by Elle Luckett
“Why isn't it important to you?”
“I didn't ask for your help. I don't need it. I'm just fine.” I squirmed, but his arms tightened around me. “Aren't there rules about this? Or do I need a safe word?” I huffed, finally giving up against his steely grip.
“We're not having sex. We're having a conversation.”
“Rather one-sided.”
Mark didn't reply. I could see that my stubbornness did not affect him, but my snap about the safe word had. Discomfort made the skin around his eyes crease, and my guilt rose in my throat, tasting like bile.
“Just explain to me what this will achieve,” I asked, my body finally going limp, my cold skin absorbing the warmth from his broad chest.
“You know what I am, but my particular dominance is pleasuring women and looking after them once their body and mind are spent. I enjoy caring for them. Knowing how to read a woman is something I have worked on for a long time, and fulfilling those needs is what gets me off.”
“How does that entail tying a woman to a…” I trailed off, trying to remember the word he'd used, “spanking bench and abusing her body?”
“Control. It's all about control, and not all mine.”
“Oh, come on.”
“What do you think a safe word is? You always have the ultimate power while allowing us to feel as though we have control over you. Part of that is making sure you never have to use the word to stop the scene. To have that trust between a couple where, even when you think you can't take anymore, you let me make that decision. Whether that's just being able to have sex without panicking, or being tied to a bench and fucked anally until you scream with pleasure. It's about trust and handing over control to someone who will take the time to read all the signs you give, and stop when you ask them to… if you ask them to.”
I shivered at his words and the clarity that came with them. His explanation shouldn't make sense to me, but it did. Maybe it was the abuse I’d suffered that opened my eyes to the reality of it all.
When Elijah was at his domineering worst—when he had my hair wound around his wrist while he punched and kicked me—I'd known viscerally that there was no escape. Nothing I said would stop the onslaught of pain. I was stuck until he'd worked his mood out with a pound of flesh from me. In the end, he'd conditioned me to cower when he entered the room and obey him out of fear. The moment I had regained that control, I hadn't been willing to let it go. A large part of that had been not allowing a man to get close to me, including not being able to trust them between my legs.
I was broken.
That's what I thought Mark had been saying.
I needed to regain trust, and maybe the first step was having enough faith in Mark to talk about what I'd been through.
The only problem was… I wasn't sure I was strong enough.
“Zara?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Would it be easier if I asked questions?”
I nodded and closed my eyes to regain some semblance of equilibrium. I wasn't even sure why I was doing this. I didn't know this man, and I'd been getting along just fine. At least, I was usually good until I found myself alone with a man who genuinely wanted to start something romantic or sexual. Thomas had been a fluke. He'd caught me off guard, and the moment I'd realized he'd thought I was Lane, the usual panic hadn't risen.
“When was the last time you had sex?”
Damn, he didn't start gently.
“March, 2018.”
“What happened?”
I blinked as the visual representation came flooding into my brain, making the blood in my veins chill. ”I can't do this.”
“Let me start with something easier.”
“Easier than what? Diving right in at the deep end?” I asked, easing from his lap. I sat next to him and crossed my legs under me so he would understand that he had my full attention.
“When was the first time he hit you?”
I sucked in a deep breath. That was an easy one. “Valentine's Day, 2016.”
“What happened?”
I stretched my neck, rolling my head from one side to the other as the memories broke the well-built wall I'd locked them behind. I felt it crumbling, followed by all the others that had been protecting me. For a moment, I was lost in all the images. Images and scenes that made my stomach turn greasy and roll.
“We'd been happy,” I started as the memory took over. “I'd gotten off work early that night. One of the other girls had been stood up by her date and came in with a small smile of defeat as she pulled on her apron. The diner wasn't exactly a hotspot for Valentine's dates, but someone had to cover the shift. She knew that he was waiting for me, so she came in and sent me on my way. I didn't bother calling him. I thought it would be good to surprise him.”
