Chapter 10 #4
“I am. I thought this was kind of like your thing?”
Nell let out a quiet breath as she settled deeper into the mattress. Firelight cast a dim glow across Sarah’s face, bathing her in amber light.
“It’s not my thing,” she said carefully. “Well, not entirely. The control part is because, let’s be honest, I have some control issues. But there has never been anyone like you.” She grinned slightly, but Sarah’s expression didn’t shift.
“Why me?”
If it were anyone else asking her this question, Nell would have sidestepped it with a distraction in the form of a well-timed kiss or redirected the moment with a joke. But she respected Sarah too much to do that to her. She was too smart for her usual tactics.
“Because with you, it doesn’t feel transactional. It’s not about control for control’s sake. It’s . . . I don’t know. You hand me the reins, and I feel”—she sighed, searching for the right word—“trusted.”
Sarah was quiet for a moment as Nell waited anxiously for her response.
“I do trust you. I trust you to take control.” Sarah let out a deep breath, rolling onto her back.
“I’ve spent my whole life trying to control every little outcome.
I manage expectations and always plan five moves ahead—with Lily and at work.
Even with Beth.” She gave a small, tired laugh. “Especially with Beth.”
Nell listened, her fingers tracing invisible lines into the comforter between them.
“But, that control hasn’t exactly worked out in my favor, and I think it’s time I learn how to let go a little.
” Sarah turned back to face her, the flicker of fire catching her eyes.
“Letting go, submitting, if that’s the word we’re using, it’s been the only thing in my life recently that has made me feel like I can breathe. ”
Nell swallowed at the exciting weight of Sarah’s admission and the power of that responsibility.
“When you ask me for obedience, it doesn’t feel like a demand. It feels like a relief because, for the first time, I can let go completely, knowing that I’m not going to fall. You would never let me. I like surrendering to someone I can trust not to misuse that power.”
Nell’s voice dipped. “Power can be addictive.”
Sarah studied her in the low light. “Is it for you?”
“Always with the questions, Sarah.” Her smile curled on her lips as she thought for a moment.
“I wouldn’t say power is addictive to me.
Not in the way you might think, at least. It’s not about control for the sake of dominance.
I have no interest in dominance. I do, however, have an interest in the power that comes with trust. And knowing that someone is choosing to give me that control?
That kind of trust humbles me more than it empowers me. ”
Sarah gave her a long, pensive look. “That’s not what I expected you to say.”
“Were you expecting something more arrogant?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah said contemplatively. “I’m still trying to figure you out.”
Silence stretched between them, making her feel strangely vulnerable beneath Sarah’s gaze. She shifted, the duvet rustling gently. “Well,” she said lightly. “I do like to keep you on your toes.”
“You do.” Sarah’s lips twitch, curving into a smile. “Constantly.”
Another silence. Then . . .
“What are we?” Nell blurted out suddenly, the words catching her off guard.
“What do you mean?” Sarah asked.
“I mean . . . you called me ‘your most interesting acquaintance’ earlier.”
“Did I?” Sarah said, with a bemused look.
“You did,” Nell said. “Is that all you think we are?”
Sarah propped her head on one hand as she looked at her, and she suddenly felt nervous to hear her honest answer. “I didn’t know if I was allowed to feel any differently,” she answered hesitantly.
“I don’t control how you feel.” Nell’s voice dropped lower into that slightly commanding tenor she knew Sarah responded to. She couldn’t help herself. “But tell me, what do you think we are?”
Sarah’s gaze drifted to the fireplace before landing back on her. “I’d like to think we’re at least friends.”
“Friends?” she repeated, surprised. It had been so long since she had a friend.
Sarah’s mouth twitched in delight at her confusion.
“Yes, Nell. Friends. It’s not that complicated.
Aside from the arrangement, we talk regularly and enjoy spending time together.
We share things about our lives. You let me in.
And I’ve let you in, too. I think that qualifies as friendship. Don’t you?”
Nell nodded slowly. “It’s been a long time since I made a new friend.”
“Same,” Sarah said, her voice quieting. “I forgot how nice it feels.”
Both went quiet again.
