by Katie Ashley
William’s expression darkened. “So it’s true you went to 1740 last night?”
I cocked my brows at him as I propped the shotgun up against the porch railing. “How did you hear about that?”
“I have my sources.”
With a contemptuous snort, I said, “Don’t tell me Calla called wanting your pity?”
“No. She didn’t. You should know me well enough by now that I would never speak to her after what she did.”
“Considering I gave her a pretty fat lip, she’s probably not speaking very well today.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me in?”
I shook my head. “Daddy isn’t asleep yet, and I don’t want him overhearing what I have to say.”
A wounded look appeared in William’s eyes. “Okay. What is it you have to say?”
Drawing in a deep breath, I walked past him to the end of the porch. As I gazed out at the pasture bathed in the glowing light of the full moon, I tried not to think of the time I rode Sampson with William. Thinking of happier times like that made it harder to do what I was about to do. “You and I are like a slow poison for each other. In the small amount of time we’ve been together, we’ve managed to ruin all that was good and decent in each other’s lives. A relationship forged on a rotten foundation like we’ve built can never survive. We’re simply not meant to be.”
At William’s sharp intake of breath, I turned around. His anguished expression almost broke my resolve. But I had to stay strong and remain firm. Even though Daddy would have argued about Grand-Maman and Grandpa’s relationship’s foundation, I wasn’t them. I couldn’t look at William without thinking of what had happened. “I know that no matter how hard I tried, I would always resent you. I would always blame getting involved with you for not being able to live my dream of teaching.”
William took a step forward. “Sophie, you will teach again. I know that.”
“One day, I hope I will. And when I do, it will be a fresh start. Just like my life has to be a fresh start and not polluted with the past.” I fought the sobs rising in my throat. “I’m sorry, William. I’m sorry, but this is the way it has to be. Deep down, you have to know that to be true.”
“All I know to be true is my heart is breaking. My entire life has turned to shit, but the one bright spot in it was you. Now I see that’s been snuffed out as well.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too. I’m sorry that you have it in that stubborn head of yours that there is a right way and a wrong way to have a relationship. That there has to be a perfect meeting and all smooth sailing. I’m sorry, Sophie, but that’s utter bullshit. You’re much too intelligent to hold such a naïve view. Relationships are like a battlefield—they’re bloody and painful and frightening. Just as the landscape of a battlefield is altered and scarred, so are relationships. But it’s because of what happens on that battlefield that defines greatness. Considering you’re an English teacher, you should fucking know that the greatest love stories were never easy.”
“Yeah, they usually all ended tragically or in death.”
“I never took you for such a pessimist when it came to love.”
“I never was until I met you. Then all the anguish and agony that I had read of in my books became real to me. All the superstitions of my life manifested again with all the negative things that happened to us.
“It looks like the bad luck of threes is now on me as well. After all, this is the third time we’ve had a discussion about our relationship.”
“I am sorry, William. I truly am. But this is the way it has to be.”
“And like a true sub, I must obey my Mistress’s wishes, right?”
“I was never truly your Mistress.”
“You owned my body, heart, and soul.”
Pinching my eyes shut, I whispered, “William, please.”
“Fine. I’ll honor your wishes.”
“Thank you.”
When he started off the porch, I should have felt relief. But I didn’t. Instead, it felt like one of the bullet’s from the shotgun was tearing through my chest, its pellets shattering my heart into pieces. Feeling lightheaded, I gripped the porch railing for support.
At the bottom of the stairs, William stopped. He paused for a moment before turning around. “If I’d never met you at 1740, I’d still have been attracted to you when I saw you at school. When I got to know you better, I would have liked your sarcastic wit, your strength, and your kindness. I would have had to fight against my better judgment not to ask you out on a date. You’ll never be able to convince me that somehow in some way we were meant to cross paths, and we were destined to be together.”
With those final words, he walked off the porch and into the night, taking a piece of my heart with him.
TWO WEEKS LATER
A hard-edged Metallica sound blared overhead as I brought the slim cane down over Owen’s back. At the stinging contact, his arms jerked against the rope. When I had walked out the doors of 1740, I never thought I would ever be back. That sentiment had been magnified when I stormed in to confront Calla. Even though Robert had told me I always had a job there, I didn’t believe him. Or maybe it was that I didn’t want to believe I would ever need to be back.
Yet here I was in my Domme attire of a short, white leather skirt and bustier beating the shit out of Owen in the dungeon.
While I might’ve been dressed for the part, I wasn’t in Domme space. Instead, my mind festered with dark thoughts. There was worry for my dad’s rapidly deteriorating health. There was fear that the grim reaper was hanging around our house just waiting to take my father away. There was grief for the loss of my teaching job. There was anxiety about if I would ever find another teaching job.
And then there was anguish and agony when I thought of William.
The more the thoughts whirled like a destructive cyclone in my mind, the harder I began to bring down the cane. Sweat broke out along my body from the intensity of my movements. I began to pour all my emotions into the beating.
