The Art of Control

Chapter 16

Dylan

It’s been two damn weeks without a word from Isa. I can’t even focus on daily tasks and physical therapy is here again to pester me. I just want this nightmare to be over with and my body to be back to normal. Out of habit, I dial her number only to hear the dreaded pinging notification that her voicemail is full. I’ve GPS’d her ass at least 100 times and still, she remains at The Carriage Hotel. She’s hardly stepped foot outside and I can only imagine the pain she’s going through.

F*ck that. F*ck her. What about the pain I’m going through? She promised she would never leave me and the first sign of trouble she tucks tail and runs off like a selfish little bitch. After the special time we spent together on our honeymoon, after our time bonding, after I gave her complete control, after being marked for me – she f*cking leaves? What kind of bullshit is that?

Tired of feeling sorry for myself, I decide if Isa doesn’t come back in one more week, I’ll file for an annulment. My stomach churns at the thought and my heart sinks. Can I really be thinking about this? She left me. She f*cking left me. We took legal and binding vows of for better or worse and she left. Yes, annulment is the only option. F*ck her. I dial her number again with the same results. F*ck everything. I’m not waiting another week. She’s really not coming back.

I speed dial my lawyer’s office before I have a chance to rethink my decision and have them draw up the papers.

***

This is my last day in this God forsaken place. If another nurse bats her eyelashes at me and asks why Isa hasn’t been to visit, I’m going to seriously f*cking lose it and it won’t be pretty.

“Mr. Young, here are your dismissal papers. Just sign here. Will your wife be joining you?”

Motherf*cker. “Does it look like she’ll be joining me? She hasn’t been here in three f*cking weeks. Thank you for reminding me… Christ,” I snap.

The nurse looks wounded and her cheeks burn bright red.

“No she won’t, but thank you. Just leave the papers here and I’ll bring them out to you,” Sawyer interjects. “What happened to Dylan Young, cool and collected entrepreneur? Mr. Politically Correct?” Sawyer asks sarcastically.

“I’m not in the mood for your shitty brand of humor, Morrison. Just get me the f*ck out of here.”

Sawyer sighs loudly and shakes his head at me, “Yes, Sir.”

To my utter disgust, upon leaving the hospital we’re met by camera flashes and reporters shoving their phallic-shaped microphones in my face asking me about everything from the videos to the plane crash to Isa’s sudden absence. My patience has been worn dangerously thin and I contemplate ways to bash the skulls of these intrusive a*sholes in my face.

Just in the nick of time and before I dislocate somebody’s nose, Sawyer attempts to push me into the back seat of the Rover but I climb into the front seat instead.

“I need go somewhere, so you and Raul drive yourselves back to my place,” I tell Sawyer.

He looks at me dubiously, mulling over my order.

“What’s the f*cking problem? Did that sound like it was a request?” I ask loudly.

He throws his hands up and huffs at me as he climbs out. Moving into the driver’s seat, I drive away quickly, tires screeching. Now it’s time to pay the future ex-Mrs. Young a visit. My heart starts beating rapidly in my chest thinking about seeing her again.

I pull up outside The Carriage and reach into my satchel and dig out the envelope that my lawyers brought over. Nausea slowly creeps up on me. Am I really going through with this? I love her, there’s no denying it. Yes, I still f*cking love that selfish bitch; I always will. But she left me when I was most vulnerable and I’ll never forgive her for that – never. So f*ck her.

I GPS her phone one last time to make sure she’s where she should be and sure enough, she’s still hiding out like a little chicken shit in her hotel room.

I ask the front desk for a key and without a second thought, they oblige. At her door, I start to hyperventilate and almost run the other way. What happened to my balls? I used to have a pair. Oh yeah, Erika and my future ex stripped me of them. Never again. Not ever f*cking again! I’ve had it with this shit. From here on out, no more long-term relationships. No more commitments. The only thing I’ll be indulging myself in is meaningless sex and subs by the hour. I cringe at the thought of being with anyone else but her.

I call out to my inner Dom, slide the card into the slot, throw the door open and march into the room. Selfish Bitch is sitting on the bed hugging a pillow. Christ she looks beau… f*ck that. F*ck her. She looks mortified and stands quickly.

