Absolution

by S. Kirkpatrick

  But you were right when we first met. I’m a gypsy girl. And I can’t do this. I can’t be this Betty-Homemaker. I’m not ready to be someone’s wife. I’m not ready to be someone’s mother…

  I had to go. I had to get back on the road and put as much distance between who you want me to be, versus who I am really am. You deserve so much more than anything I could ever give you. And I know without me or any reminder of me, that you will find it one day.

  That’s all I want. For you to be happy. So please, go find your happiness. But just find it without me because I can’t give you what you want.

  What you deserve.

  I know you would never let me go. Especially not if I was carrying your child. And as much as it hurts to say this, by the time you read this… There won’t be anything left for you to hold on to. I needed to make sure you had no reason to come after me. I… took care of it…

  You can let me go now. You have to let me go now.

  I know you’ll hate me after this. And I know I will deserve it. I can promise you that I’m doing this for you. One day you’ll understand that.

  You’ve always thought I was a wolf. But I’m not. I’m the sheep.

  -R.

  Max’s hands shake as she reads the letter that’s tattered with age and stained with my tears. I’ve read that damn thing so many times that I have it memorized at this point. I know every shaky letter, every punctuation mark, and every lie, like the back of my hand.

  “Brody…” She whispers. “Did she..?”

  “She left in the middle of the night and had an abortion before she disappeared for good. I spent a long-ass time looking for her. I drained my savings account hiring private investigators to try and find her. No one came back with anything concrete. The closest thing anyone ever found was a ‘Norma Jeane’ signed in to an abortion clinic about ten miles from our apartment the morning I woke up to find that letter. She killed our daughter and then vanished into thin air.”

  “Norma Jeane?” She asks, confused as to how that ties to Remi.

  “It was Marilyn Monroe’s birth name. Remi had a thing for her movie ‘Some Like It Hot.’”

  Max nods, not really knowing what to say to that. Hell, I didn’t either at the time. I was hoping it was just a coincidence. How many fake Norma Jeane’s, Rose Will Monroe’s, or Audrey Ruston’s were there all over the world getting anonymous abortions? But still, it was literally too close to home to be a coincidence. It was the only clue we ever found.

  “Do you think she’s dead?” She asks quietly.

  “I thought that for a couple of years, yeah. For a long time, I convinced myself that was why no one could find her. But after years of being AWOL, I came face to face with her right here in Deacon Hill just a few days ago. She’s alive. Right here in my fucking hometown.”

  A sardonic laugh spills from my lips, zero humor to be found as the admission to my black fucking hole of an existence is explained.

  Max envelops me in a hug as she cries for me. My body shakes with silent tears, crumbling as I bare my scarred heart to a girl who has been dealt one of the shittiest lives, yet still has enough love and compassion to hurt for me.

  “What can I do?” She asks, not letting me go.

  “I have no idea.” I tell her honestly.

  My phone pings with a text so I release her long enough to check it.

  Brooke: Do you have plans tonight?

  Max reads the message over my shoulder, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Is that your secret booty call?” She asks.

  “Yeah.” I reply, not having the energy to make a funny comeback or to question how everyone seems to know about Brooke when I’ve said absolutely nothing about her to anyone.

  “You should go see her tonight. Maybe it will help you get your mind off things.”

  “You really think that’s a productive way to cope?” I ask, genuinely curious.

  “I think you need a human connection that none of us can provide.”

  I nod my head at her reasoning as I text Brooke back.

  Brody: I could definitely use a distraction from life. What time?

  Chapter Eight

  Remi

  I’ve been in some terrifying situations in my life. I’ve looked death in the face and won on more than one occasion. I’ve fallen asleep in one place and woke up somewhere completely different and still don’t know how the hell I got there. So when I say I know what fear is, I mean it.

  But what I’m doing now? I’m so freaked out that I’m about two minutes away from puking my guts up.

  “Are you Remington?” He asks, walking up to my table.

  Okay, make that sixty seconds before I puke.

  “Mmhmm. That’s I… I mean I’m she… Her…” I suck in an exasperated breath, trying to hide the growl at my own annoyance from my throat. I shake my head slightly in an attempt to clear the idiocy out of my voice. “Yes. Yes, I’m Remington. But you can call me Remi.”

  He takes my outstretched hand, shaking it gently. “I’m Casey.”

  Casey is…

  A specimen.

  Damn!

  He towers over me, but not quite as much as Brody does. He has the prettiest hair I’ve ever seen on a man in my entire life. It hangs in loose natural waves around his shoulders, letting me know, without even having to ask, that he’s a surfer. There’s a light scruff across his face, the exact same shade as his hair. When he smiles his pale blue eyes shift slightly, reflecting the overhead lights with a shimmer.

  My mouth goes a little dry as I stare up at him. They don’t make men like this where I come from, that’s for sure. He’s like the embodiment of Thor in real life, yet he seems to carry himself with a certain amount of gentleness that can’t be overlooked.

