Chapter 22
Drawing the Line
Too little too late
“Come, come. Let me help you up…”
It sounds like I’m underwater as my vision slowly clears, and I glance up to see an old woman holding out her hand.
“You took a bad tumble. Is everything okay?”
She’s so tiny and frail that I’m afraid that if I let her help me up, I’ll only pull her down with me. Feeling groggy and momentarily confused, I scramble back to my feet without taking her hand.
“I’m fine…” I mutter, though I’m still disoriented. I have no idea how far I’ve run, but I’m relieved when I don’t see Mr. Branson anywhere nearby.
“It looks like you hurt yourself, sweetie,” she says with compassion, pulling a cloth hankie from her purse and dabbing it against my forehead. I’m surprised to see blood when she pulls away.
“Is it bad?” I ask, reaching up to touch my forehead.
“Nothing a bandage can’t fix,” she assures me. “I can help you with that. My apartment is just down this block.”
I nod even though I’m still distracted. I quickly try to get my bearings as I slowly walk behind the old, limping woman.
She leads me to an old building and slowly makes it up a flight of stairs.
We arrive at a micro-apartment that’s only a little bigger than my bathroom.
It strikes me as sadly humorous when I think about it, because Gwen’s bathroom is the size of my apartment.
Unfortunately, thinking of Gwen crushes my heart, and I let out a painful sigh.
“I know it must hurt,” she coos with sympathy as she soaks a cloth with rubbing alcohol and blots my cut.
“Ouch!”
“It only stings for a moment…” She smiles as she covers the wound with a bandage. “There. All better.”
I look at her gratefully, feeling like a little kid. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure, dear. Would you like a cup of coffee? It won’t take me but a minute.”
Looking at her sparse apartment, I note there’s no place for us both to sit, and my heart goes out to her. “I appreciate your help,” I explain, touching my throbbing forehead. “But I have a class I can’t be late for.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Isn’t that just like youth? Always running to the next thing.” She opens her door and smiles as I leave. “You just promise me you’ll take care of yourself. I don’t want to have to bandage you up again.”
I give her a hug before leaving and make a mental note of her apartment number. I then look for the number in the rows of mailboxes in the lobby while digging through my purse. Stuffing what little cash I have into the slot, I pat her mailbox before I head out of the building.
As I walk back to the car, I regret that I forgot to ask the woman for her name. Our simple interaction has me thinking about my mother.
Remembering what Tono Nosaka said during our scene together, I have a sinking feeling it might be time to reach out to my mother. It’s been a while since we’ve talked, but I don’t have high hopes. Still, at this point, I have nothing to lose.
Making sure that Mr. Branson isn’t lurking nearby, I sneak back to my car, turn it on, and hit the gas. Then I’m headed to the Luxe Escape with only one thing on my mind.
I am going to confront Nash publicly and make that fucker pay.
Prepared for battle, Chase picks up on my heightened energy when I check in. He leans forward and whispers discreetly, “What’s got you so wound up tonight?”
My eyes flash with anger. “I have a score to settle.”
“Well, if you need backup, you know where to find me.”
“Thanks.”
Nash is going to get an earful from me tonight!
I’m not planning to hold anything back, and I don’t care if it gets me kicked out of the program.
I walk into the classroom, ready to immediately blast that cocky sucker.
But I scan the room several times, looking for that smug face of his, and don’t see him.
I turn to Mr. Onassis and demand, “Do you know where Nash is?”
“I do not,” he answers in an overly calm voice, and nods to a table. “Please take a seat.”
When I hesitate, he frowns. “Is there something you wish to say?”
I let out a sigh that sounds more like the snort of a raging bull and bark, “No.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Are you quite certain, Miss Lane?”
At the moment, I’m not capable of explaining myself rationally, so I swallow down my anger and take a seat next to Amethyst.
When she mouths the words, Are you okay? I shake my head slightly and stare forward, struggling not to scream.
I really needed to confront that asshole after everything I’ve been through over the past two days, but even that has been denied me!
“Are you paying attention, Miss Lane?”
I automatically answer yes, then bow my head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Onassis. I should have answered no.”
“There is no reason for you to remain in my class unless I have your full attention. I expect you to take notes.”
I pull out my notebook, forcing myself to pay attention. Luckily, Mr. Onassis draws me in the moment he asks Tamara, “Do you have any experience with objectification?”
“If you mean being treated like an object to be groped, harassed, and catcalled when I’m in public…then yes, I have more experience of that than I care to admit.”
“Actually, I was speaking of it in the context of a BDSM scene. But to your point, Miss Robinson, it is a shame that you have been a victim of such harassment. It is still an unfortunate reality in our current society, and it should never be tolerated.”
After a pause, he addresses the entire class. “Fortunately, in the context of BDSM, objectification is consensual.”
I underline the word consensual several times in my notebook.
Mr. Onassis continues, “During an objectification scene, the submissive agrees to be used as a tool for the Dominant’s pleasure.
The sub’s needs, thoughts, and desires are of no consequence.
While it may appear uncaring and disrespectful to the casual observer, it showcases a heightened level of trust and intimacy.
In this type of scenario, the submissive willingly gives his or her body to the Dom to be used however they please.
The submissive’s gratification comes from bringing pleasure to their Master. ”
Mr. Carlisle raises his hand. “Can you give us an example?”