“Master…”

“Don’t you dare call me that. It’s Mr. Young to you,” I say clipped and narrowing my eyes at her. “Why are you still wearing that?” I ask, pointing to her collar.

Her eyes flash dejection and her bottom lip begins to shake. She’s bone thin and looks like she’s in serious need of a double bacon cheeseburger and milkshake with extra heavy whipped cream, but still, those eyes... God damn it, focus, Young.

I throw the envelope at her and it lands on the bed next to her.

“Sign them.”

“What is it?” she asks, touching it hesitantly.

“Annulment papers. It’s over.”

“Oh, Sir. I…” she whimpers.

“Don’t. I told you to call me Mr. Young. You left, what else did you expect - for me to wait around for you like a heartbroken little bitch?” I yell.

Calm down, Young. I take a deep breath and count down from ten.

“Do you want to punish me?” she asks, throwing me into a tailspin.

Of course I want to punish her. She knows that. She deserves it. Why the f*ck is she asking me this? “What do you think?” I reply.

“I think I deserve much worse than anything you could ever do to me,” she sniffs, looking down at the floor and twirling her hair between her fingers.

F*ck that. No, no. Focus. Focus. Focus. “You have no idea the pain I want to inflict on you after what you’ve put me through, so I doubt there is much worse than what I could imagine,” I snarl.

“Then do it,” she says bleakly.

“You selfish little bitch. You left me when I needed you the most and you think by allowing me to punish you that I’ll forgive you?”

She gasps and sinks onto the bed. “No, Mas… Mr. Young, I know you’ll never forgive me.”

“I guess you’re smarter than I thought because you’re right - I never will. Never. How could you? I marked myself for you. I gave you everything, my heart and soul and you annihilated them. I gave you my submission. I gave you complete control over me. You promised me…” I shut my mouth swiftly, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of hearing my anguish that’s threatening to spill out of me.

“I deserve whatever you give me, no matter how harsh, so do it already and let’s be done with this,” she says resolutely, standing and stripping down to nothing.

Jesus, her body isn’t what it used to be. Her gorgeous curves are no more and her face is framed by large, dark circles under her eyes, but still, those stunning f*cking eyes. They’ll haunt me forever. She needs to hurt like I’ve been hurt. I want her to feel the pain of abandonment like I did. Christ, she already knows that kind of torment. God damn it, she has to pay for leaving me so I’ll punish her callously and heartlessly the only way I can think of.

“Present yourself for punishment,” I bark at her.

As she lowers herself to the floor, I unbuckle my belt and start to remove it. Her luminous eyes round and well up, her bottom lip trembling in fear. She swallows hard and for a moment I think she’s going to back out, but to my shock and horror, she presents herself perfectly in front of me, her arms splayed out, her forehead pressed to the floor.

I’m so confused right now. God help me, I love her. I loop the buckle around my hand tightly and step back to allow myself room to wield the leather effectively. I take a deep breath and steady myself, and try to fight my way through my clouded judgment.

“Count it out,” I whisper, almost breaching my cold exterior.

“Yes, Mr. Young,” she cries.

I bring the belt up and stop with my hand raised as she recoils in anticipation of the strike. The image of an abused Isa as a child invades my mind. No, I can’t do this. She’s ruined me, but I could never do to her what her father did. Not ever. She deserves to be punished, but not like this. I love her so much. Dropping the belt to the floor, she looks up at me bewildered and with tears streaming down her blanched cheeks.

I’ll break her the only other way I know how, with my words. “You’re not worth the effort,” I tell her cruelly.

She sits up on her knees and says the thing that makes me completely withdraw from her.

“You’re right and we’re better off apart.” Her mouth moves convincingly, but her sad and glassy eyes say something altogether different. I’m tired of trying to decipher her meaning and I’m sick of all this drama. I don’t need this shit. I’m done.

“Yes, we are. Sign the f*cking papers. I’ll send Sawyer to get them,” I reply, walking towards the door and leaving my beautiful and fragile p-ssycat naked and alone.