I remembered it well. Catching the ride with one of my neighbors who dropped me off at the end of the drive. Walking with quiet anticipation toward the house with chocolate-covered strawberries and the edible underwear I'd found in the erotic video store across the highway.
I didn't tell Mark any of that. It wasn't pertinent, and it was one of those things that hurt to remember because it only served to remind me how wrong everything had gone.
“I didn't sneak in. I wasn't suspicious, but I guess he wasn't expecting me.”
“He was with another woman?” Mark guessed, a frown beginning to crease his forehead.
I nodded and looked down at my hands, feeling like an idiot. “I chased her out of the house, stark naked, with his baseball bat, and I threw her clothes out of the window. I turned around to confront Eli and landed on my ass with no memory of how I ended up there or why my face hurt so badly. I thought he'd just reacted, you know? But when I tried to get up, he made sure I stayed down.” I swallowed, unable to face Mark out of shame. Even now I understood it wasn't my fault. I realized Elijah had blamed me because it was his way of manipulating the situation. He'd beaten that mindset into me with such brutality that it took me a while to get my thoughts back on track.
“You did nothing wrong.”
“I know that now,” I said quietly. “I just forget sometimes. Elijah enjoyed making sure I remembered that while he had me under his control.”
Mark's hand swept closer to mine and brushed the back of my hand with his pinkie finger. It was an encouragement, I thought, but I didn't know him well enough to be sure.
“What happened after he…?” Mark trailed off.
“He went to the bar, and I packed my shit and went to my mom's house.”
“But you went back?”
I huffed out a laugh, and made a small move, sliding my palm in his to seek comfort. “I didn't have much of a choice. My mom said I was being too flakey and told me to suck it up and go home. She wasn't going to let me stay there with her.”
Mark closed his hand around mine and squeezed.
“I stayed on a couple of couches for a few days after she told me to leave, calling in favors from friends I'd all but cut loose over the two years he and I had been together. In the end, I had no one left to ask. I found myself finally accepting his pleading to return home. He was sorry. He hadn't meant it. She'd meant nothing. He'd reacted without thinking.”
I hadn't believed any of it, but being out of options, and utterly desperate, it was the only choice I had. I couldn't have even driven to Lane. When things had been good, Elijah and I opened a joint checking account, and he'd convinced me to get rid of my personal one—something I had regretted immensely the moment he'd laid that first finger on me.
I couldn't tell a stranger that, though. I couldn't let Mark know how stupid and naive I'd been. It only gave me ammunition to hate myself.
“You're doing so well,” Mark said, bringing our joined hands to him. He pressed my palm against his chest again—another reminder to breathe if the heaviness in my lungs was anything to go by. There was a part of me that hated how much that praise pleased me.
“Of course, it didn't take him long to make m
e his punching bag regularly. Buy the wrong beer, I got a bruised rib. Missed a pile of his dog's shit on the rug, I got a kidney punch. Fight back, a concussion. I grew quite talented with butterfly stitches and ace bandages. I can wrap ribs like a damn pro.” I was gaining momentum now, and like an out of control train, I was on the tracks and couldn't have stopped myself if I'd tried. “The final straw came when he decided he wanted to fuck one night. I was still tending a couple of sore spots, and to be quite fucking honest, I didn't find myself in the mood very often. He pushed me to the bed anyway, pressed his hand between my thighs, and found me dry. Something in me broke that night, and I blocked his fist and kneed him in the nuts with every ounce of strength I possessed. We struggled, he tried to fuck me anyway, and then when I refused with an elbow to his ribs, he grabbed his hunting knife from the nightstand and stabbed it in my thigh with a scream of rage.”
I was breathing hard now, my fingers curling into claws that raked against Mark's shirt. I remembered so much more than that. Like the EMT telling me how lucky I was and how close it had been to my femoral artery, or the endless hours of questions while I was in shock.
