize for my part in everything that’s happened. I haven’t been the dom you deserve, but I’m hoping to change that. Together.”
With shiny eyes she looked up at me, choking on her words. She shook her head as a new tear fell.
“Tell me what you’re crying about now, precious,” I asked, wiping the rogue tear that careened down her face.
She shook her head as if pulling together her words. “I thought…I was sure we were over. I’m overwhelmed,” her voice caught in her throat before she co
ntinued, “in a good way.” Awash with sincerity she looked in my eyes and said, “Does this mean—”
“You’re mine? Absolutely. Hold up your hair.”
Her right hand came up sweeping her hair over her right shoulder before bundling it in her small fist. Stepping forward, I held open the collar for her. With her neck stretched out to meet me, I closed the gold metal around her neck. The gold only seemed to accentuate the bronze color of her skin, making her look radiant beneath the amber glow of the overhead light.
Dropping her hair, her hand investigated the new jewelry adorning her neck.
“How do I look?”
“Like you’re mine.”
Infused with color, Indigo’s cheeks brightened at my words. Her hand clutched at her throat as if the weight of the metal hadn’t reinforced the truth of my words.
I returned to the table, retrieving the pen and journal I’d given to Indigo the previous day. I placed the items before her.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“For starters, you can write ‘I will not stalk Everett Belford’ 100 times. Your real punishment will come later.”
“I look forward to it.”
I cocked my head with expectation and smiled, “…sir.”
“Personal Jesus” by Depeche Mode
“You Only Live Once” by The Strokes
“Hard On Myself” by Hemming
“Crazy” by Gnarls Barkley
“Habits (Stay High)” by Tove Lo
“Blame” by Calvin Harris & John Newman
“Do I Wanna Know?” by Arctic Monkeys
“Falling” by Florence + The Machine
“Ex-Factor” by Lauryn Hill
“Stay The Night” by Zedd feat. Hayley Williams
“Glory Box” by Portishead
“FutureSex/LoveSound” by Justin Timberlake
“Never Be Like You” by Flume feat. Kai
“Uninvited” by Alanis Morissette
“My Valentine” by Carl Thomas