  With the type of life I’ve lived, always having to be on guard, I’ve become a damn good judge of character. Liz was right, I can trust him. At least with what she’s planned for us.

  Thanks for the solid wing-woman lead, Liz.

  Insert eye roll here.

  “So how do you know Liz?” I ask as Casey takes a seat at the little table across from me.

  We agreed to meet in a public place to get to know each other a little more before we get to know each other. When I got here, I requested a secluded table in the back where we could talk without being overheard, but still close enough that people would still hear if I screamed.

  Can’t be too careful.

  Of course, I made sure to sit with my back against the wall, a clear line of sight to the front doors, and two emergency exits indicated overhead. I may be being ‘spontaneous’ but I’m not fucking stupid.

  “Ah, Lizzy and I went to college together. We had the same major so we ended up in a lot of classes and study groups together. She’s good people.”

  I smile at his assessment of the only person in the world that I could consider a friend. She really is amazing. I know I’d be dead at least twelve times over if it wasn’t for her.

  “So how does she um… know about you?” I ask, lowering my voice a little.

  “Oh, I’m very open about that kind of stuff. I don’t think there should be any reason to hide something like that about yourself. People should embrace it.”

  I smile a little self-consciously at his remark, knowing that he means I should be more open about it myself. The truth is, Brody is the only person I’ve ever shared this side of myself with. And nine times out of ten, people judge the hell out you when they find out what people like us do, to and with each other. Last I knew, Brody didn’t even tell his friends.

  BDSM is something a lot of people don’t understand. Hell, until I really embraced the life with Brody at my side, I was still pretty skeptical myself. I made a lot of assumptions and judgment calls, deeming it gross, abusive, and controlling. I couldn’t understand how women could not just allow, but encourage men to treat them that way. I was convinced they all must have been brainwashed like some kind of crazy
cult. But that’s not the case at all.

  First thing’s first that a lot of people don’t understand, BDSM isn’t necessarily all about sex. Case in point, my adventure with Casey today has absolutely nothing to do with sexual gratification. I don’t think I could ever do that with someone who wasn’t Brody, much less a virtual stranger, regardless if Liz vouched for him or not.

  Anyone who’s ever heard of BDSM has probably heard of the term ‘power exchange’ and thought they understood what it meant. The truth is, until you experience it, then you have no idea what it’s truly like. A power exchange is giving someone the power to do what they wish, within the guidelines that you set.

  For instance, I could tell someone they can do A, B, C, and D to me and I would be okay with that. But just because I tell them I’m okay with those things, doesn’t necessarily mean I know which one they’re going to do. Yes, I am giving them the power to choose what they can do to me, but only after I’ve said these specific things are okay. I’ve consented to all four things, but they get to choose what is done and when.

  I know, the burning question: Why the hell would anyone ever agree to something like that? The simplest answer is that it’s taking control of your life in a way you might not otherwise have had. I have to plan every single step of my life meticulously. I have to change my hair in every new city. I have to get a certain type of job, I can only have a burner phone for so long before switching, I have to stay in seedy cash-only motels. You get the picture. But just because I have a certain amount of control over those things, doesn’t mean I have the overall power. The people who are after me, they have all the power. And for once in my life, I wanted some of that for myself.

  That’s what power exchange is. Handing over temporary power, but still maintaining the overall control, almost like an illusion.

  That’s the difference between BDSM and ‘regular’ life. When life fucks you, it doesn’t ask for your permission first.

  For people like me, the less understood of the bunch, we call ourselves masochists. I know, those Twilight books tossed that word around and made you think it was all glitter and subterfuge. But there’s so much more to it in the BDSM world.

  To put it simply, a masochist is someone who takes pleasure in physical or emotional pain. And before you get gross on me, no it’s not in everyday scenarios. It has to be in a consensual power exchange. For me, masochism is a form of therapy.

  All of my life, life has hurt me, more times than I can count. More times than I will probably ever admit. And I never got a say so in any of that. But when I’m in a power exchange, and I know what’s coming, it’s the only time in my life where I control the pain. I say when it starts. I say when it stops. I control every swing of a flogger. I control every smack of a paddle. I control every lash of a whip. And I come out victorious and empowered every single time.

  It makes me stronger.

  It brings me peace.

  Some people may question what type of person can take their own joy out of doing that to someone like me, but I see the truth for what it is. I see the appeal.

  Brody used to tell me that every time I took a swat harder than the last, he fell a little more in love with my strength. He was even more proud of my level of trust. He was more impressed by my resilience.

  If you can’t love those qualities in your partner, and you can’t find pleasure or gratification in those attributes, and being the person to help your partner achieve them, then that’s a character flaw for you in my book.

  So for the last two hours, I’ve sat here talking with Casey. I feel much more at ease after negotiating what I’m comfortable with and what I’m looking to achieve in my ‘therapy session’ as I like to call it.

  I feel empowered by the limits we’ve set and how adaptable he is to what I need from him. He showed me his online FetLife profile (social media for the kink community) so that I can gain a little more insight into who he is and the connections he’s worked so hard to make in the community.