“Certainly. A simple example would be oral sex, where the Dominant uses the sub to orgasm and goes back to whatever he or she is doing.”
I’m surprised when I feel a gush of wetness between my legs. Why does that turn me on?
“But the scenes are often more complicated,” he continues. “You may be familiar with subs playing the part of an inanimate object such as a table or an ottoman.”
I nod, having seen pictures of that on the Training Center website.
My interest is piqued even more, and I notice Mr. Onassis’s smile when he explains, “To the uneducated, an objectification scene might appear completely one-sided. But what they do not appreciate is the power exchange between the submissive and the Dominant. In giving their consent and power to a Dominant, the submissive can fully embrace their Dom’s pleasure and claim it for their own.
As for the Dominant, such a selfless act on the part of their submissive represents the depth of their devotion. ”
I have a sneaking suspicion that objectification is something our teacher enjoys…
After being so wrapped up in the discussion and taking pages of notes, I’m disappointed when Mr. Onassis ends the class. After the bell rings, he calls out, “Miss Lane, I need to speak to you.”
The others glance at me while they leave, and I wait until they’re gone before I approach his desk.
“Can you explain what had you so upset when you came to class today?”
Besides my entire life blowing up?
Deciding to keep it simple, I answer, “I was hoping to confront Nash.”
“About what?” he replies in a serious tone.
“The two of us have not…gotten along. The last few weeks, he has become increasingly belligerent and threatening.”
Mr. Onassis holds up his hand. “Let me stop you there. Why haven’t you spoken to me about this before?”
I grumble angrily, “There are always assholes in the world, and I figured I could handle it. But last night was different.”
He frowns, his tone deadly serious. “How so, Miss Lane?”
“I had a short debriefing after the others had gone. That’s when I found out that my tire had been slashed in the hotel parking lot. Although no one was caught, I’m certain it was Nash.”
His frown deepens. “Why would you say that?”
“Nash has been threatening me because he claims I get special treatment, and has even gone so far as to accuse me of dating the Headmaster in front of the others.”
“How has he threatened you?”
“Just a few days ago, he told me, ‘You’re going to pay,’ when Dono Marcelo reprimanded him.”
“That’s odd. Why didn’t you report it?”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “I assumed he was bluffing, like he has before…until last night. And then this morning cemented it, Mr. Onassis. I found that two more of my tires were slashed while I was parked at my apartment. I also found this under my car.” I open up my purse to show him the AirTag.
“I’m certain it belongs to Nash, and I came to confront him tonight. ”
“I trust you’ve reported this incident to the police?”
“I have, but it’ll take days before they follow up. That’s why I wanted to confront Nash before he does anything worse.”
Mr. Onassis looks visibly distressed. “That is a very serious allegation, Miss Lane. I wish you had brought this situation to my attention much sooner.”
“I would have…but…”
“But what?”
“I thought it was possible he was being abused by his Domme.” I go on to explain the things I saw, and I notice Mr. Onassis’s expression becomes grave.
“I now have a better understanding of what’s transpired and appreciate you passing this information on to me, Miss Lane.”
I nod, feeling as if a heavy weight has been lifted.
“I will need you to repeat what you’ve just shared. Please wait here.” He leaves the classroom, returning minutes later with Headmaster Wallace.
Nervous, I repeat everything, including Nash’s odd behavior in the hallway, his multiple threats, and the strange incident outside the hotel with his Mistress.
“Did anyone else witness these things?” Headmaster Wallace asks me.
I shake my head. “Not really. The only thing the other students heard was him accusing me of favoritism, and also of dating…you.”
Headmaster Wallace raises his eyebrows. “Why would he think that?”
I shrug. “I have no idea, but he was convinced of it.”
“I wish you had spoken about this before now,” Headmaster Wallace states, looking distraught. “For your sake and for his.”
My heart constricts. “Why? Has something happened?”
He turns to Mr. Onassis. “I’ll need you to call the assembly.”
Placing his hand on my shoulder, Headmaster Wallace leads me out of the classroom. “You do not know this, but Mr. Nash’s partner, Lady Onyx, has been calling for your dismissal.”
I gasp. “Why would she do that?”
“I am not at liberty to say. But rest assured, the staff here does not entertain baseless accusations nor do we respond to coercion.”
My mind is spinning. “Do you think Nash is okay?”
“Based on what you’ve just shared, we will be looking into his whereabouts and safety.”
I swallow hard, drowning in guilt. “I should have told Mr. Onassis sooner…”
“What’s done is done,” he states firmly. “Regret helps no one in this situation.” He then stops and turns to face me. “The important thing is that you are okay.” Looking into my eyes, he cocks his head and frowns slightly. “But you aren’t. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Thinking back on the huge fight with Gwen and Mr. Branson’s kiss, I shake my head. “Just personal stuff.”
His gaze softens. “If I can help in any capacity, let me know.”
The Headmaster’s offer touches me deeply, and I assure him, “I’ll be fine.” Of course, that’s a lie. But there isn’t anything he can do about my life falling to pieces.
Accepting my answer at face value, he escorts me back to join the others.
I’m worried about Nash and hope the asshole is okay. I realize I should have come to Mr. Onassis the moment I had my suspicions. If I had just trusted my gut, it would have been better for everyone—for the trainers, for Nash, and even myself.