“Judge, Mistress!” Owen shouted.
My arm froze in midair. In all the years we’d been doing scenes, Owen had never had to use his safe word.
The cane slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor. At the sight of the blood pouring from Owen’s welted back, my hand flew to my mouth in horror. “Oh God, Owen, I’m so, so sorry.”
“Untie me.”
I didn’t bother reworking the ropes. Instead, I snatched the shears from my bag and quickly cut his hands and feet loose. “Don’t move. Let me get the first aid kit.”
He glanced over his shoulder at me. “No.”
“Wait-what?”
“I said no.”
I knelt down beside the CBT chair. “But your back is a wreck. You need aftercare immediately. I might even need to get Master Elias in here to stitch you up.”
Owen shook his head. “It’s you I’m worried about.”
“Me?” I asked incredulously.
“This scene…it hasn’t been you.”
I squeezed my fists together as I fought to keep from crying. “I’m so sorry, Owen.” I shook my head. “It kills me that I hurt you so bad.”
He laughed. “You think I safe worded because of the pain?”
I nodded.
“Sophie, I’m a masochist, remember?”
“I know that, but everyone has a limit, especially with the cane.”
“I stopped the scene because of your pain.”
“But—”
“You weren’t giving me what I needed—you were giving me all the hurt within you.”
I could no longer hold back my tears. They flooded my eyes before spilling onto to my cheeks. After I swiped them away, I said, “I’ve fucked up everything else lately. Guess it only makes sense I would fuck up a scene.”
“You didn’t fuck up the scene.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Well, not totally.” He gave me a sheepish grin before cutting his eyes down to
the floor. “I totally came without permission.”
When I realized I was almost kneeling in cum, I jumped back. “Nice way to try and make me feel better.”
He laughed. “You got me off, babe. That’s a good scene to me.”
I playfully smacked his cheek. “Coming without permission and calling me babe. I would leave your ass black and blue if your back wasn’t a mess.” After glancing at the blistering whelps, I winced. “Won’t you please let me clean you up now?”
“Only if you promise to talk while you do it.”
“What’s there to talk about? You were there at the school board meeting. You know everything.”
Owen gave me a knowing look. “I want to hear about him.”
My eyes pinched shut at the pain just alluding to him brought me. “So I was right?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Let’s both get cleaned up.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
After pulling myself off the floor, I went over to the cabinet where the first aid kit was. I washed my hands before soaping up two towels. I grabbed the alcohol and gauze. After sliding a pair of rubber gloves on my hands, I gently I eased the soapy cloth over Owen’s back. At his hiss, I grimaced. “Sorry.”
“Would it make you feel better if I told you I was getting hard again?”
I laughed at the absurdity of it all. “Maybe.”
“Good.” As I continued cleaning off the blood, Owen asked, “Where is William?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t spoken to him since the night of the school board meeting.” I tossed the bloodied towel to the floor and picked up a fresh one. “Things were left…badly.”
“On his part or yours.”
With a sigh, I answered, “Mine.”
“Why?”
Slowly and in painful detail, I related to Owen my last conversation with William. “Why did you shut him out?”
“Why? You’re seriously asking why?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“What good could possibly come of us being together? At the very least, he’s a submissive, and I’m only a Domme for money. Then there’s all the school bullshit.”
“Every couple has baggage. Some have more unique than others. As for the Domme and sub thing, it’s workable. Look at me. None of my wives have been interested in the scene, so I just take care of that on my own. William could get his needs met without you.”
“That’s just the thing. I believe in total monogamy. I can’t just kiss William on his way out the door to get off with a Domme.”
“Not even one of the girls here that you trust.”
The thought of Mistress Angel or Mistress Venus putting their hands, least of all their floggers, on William made me feel a cross between being sick and violent. “No. I just can’t.” I dipped a cotton ball in alcohol and began dabbing it across Owen’s abrasions.
He didn’t protest. Instead, he wiggled his lower half slightly. “Are you trying to get some friction on your dick?” I demanded.
He laughed. “Once again, I’m a masochist.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re an emotional masochist.”
My fingers froze on his back. “Excuse me? Do you actually think I like feeling the way I do?”
“No. I really don’t.” Owen sighed. “So maybe that isn’t the right term. What do you call someone who is so afraid of people leaving them that they would rather be miserable than take a chance?”
“I’m not being afraid. I’m being a realist,” I argued.
“Don’t you realize you’d have no texts with which to teach from if everyone was a realist? Every author had to take a chance at failure. Most had the odds stacked against them. But they believed enough in themselves and what they had written to take a chance.”
“Jesus, you’ve stooped to making literary analogies to try to sway me?” I teased.
“You’re deflecting.”
“Since when did you become a shrink?”
“Any attorney worth a shit will acquaint themselves with a hell of a lot of psychology. It comes in handy for everything to divorce cases to murder.” He glanced back at me. “Besides, I’ve been in therapy for fifteen years. I know just enough to be dangerous.”