I stumble to the Rover, dizzy and nauseous, and vomit just as I reach the door. At that moment, the light snow turns to rain, and it’s as if the sky has opened up and released my sorrow. I finally break down, my tears camouflaged by the downpour and my mind reeling. It’s really f*cking over.

***

Isabel

The door closes and the only sound in the room is my pathetic sniveling. My loving husband is gone forever. I hate my father. God, please… if you’re real, take him out of this world brutally. Make him suffer for the way he hurt my mother, for the things he did and said to me, and for what he’s done to my beautiful Master.

I curl up naked into a ball on the floor and rock myself, trying to push everything to the back of my mind, but there’s no more room for the wretched and miserable thoughts - all of the available space is gone. Every spiteful word my father every spoke to me and all the things he did to me come flooding back and I scream in silence. No, I’m not worth the effort. Emotional exhaustion overtakes me and mercifully, sleep finds me.

My dreams are tormented with Dylan’s sweet words of devotion and compassion; his touch can be felt, his caresses and kisses, his nicknames whispered in my ear lovingly.

I wake crying again, thinking about how he allowed me the one thing I’ve sought my entire life, control. My body is cold and I’m shivering, but I can’t bring myself to rise from the floor. What time is it? The sun is almost set, the lighting in the room gloomy. My stomach rumbles ferociously but the thought of food nauseates me.

The door opens and for a short-lived moment, my heart skips a beat. My Master has come back for me… I look up and Sawyer is standing over me, holding his hand out to me. I reach up, wanting the warm touch of another human being. He lifts me into his strong arms and carries me to the bed, his clean soapy smell infiltrating my thoughts and comforting me. He lays me down and covers me and pushes my hair back from my face. Ashamed of my state of despair, I hide in the pillow.

“Isabel, you’re a mess. What happened here?”

“I’ll sign the papers,” I say, sitting up, not wanting to discuss the horrible scene that played out hours ago.

I reach for the envelope and Sawyer takes it from my hands. “What papers?” he asks. “What the hell?” he says, scanning them.

“Oh, God, Sawyer, it’s really over.”

“What did Young say to you?”

“That I’m not worth the effort,” I cry.

“He said that to you?” he replies irritably.

“Yes and he’s right. After what I’ve done to him, I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve your kindness either or anyone else’s.”

I grab the pen from the nightstand and quickly begin to sign the papers, not reading them.

“Isabel, don’t sign those yet. Please, don’t do that,” Sawyer implores, trying to grab the papers from my hands. Holding on to them determinedly, I sign the last page and hand them over. I suck back my tears and concentrate on what I must do next.

Reaching behind my neck, I unclasp the collar slowly, wanting to prolong its warmth around my neck. When I remove it, a cool chill settles on my skin where the soft leather resided for so long. Trying to stifle my sobs, I gasp out and choke on my tears as I hand it to Sawyer.

“Please give this back to Mr. Young.”

Unable to face Sawyer, I pull the covers over my face. It’s time to float away for awhile, to retreat to my mental hiding place where it’s warm, safe and dark, and where Dylan still loves me.

“Isabel, I can’t stand seeing you like this. I’m calling Sonya to come stay with you.”

Closing my eyes, Sawyer’s voice recedes and Dylan’s voice fills my heart and ears… I love you, p-ssycat.

A loud knock on the door brings me back to reality. The sun is completely set now and the room is darkened. It must be Sonya. I’m glad she came. I need someone, anyone, to make me feel whole again.

***

Sawyer

Exiting the elevator to Young’s home office, I take a few moments to gather my senses, trying to push the heartbreaking image of a completely broken Isabel out of my mind. Entering the office, Young is facing away from me. He’s seated in his office chair and looking out the window. His clothes are still damp from the rain and his hair is a wet mess.

“Did you go to see Isabel like I asked?” he asks.

“Yes, I got what you asked for.”

I throw the envelope with the annulment papers on his desk and when he turns around, the look on his face is disturbing. His face is blanched, his eyes are bloodshot and puffy and it’s obvious that he’s been crying. F*ck. I’ve never seen him look so badly. If I weren’t so annoyed with him, I might try to offer some comforting words.