“I think I needed a friend more than I realized,” Sarah added, after a moment. “Especially one who doesn’t expect me to be anything I’m not.”
“You don’t ever have to perform with me, well, you know, unless I tell you to.” Nell smirked as Sarah swatted at her playfully.
“I know,” Sarah said. “That’s why I’m here. In your bed. Talking about power and feelings and other terrifyingly vulnerable shit.”
That made her laugh. “I should warn you, I’m a terrible friend. I’m actually terrible at most relationships,” she admitted.
“You say that like it’s a fact when it really sounds like an opinion.”
“It feels like a fact,” she said, sitting up a little more.
Sarah shifted beside her, criss-crossing her legs, looking at her with eyes that implored her for more.
“I was engaged once.”
Nell could see the surprise on Sarah’s expression hidden in the subtle lift of her eyebrows.
“Really?”
She nodded. “Stephanie—Steph. We met right after college. I was interning with Angela Dupree, and she was already working on Wall Street. Even back then, Steph was the kind of woman people noticed when she walked into a room. Always heels and power suits and ambitious as hell. Exactly my type.”
“She sounds intense.”
“She was, in the best and worst ways. I was drawn to her confidence. She moved through the world like she belonged in every room. I thought if I stayed close enough, maybe that would rub off on me. We clicked immediately. We had the same values, same ambitions, same obsession with control and success.”
A small puff of breath pushed past her lips as she continued. “So we built a little life together. Or at least started to. We had the condo. A shared calendar. A close group of friends. And a cat. On paper, it was perfect. The next step was marriage. We had already talked about it, so I proposed.”
Sarah was silent, letting her speak at her own pace.
“I kept waiting for it to feel real, but it never did. I chalked it up to being numb to the feeling of love after everything I had been through with my family. But I still kept waking up beside her every day, thinking, Is this what love is supposed to feel like? Is this all there is?”
“What did she feel like to you?”
“Like a reminder of where I had come from. She was a safe choice, and she looked at me like I was everything. And I couldn’t look at her the same way. I tried, but there was always this disconnect, like I was standing outside of my own life, watching it play out and feeling zero connection to it.”
She sank into the pillows as the honesty of her words sat heavy on her tongue.
Sarah’s brows drew together, empathetically. “So you ended it?”
“I had to. I watched her one night across the dinner table,” she said, staring into the fire.
“She had this look, like I was the prize she’d been waiting for her whole life.
And I remember thinking, I don’t know how to deserve that.
Pretending for so long was starting to catch up with me. And Steph deserved better than that.”
“Were you heartbroken?” Sarah asked quietly.
“I wasn’t. She was. And that made me feel like something in me was broken. I feel like I’m wired differently from everyone else because I never felt the same way about Steph as she did about me. Like I wasn’t capable of being loved that way . . . or loving back.”
“Or maybe she wasn’t the right person.”
Nell considered those words for a moment, lying on her back, looking up at the ceiling. “Maybe.”
Sarah might have been right. After all, Nell operated under the assumption that anything was possible until proven impossible. And a part of her wanted to believe that there was still that chance, but a bigger part of her, the part that she trusted the most, had given up that belief long ago.
After another long stretch of silence, Nell spoke again. “I’ve never told anyone that whole story before. Not even Nate.”
Sarah’s voice was thick next to her. “Why tell me?” she asked, with a yawn, eyes heavy with sleep.
“I don’t know. Maybe because you’re here, in my bed, talking about terrifyingly vulnerable shit.”
Sarah smiled at her sleepily. “It’s a good bed for that, apparently.”
“Apparently,” Nell agreed, as she listened to the sound of Sarah’s breathing begin to slow as she fought sleep.
“I’m going to go back to my room,” Sarah said a few moments later. But Nell surprised herself as her hand reached out, fingers wrapping delicately around Sarah’s wrist.
“No. Please stay. I want you here,” she said softly.
“Yes, ma’am.” Sarah smiled, getting comfortable under the covers.
Nell reached out and gently tugged the duvet higher around Sarah’s shoulders.
“You’re not so terrible at relationships, you know,” Sarah’s sleepy voice said.
“I have my moments.”
“This is one of them.”