  When it’s time to head to Rogue, I follow behind him using the car that Liz let me borrow for this little outing. Although the feeling of needing to puke has subsided a little, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still shaking. As much as I feel like I can trust Casey for what I’m searching for today, I wish like hell it was Brody instead.

  Casey checks us in at reception, adding me as his plus one and signing the paperwork where he ‘vouches for me.’ Not all clubs do this, and not all members get that luxury so this is one more thing that gives me comfort in trusting Casey with my limits. If he wasn’t a long-standing and reputable member of the local kink community here, they wouldn’t allow him any authority to vouch for someone.

  ‘Vouching for me’ allows me to be here without having to give my real identity to anyone, without background checks and a lengthy vetting process. Instead, I supply them with one of my fake IDs that could pass as legitimate to anyone that tried to test it. It’s just that damn good. Next, I sign the required paperwork that all guests have to sign.

  Before I have a chance to second guess myself or back out, Casey is opening the dark-colored wooden door beyond the reception area, ushering me into the room.

  He walks with a purpose, leading the way to where he reserved a box for us, and there’s this amazing sense of comfort that settles over me with a hint of nostalgia. I haven’t been to a place like Rogue in years. And no matter what city you go to, places like this all feel the same. And even though it might not make sense to people who aren’t like me, aren’t like us, it feels safe here.

  “Last chance to back out.” He says, a mischievous smile on his face.

  When the words reach my ears, I sigh, closing my eyes to settle the nerves still coursing through my body. Brody’s face lights up behind my eyelids and a pang rushes through my heart.

  Do something spontaneous, that doesn’t include running!

  I open my eyes and meet Casey’s pale blue irises. Although I know he wants to do this as much as I would like to do this with Brody, he has a very calm and relaxed posture as he waits for my decision. I believe that if I were to call this whole thing off right now, he wouldn’t object. He’d be a gentleman about it and still walk me to my car, texting Liz to make sure I got ‘home’ safely.

  If I’m going to do this, it might as well be with someone like Casey.

  “No backing out. I’m good.” I smile up at him, promising myself to let go, to allow myself to be present and enjoy the moment. It could very well be my last time to do something like this, and I could use a healthy dose of calming my nerves.

  He grabs my hand and kisses the top of it, sealing our negotiations with the only type of kiss he’s allowed to have. This is strictly a therapy session, nothing more, so all intimate acts have been limited and verbally agreed to in our negotiations.

  As soon as his lips pull back from my skin, his eyes darken and I know it’s time. The rough baritone of his voice as he gives me my first command sends a delicious tingle down my spine.

  I need this.

  “Strip here and then present yourself in the center of the room.”

  I bow my head and follow his command, allowing myself, for the first time in so many years, to only worry about the instructions someone else is giving me. The command allows me to shed a tiny bit of my calloused skin, if only temporarily.

  As the previous song that was playing in the box continues through the speakers, nearing the end, I slowly remove each article of clothing, placing them on the small stool in the corner. Goosebumps cover every inch of my skin as the lights in the room change from your normal overhead light, to a deep saturated red. The shift in light immediately bathes the makeshift room in shadows, creating a heightened sense of awareness and giving off the illusion of privacy.

  But this is Rogue, one of the most renowned BDSM clubs on the east coast. The makeshift giant box we’re in has three sides. But the front, the entrance, is wide open. Anyone can come up and watch the
scene that’s about to unfold in the room. And many people will. That’s part of the allure.

  That’s part of the freedom.

  Which is exactly why I requested to have the room darkened. No matter where I am, no matter how exclusive the member's list is, I’m not too fond of broadcasting my face to the world. The only way you could tell who was in here was if you already knew the people and could easily identify them with previous knowledge. For anyone else, it would be a mystery.

  Once I’ve assumed my position, kneeling on the ground, completely naked, palms face up on my thighs, eyes closed, Casey changes the song to indicate it’s time for us to begin. The music helps settle my breathing, allowing me to gently ease into the headspace I need to be in. The inside of my body trembles slightly with adrenaline as the notes fill the room.

  Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

  I know that I’m on display for anyone to see as they walk past, but all I can focus on at the moment is the slight tickle of Casey’s fingertips dragging across my shoulder blades as he silently announces he’s now behind me. My nipples pebble with the contact and my body fizzles with anticipation.

  Back and forth Casey trails across my shoulder blades. Each time he changes between his fingertips, to his fingernails, keeping my body on high alert with each new sensation. This is part of the power exchange that I love so much. I have no idea what he will do next, but I know it won’t be anything I would object to.

  My breath stutters in my chest as soon as the unmistakable sounds of Deftones circles around the room, caressing me in a sensual embrace. Chino’s voice fills the space as Casey bends down, whispering sensually and darkly into my ear.

  “Stand. Keep your eyes closed.”

  My body obeys him before my brain does, remembering what this was like from so long ago. My body is eager, begging for the calmness that it’s been neglected from achieving for so long.