Mark didn't know any of what was going on in my head when he flattened his palm over mine and made calming noises.
“I called the cops and told them what had happened. With the bruises and the stab wound, Elijah was taken away. He was only gone for two months, but it gave me enough time to get everything in order. I got my money from his account, I moved in with my mom, and made sure to cut any ties I had with him. Then, that September, I heard he got arrested for beating his new girlfriend. Elijah was put away for ten months that time. He wasn't my problem anymore, and I could finally have a life. At least I thought I could until he started writing to me. I had no interest in anything Elijah had to say, so I ignored the few letters he mailed me, thinking that ignorance was bliss.”
I turned my eyes to Mark.
“I was wrong. He’d decided he wanted me back—that my patience with him had an extended warranty, and I was the woman he wanted. When he got out, he started following me around. Showing up at my work. If I dared to go to the bar with the few friends I'd made, he showed up there, too, making it impossible for me to talk to them. I tried to stay away, but that just pissed him off more. So much so he broke into my mother's house and beat her boyfriend half to death because he thought the guy was my lover. Boyd pressed charges, and I backed him up as much as I could, but Mom refused to let me back in the house for anything more than a couple of bags after the attack. So, I grabbed what I could, got in the car, and came here.”
“Does he know you left?”
“He was in the holding cell for a week awaiting trial. I made sure I got every penny I had, climbed in my car, and started driving. He only met Lane once, and they didn't get along. That was before he'd ever hit me, and I thought the sun and moon rose and fell with him. I know I should have found somewhere else to go. Anywhere else, but he's so goddamn lazy, he's probably moved on with someone else by now.”
I wasn't sure I believed that, but the thought that I’d put Lane in any kind of danger by coming here made all that anxiety resurface inside of me, forcing Mark to flatten his hand over mine on his chest and breathe in and out again. His other hand was cupping my cheek when my breaths became ragged.
“I probably need to leave,” I admitted. The problem was, I didn't want to. Two days here had been some of my best in a long time. I'd missed my sister. I’d missed the bond I had with her. I didn't want to lose that again.
“You don't need to leave. Lane is perfectly safe, and so are you. Right now, I need you to breathe and focus on me. Then you and I are going to get your fight back.”
I huffed out an unexpected laugh. “I'm a mess, right?”
“No, little bird. You had a shitty situation made worse when you went to someone you thought you could trust for help, only to be let down. Lane's never spoken much about your mom. Were they not close?”
“No one is close to our mother,” I replied with a forced laugh. “She's the most selfish being I've ever met in my life, and I had no idea how much my siblings had protected me from that until I went to her for help.”
Thoughtfully, Mark nodded before he shook off the stoic anger and turned those gray eyes on me.
“You want to beat this asshole?”
“I'm in New Orleans, aren't I?”
Mark tapped my temple. “Sure, but he still has control of you up here.”
“My God. Are you a shrink?”
“Not even close.” A ghost of a smile rode his lips. “Now, answer the question.”
“I want a normal life.”
Mark nodded. “I can help you, if you want it.”
“How?”
“By giving you back control.” He smirked. “And maybe some great sex and bondage along the way.”
Control was something I wanted more than a steady paycheck, so I nodded enthusiastically, not realizing that I also agreed to great sex until it was too late.
“Good. We're going to start now.”
“Wait! What?” That familiar spark of panic flared in my gut, only to relax as Mark picked up the remote and turned on the television before he hit another button to turn off the lights. He swung his legs up on the couch and dropped his head in my lap, nudging a surprised grunt from me.
“What are you doing?” I asked, looking down at his face in the now dimly lit room. His eyes were on the television rather than me.
“Building trust. Now, stop singing, little bird. Some of us have work in the morning.”
Chapter Seven
I woke up on the couch, buried in a furry blanket and surrounded by cushions. I couldn't remember how I'd fallen asleep there or why my head ached as much as it did. I usually only suffered headaches like that after falling asleep crying. That's when I recalled the discussion I'd had with Mark the night before, and that he'd insisted on sleeping here with me to build trust.