“I can tell.” I finished cleaning the last abrasion. “It doesn’t look like the skin was broken as hard as I thought. I’d still like Master Elias to take a look to make sure you don’t need stitches.”
“Once again, you’re deflecting.”
I gave a frustrated growl as I stood up. “And just what do you think I should do? Call him? Show up where he is, profess my love to him, and fall into his arms?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I think you should do.”
“And then what? I can’t leave my dad, so that means William and I will be trying to live our happily ever after in a town that vilified us.”
“That’s not true. You had a hell of a lot of support at that meeting.”
I dismissed him with a wave of my hand. “Did you know if I want anything from a snickers to a tampon, I either have to get it around here or drive thirty minutes to the next town so I don’t have to be whispered about?”
“It’s only been a few weeks. Give it some time. The gossip will die down.”
“Seven months and nine days.”
“Excuse me?”
“Seven months and nine days was exactly how long it was for the gossip to stop after my step-mom ran off.”
“Okay, so you have to deal with maybe a year of few narrow minded assholes whispering. In the vast scheme of things, that’s not as big a deal as being miserable twenty-four seven for years.
Nibbling on my bottom lip, I asked, “You think I should call him?”
Owen glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “I think you’re being an emotional FloJo and running like hell away from the love of your life.”
I laughed. “Nice analogy.”
“You’re welcome. Call him or go to him. Do whatever you have to do to be happy. As long as you two know the truth between you, it doesn’t matter what anyone else says or thinks.”
Placing my hands on his cheeks, I gave Owen a tender kiss. When I pulled back, I sighed. “I really am sorry about tonight.”
“Don’t worry about it. Go home, have a drink, go to bed, and forget about it. Tomorrow’s another day.”
“If you say so, Scarlett.”
“I know so.”
Glancing around the dungeon, I shook my head. “If I can’t get my head on straight, I’m not sure I can keep doing this.”
“You won’t need to keep doing this. You’re going to get another teaching job and be back in the classroom before the school year is out.”
“You honestly believe that.”
“I do.” He winked. “It doesn’t hurt that I know a few people who can pull some strings.”
“Oh Owen, you’re too good to me.”
“You’ve been the best Domme I’ve ever had, so it’s only fair to repay the favor.”
“But you already did that by representing me.”
“It was all self-serving. Do you know how many more calls my office has gotten since the school board meeting? Hundreds. I’m about to become the F. Lee Bailey of Atlanta.”
I laughed. “As long as I was able to help you.”
“You have more than you’ll ever know.” He tilted his head at me. “Mistress, may I have permission to kiss you on the cheek.”
“Yes. You may.”
Owen leaned forward and placed a tender, yet chaste, kiss on my cheek. “Thank you, Mistress.”
I reached out to cup his cheeks. “No, thank you, subbie.”
After I got home from working at 1740 around two am, I somehow managed to drag myself out of bed at seven the next morning. I wanted to make sure I had my father’s breakfast fixed by the time he woke up. He used to be on a farmer’s internal clock, and rise when the sun did. But lately, he’d been sleeping later and later. Sometimes he was hard to rouse. I tri
ed not to think about how the neurologist had warned this might happen when the diaphragm grew even weaker.
Because Daddy hadn’t had much of an appetite lately, I decided to make his favorite breakfast of homemade blueberry pancakes. Susie had stopped the day before and picked up fresh fruit and vegetables for us. Although she didn’t say it, I knew she wanted to save me the humiliation of going into town to the farmer’s market. Now that I took the day shift and Ansel the night, Susie was out of a job. But she still insisted in coming over every day and helping out wherever she could. She refused to take any pay either.
Ansel came shuffling into the kitchen around eight in his boxer shorts and with extreme bedhead. “What are you doing?”
“Duh, I’m cooking.”
“No shit, Sherlock. I wondered why you were doing it so damn early on a Sunday.”
“Because unlike his two lazy children, Daddy has never been one to sleep late, and I wanted to have his breakfast ready when he woke up.”
“Thanks to all racket down here, I couldn’t go back to sleep.”
I snorted. “Cry me a river.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I made enough pancakes for you, too.”
His expression flipped over to excitement. “You did?”
“Of course. I know how much you like them.”
“Aw, thanks, Soph. That makes being up at the asscrack of dawn worthwhile.”
With a laugh, I replied, “Only you would think eight am is the asscrack of dawn. And don’t get too excited. I might’ve mixed the batter up, but you’re going to have to put your own on the griddle while I feed Daddy.”
“Slave driver,” he muttered.
After pinching Ansel’s cheek playfully, I picked up a tray laden down with food and started down the hall to Daddy’s room. I was surprised that I didn’t already hear the TV on since it was his usual morning routine.
I opened the door and stepped inside the room. I found he was awake but staring out the giant picture window. “Good morning,” I said.
“Morning,” he replied, not taking his gaze from the window.