“She signed them?” he asks, shaken.

“What the f*ck did you expect after what you told her?”

The color in Young’s face quickly comes back with my remark and he looks incensed.

“Did you really tell her she wasn’t worth the effort?” I ask trying to hold my temper.

“Yes. It was the only way I knew how to hurt her after what she did to me.”

“After everything her father has done and said to her, I should kick your ass for having said that to Isabel. I would, too, but I can see that you’ve already punished yourself more than I ever could. Come to think of it, I should lay you out for having filed for those damned papers in the first place. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking about what a selfish bitch Isa was for leaving me. Why shouldn’t I have filed for an annulment? What other choice did I have? I was lying in the hospital and when I needed her the most, she f*cking left me. And why? Because she’s afraid to be alone and of losing me like she lost her mother. What about me? I lost my parents too and I would never have left her side. I was alone, God damn it, and the woman who supposedly loves me, the woman I devoted my life to, was too selfish to get past her own fears. She made a promise on our wedding day not to ever leave me and she f*cking left me. I own her and she left me!” Dylan yells at me.

“We’ve already been through that. You don’t own anyone. Isabel isn’t a piece of property, you dumbass. And I was at your wedding, remember? I know damn well what she promised you. As I recall, you promised that you would never let anything or anyone come between the two of you,” I snap at him.

Young looks me up and down and I ready myself for a fist fight.

“I already told you once, Isa is my property and I do own her. I won’t say it again,” he scowls with gritted teeth.

“Good, because I don’t want to hear that bullshit again,” I snap back.

His eyes narrow down to slits and he sits forward, ready to lunge at me, “And who the f*ck are you calling a dumbass? I didn’t let anything come between us,” he answers defensively.

“Except for your f*cking pride. Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have a choice?” I’m trying to remain apathetic, but talking to Young right now is like dealing with an unreasonable, petulant toddler.

“Isabel is a grown woman, of course she had a choice and she chose to leave me,” he pouts.

I can’t control myself anymore. Young’s stubbornness has aggravated me to the point of no return. “You’re a damned fool if you think Isabel left you of her own volition, you know that? A God damned fool,” I say gruffly, barely containing my rage.

Young looks affronted. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Why don’t you use that over-sized brain of yours and figure it out, genius.”

Young clenches his jaw and looks as if he wants to punch me in the mouth, but he remains seated. I roll my eyes at him when he doesn’t take the hint.

“Isabel told me something that got me thinking. I checked her phone records and her father called her the same day she left you.”

The light bulb goes on over his head and the gears start turning. His face flushes red and he slams his fisted hand onto his desk.

“What exactly did Isa tell you?”

“She told me with her out of your life now, you would be safe.”

“Jesus Christ. Why didn’t she just tell me?” Young shrieks. His temperature is rising and I know this heated look. He stands and fists both his hands at his sides.

“Maybe because she thought she was doing the right thing, you stubborn ass. Maybe because she thought it was the only way to keep you alive. Here, she told me to give this to you.”

I pull out the collar-looking necklace and throw it at him and he catches it. He immediately sinks into his chair and lets out the most pathetic sob I’ve ever heard come from a grown man and my annoyance with him rapidly dissipates.

In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him cry. Young is by far the strongest man I know. Yes, he’s stubborn beyond reason most of the time and immature quite frequently, but he never falters or wavers in his dominance. I’ve seen strong men beg for their lives more often than I care to think about and was never affected. But seeing this man who is like a brother to me weep like this rips at something deep inside of me.

A memory of a 20-year-old Dylan flashes in my mind. I remember how indifferent and mature he tried to act, but even then, I knew he was just a boy hiding behind the façade of a man’s shell. He was bright as a whip and cocky beyond reproach, but still, he was just a boy. I have to remind myself that Young grew up during his most vulnerable years, alone and harboring whatever secrets that were eating away at him. His biggest fear is to be alone; I can see that very clearly now.

He puts his head in his hands and whispers, “What the f*ck have I done?”

I kneel in front of him and grab him squarely by his shoulders.

“What’s done is done. Isabel loves you. Now let’s go get her and find out what her father has done.”

