“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m really just… not ready.”
She turned away but not before I saw her roll her eyes. God, I wished I could be back to normal. Back then we had gone out, had a couple martinis, woken up in strange beds in pricey high-rise condos, and compared bruises the next day at work. It was a good time, wasn’t it?
I shook off the feeling that I was being watched in the parking garage. It was a leftover feeling from being held captive, I told myself. Not real.
Dropping my bag in the entryway, I stood in the middle of my apartment. A chic blue sofa sat in front of a flat-screen television. A fake white daisy sat in the windowsill. Though I had quickly fallen into the routine of my work, I had never felt comfortable here. The cool air felt stale, the 600-threadcount sheets dusty.
Maybe I should move, though the thought of packing up all this impersonal stuff made me glum. Maybe I could find a cute little house. Something with trees, where I could see the stars. Somewhere I could breathe again. That brightened my mood, even though I’d have a painful commute.
I wandered into the bathroom, brushed my fingertips across the expensive cosmetics. I had found them unopened in the cabinets, as if I’d been stockpiling for the nuclear holocaust with organic astringent. The countertops had been empty… I paused. There hadn’t even been a toothbrush.
So what had I used before I’d been taken?
A chill ran through me, but it was just that overzealous AC again. Not like the cool moist air by the water, the smell of trees and rain…
She doesn’t belong here. I shivered, as if I heard Brendan’s voice right beside me.
As if unlocked, more disembodied words played in the same dreaded voice, the sound hollow like a lone wolf’s howl. Don’t you love me? Don’t you trust me? I’m doing this for you, not just me. You want to be the best submissive. I want that for you too. I’ll be so proud of you.
I do want to be a good submissive, came my fervent voice. I just don’t understand why you can’t train me. What will they do that you can’t?
You don’t understand. This is hardcore, not the kind of thing we can do in public or in my condo.
Well, I don’t see how I can leave my job for a whole month.
You won’t work when you’re with me, anyway. Stop being selfish, Melody.
God, that was creepy. And not real at all. Brendan had never said any of that to me. My mind had taken my darkest insecurities and deepest hopes and set them to a damn scary tune. I felt bad about leaving Sam to return to my life here—that had to be where this was coming from. But that’s all it was: a soundtrack to a nightmare.
Just forget about all of that, Anya had told me over lunch while I stared out the window, seeing only glass and concrete and smog. Then she scolded me for not paying attention when she was helping me. A rueful smile tilted my lips. If anyone was going to scold me, I’d rather it were Sam. At least he would give me a spanking afterward.
That was exactly the kind of thing that would set her off again.
Sam had abused my weakened state, she said. That wasn’t real BDSM.
Well, he had abused something all right. My ass.
Traumatic bonding, she had read online somewhere.
We had both agreed that sounded kinky.
Well, she was probably right about my mind being all messed up. But maybe it didn’t matter. If I wanted to be with Sam and he liked me this way, it should be enough. Every day, I believed a little bit more. It could be enough.
I had been so confused when I first got back, lost. Everything had seemed foreign at the beginning. Now I examined the apartment with new eyes, like an investigator looking for clues. Who am I? And why would anyone want to live in this sterilized bubble of an apartment?
Clothes hung in the closet, neat. The cabinets were stacked with toiletries and linens, everything so orderly. I remembered this as my apartment; it just didn’t feel lived in.
I went to the fridge where some cut fruit and a jar of milk sat in the front. It was otherwise empty. No clue as to what I had eaten before, no rotten telltale food. Someone must have cleaned it out when I had gone missing. That was smart, not creepy. A missing persons report had been filed, police had been through here.
Despite my own vigorous assurances, I sat on the couch with my arms wrapped around my waist, hunched over as if invisible enemies might storm through the walls. I couldn’t just sit here. I needed to talk to someone.
Not Anya, because I had definitely used up as much support time as she could spare. Besides I wasn’t looking forward to another lecture on how a random Dom could beat me into healing. Been there, done that.