I took a deep breath and was gathering the motivation to roll from the couch when I heard a whispered conversation from the kitchen. Lane was home from Thomas's, and Mark was still here.
They weren't loud, but the volume of their conversation was enough for me to make out what they were saying with some effort.
“… just come in here and push her around. You don't know her,” Lane practically growled under her breath.
“Has she spoken to you about her relationship?”
“A little.”
“Then ask her to explain in depth. The more she buries that shit, the worse she's going to retreat into herself. I'll do what I can to help.”
“She's not a submissive. I bet she didn't even ask for your help, did she?”
“Maybe not, but I could see the suffering she was trying to hide. The panic rolled from her when she found herself aroused.”
“So, you offered to fuck her? Dominate her? Sleep on my couch with her?”
“You know me better than all that. I'm building trust.”
“For what?”
I'd heard enough, so I chose that moment to push up from the cushions and glare at the two of them. “I can hear you. assholes.”
“Zee…” Lane started but shut up the moment our eyes met. At least Mark was smart enough to keep his excuses to himself.
If I'd been in my right mind when Mark had started stirring up all those memories inside, maybe I would have turned him away last night. I was glad I didn't. That feeling of being hungover and that raw, gritty feeling sloshing around in my chest told me it had loosened the unhealthy grip I had on my memories. Even that had been a small gift. When you were wound as tightly as you could be, the recoil had the possibility of breaking you beyond repair.
Talking had helped, and if I'd given Lane a chance, maybe she would have chipped away at the wall enough to knock it down as Mark had.
That had been my mistake, not Mark's. I couldn't let Lane take that out on him.
“Mark, didn't you say you had work this morning?” I aske
d casually, swinging my legs to the floor and rubbing my face. When there was no response, I glanced over at him, meeting those pale gray eyes, letting him know that he wasn't on my shit list. “Can I call you later?”
He continued to study me for a while before he pulled a card from his back pocket and dropped it on the granite counter of the island. I had no idea if he'd understood me, or just read the room, but he was taking his leave, and I would have an opportunity to talk to Lane without an audience.
Mark, whether having had words with Lane or not, brushed his lips against her cheek as he passed, and looked to me. I nodded a silent promise that I would call him after I spoke to Lane, and watched him leave.
The apartment fell into silence. It was so quiet I heard the ping from the elevator and the soft slide of the doors from down the hall.
“I should have talked to you,” I finally said quietly, rising to my feet and padding toward the kitchen. “You've always been my go-to, but it was just easier talking to someone who—”
“Didn't judge?” Lane snapped, turning her back on me and opening cupboards.
“Who didn't know me.”
I slipped onto one of the stools and watched her start a pot of coffee, waiting for her to slow down and look at me again. When she did, I could see the pain in her eyes because they were a replica of my own, and I'd seen that look in the mirror too many times to pretend I didn't know what it meant.
“I wouldn't judge you.”
“That wasn't even a consideration. The problem is, you know me better than anyone else in the world. You knew me as a kid, a teenager, and the stubborn, full of life idiot who always said what she thought and did what she wanted regardless of the consequences. You knew the girl who would strike back with as much force and drive as those who struck me. I was too ashamed to tell you how bad it got, and how fucking pathetic I was. How much I lost myself. It wasn't just the physical stuff. He got into my head. He made me unrecognizable to myself.”
“Tell me. Please,” Lane said quietly.
So I did.
I told her everything and found that this time was easier. I didn't stop or choke over my words. I didn't skip over the private parts as I had with Mark because my sister deserved to know. The faster the words came, the angrier I became. I was mad at Elijah and Mom, but more than that, I was furious at me. How had I allowed myself to become that woman and disappear? Why did I continue to let him affect me the way I was?