Young looks up at me and hastily pulls himself together. He glances down at the necklace again, running his thumb across the clasp and nodding in agreement.

“Yes, let’s go get my p-ssycat,” he says quietly.

While Young gets his coat and wallet, I inform him that I sent Sonya over to the hotel to try and console Isabel as she was damn near close to a complete breakdown when I left. Again, he looks distressed and I wished I had kept my loud mouth shut about that little bit of information.

I speed dial Sonya’s number only to find out that Isabel wasn’t at the hotel when Sonya arrived. Shit. I have to relay this information to Young and face his wrath and furious outburst. Hanging up, I think about how to say it without Young going ballistic.

There’s no other way of putting it so I guess being blunt is the only way to go. “Isabel is gone,” I say just as we reach the Rover.

Young halts in his tracks and looks nothing like I thought he would. He’s not angry at all; he’s bewildered.

“What do you mean?” he asks with wide eyes.

“Sonya said Isabel was already gone when she arrived at the hotel,” I tell him, expecting the worst.

Young stands motionless before me. What the hell am I supposed to do now? His mouth parts as if to say something, but nothing comes out and he shakes his head, looking me up and down, waiting for me to tell him what to do. Shit, he’s the boss; he’s supposed to tell me what to do. It’s as if he’s forgotten his place. F*ck it. I guess I’m in charge for now.

“Okay then. So we find out where she went. Let’s go back inside and start tracking her phone and bank cards. Right?” I state, hoping Young will chime in and take the lead.

He gapes at me and simply nods in agreement.

When we get back inside, Young digs the necklace out of his pocket and slumps in his office chair again, silently staring at the collar.

“Snap out of it, Young,” I say forcefully, exasperated with him. “Do you want your wife back or not?”

He whips his head up and glares at me, obviously irritated with my statement. Good. He needs to be irritated, and pissed, and infuriated - just like the Young I know. He needs to stop pouting and take charge, God damn it.

“Damn straight I want my wife back,” he says through clenched teeth.

“Then stop sulking. She can’t have gotten too far.”

Young momentarily finds his balls and starts frantically tracing all of Isabel’s bank cards and phone. To both our disgust, we’re unable to find anything. I call the hotel where she was staying only to be informed that she left without being noticed and that all of her belongings were left behind. We spend hours searching and calling every hotel, cab company and airline hoping to find something - anything, but it’s as if she simply disappeared. Four hours pass by when Sonya shows up with a late night dinner for us.

She’s a sight for sore eyes. Her long dark hair is pulled into a side braid and it makes my dick throb. She’s a beauty. She moves elegantly as she makes Young and I coffee. Her kindness shows when she pulls Young aside to whisper words of consolation to him. I can’t help but think of Isabel when I look at her right now, only because if it weren’t for Isabel’s good sense, I never would’ve met Sonya. I watch them, as Sonya runs her hand over Young’s back and I feel a pang of jealousy. Her hands belong on me and only me. It’s a silly primal response, but it can’t be helped. I look away, not wanting to feel anything but sympathy for Young. I walk towards the large picturesque window and gaze out at the hard rain coming down over the Denver cityscape. I’m deep in thought when I feel Sonya’s hands on my back.

“Are you okay, Sawyer?” she asks, leaning into my ear and kissing me gently.

“Yes, thank you for asking. I’m worried about Isabel,” I tell her.

Sonya doesn’t flinch; she’s not the jealous type and I’m grateful for it. It makes life less complicated and dramatic. I have enough drama dealing with Isabel and Young; I don’t need any extra in my private life.

“I know you are and so am I. That poor thing, I hope she’s okay. Oh, Sawyer. Dylan is beside himself. You should talk to him. He needs you right now.”

“I know. I just don’t know what to say to him. I’m still pissed at him for the things he said to Isabel.”

“Don’t be too angry with him. People do and say horrible things when they’re angry.”

Sonya is proving to be my better half and my voice of reason. It both comforts and frightens me how much I’ve grown to love this woman.

We both look over to where Young is standing in the kitchen and he’s furiously typing on his phone, still trying to locate Isabel. It’s going to be a long night.