Chapter Thirteen
Sailor
I can’t stop thinking about Sam kissing me—and not in a good way. I’m furious.
In fact, I don’t think I’ve been this angry ever. Not in my entire life. Not like this.
How dare he? How dare he think he could do that, after everything I’ve said to him? I don’t understand what else I have to say to make him understand—to make him see what is going on!
Maybe I do need to leave. I can’t be here with him if he’s going to act like this. I can’t forgive him so easily this time—if at all. What’s next? What line will be crossed the next time?
I think back on the way I’ve been since being here. Have I done anything to lead him on? Of course not. And I told him outright many times that I don’t want that with him. So what the hell is he doing? What doesn’t he understand?
I grab my phone from the nightstand and open the Solar Surge app, tapping on the message thread with Shadow. My fingers hover over the keyboard, but I decide not to talk to him.
No, before I do that, I need to do something else.
Amelia was right.
I need to learn more. Not only about the community, but about myself. Maybe then I can accept it, embrace it, and stop running from it. If I know I’m doing things safely and that there is a whole group of people out there who will accept me, maybe it’ll be easier to move on with my life—on my own.
I browse the internet for different sites and forums. There are a lot of them, but most of them are dating sites, and that’s not what I’m looking for.
The one that catches my attention feels more like a community.
There are tons of threads giving information and people asking questions who’ve gotten respectful answers.
A lot of the posts are public so that anyone can see.
However, in order to post or reply, you have to have an account. I like that.
I go through the sign-up process, choosing to check off the kinks that I like when prompted. There aren’t a bunch listed, just the basic stuff, but I do my best to select what interests me. And I’m as honest as I’ve ever been. No hiding.
Once the account is made, I dig through the threads and find all sorts of information.
A lot of these posts are people asking questions—like how to get into the lifestyle, how to find a dom, how to open a years-long relationship, if what their partner did is abusive. It’s exactly the sort of space I need.
There is a lot of information on safe practices, and I come across quite a few posts that mention people meeting online so they can live out fantasies they can’t otherwise do because of jobs or where they live.
A good amount of these people state they ended up in a relationship with the person they started this with because they learned they could trust them and be open, which is a staple in a relationship.
That’s… relieving.
But of course, there is nothing on here about someone’s partner murdering an ex who kidnapped you and whether or not you should forgive them or take them back.
Too bad. I’d have loved to know someone else who went through the same thing as me so we could swap notes, but obviously I understand this isn’t a normal thing—or something you put on the internet.
That part of it all, I’ll have to figure out on my own.
Hopefully, it’ll be easier once I get the rest of it managed.
I’d have been better off telling it to Amelia rather than leaving the evidence online. Though this is anonymous to everyone on the site, if someone reported it, the FBI could easily find my information. I won’t screw myself, and as angry as I am with Jaxon, I won’t get him into trouble either.
But I still find myself starting a new thread and telling my story. I share more than I thought I would, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Talking to strangers on the internet has always been easier for me, and the words flow from my fingertips more smoothly than from my mouth.
Paragraph after paragraph, I share everything about Jaxon and I from the very beginning. The only thing I leave out is the murder. I talk about my journal. Us meeting. The way he made me feel. Living my fantasies. Feeling protected and never unsafe—I was respected and cared for.
I leave out the kidnapping part and instead say someone in his family was angry and hurt me, and Jaxon freaked out about it in a way that scared me. I re-read that explanation a few times, changing things to make it feel as severe as murder as I can—which I know isn’t close.
I add the break-up and how he hasn’t texted me, and also question if I should text him first.
By the time I’m finished, it’s the length of a short story.
I glance at my phone, itching to text him, to call him, to talk about this, but I’m angry that he hasn’t reached out to me. He hasn’t told me he missed me or done anything to show me he cares. For some reason, it’s hitting me harder than it ever has before.
Then dread hits my chest like a freight train.
What if something happened to him?
Why hasn’t that thought entered my brain until right this moment? Why haven’t I considered that his mother did something to him?
Oh my god… this whole time I’ve been furious with him over all this, and he could be hurt—or worse, dead.
I snatch my phone up and pull up his contact. My fingers hover over the keyboard to type, but what do I say? I can’t just send a hey, how are you? Are you alive?
That would be crazy.
But how else will I know if he’s okay? Is there another way? I don’t know enough about him to figure that out, and now I don’t know what to do.
I’m sure he’s fine.
He has to be. I still remember the way he looked when he brought me home… so broken. Destroyed. Sad. Ruined. He looked exactly how I felt, and at the time, I wanted him to hurt too. I wanted him to understand what I was feeling, and I needed him to understand that it was his fault.
But what if he left and something happened to him?
No, no. I’m not going to do that. Jaxon is fine, and he’s just being a dick. He could reach out if he wanted to, but he hasn’t. Meaning he didn’t want to.
After submitting my post, I browse the site to learn as much as I can.
I’ve looked at a lot of this stuff over the years, mostly recently, especially while I was with Jaxon, but reading it now solidifies that this lifestyle isn’t wrong.
That what I’m doing isn’t wrong, and as long as I’m safe and respectful, I can do this happily and without issue.
There are thousands of people who do it, and many of them have to keep it a secret.
The front door opens and closes again, and I look up at my door, holding my breath as I wait for it to open…
or for the knock to come. Muffled footsteps sound from the living room, and I hope like hell he doesn’t come in here.
Glancing at the clock, I see it’s been a couple hours since he left.
I wonder where he went, but I guess it doesn’t matter.
It’s none of my business and I have no right to ask, only I’m worried about him, and I wish we could talk like normal friends.
The familiar sound of the bathroom door shutting and the vent going on has me letting out a breath. His bedtime routine. Maybe he’s going to sleep, and he won’t bother me.
I get back to what I’m doing on my computer, losing myself in stories and questions and answers.
Before I know it, I’ve gone back years and am still fascinated by how open people are and how much better I feel.
I get a few responses on my post that tell me our “kink relationship” seemed healthy since we were both consenting, but the other parts of our relationship may need work.
Someone says, “You can’t encompass it all into one.
You have to break down the different parts and see where it’s broken.
That’s how you’ll fix it. Use what you were good at to fix the parts that need fixing. ”
I stare at the responses but keep going back to that one, to those few sentences. It makes so much sense. I need to stop putting all of this together and look at these things separately. I’m so engrossed that I hear nothing until there is a soft knock on my door.
“Sailor, are you sleeping?”
I consider ignoring him, but I think he may come in, anyway.
My gaze locks onto the door, my heart pounding a little harder.
He crossed a line by kissing me earlier, and part of me is worried he may try to do more…
but would he knock for that? I don’t want to be scared of Sam—Hell, I don’t want to be scared of any man.
“I’m trying to,” I answer.
“Can we talk?”
I sigh. “I really don’t want to talk right now, Sam. Maybe tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry,” is all he says. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. Please don’t be mad at me.”
I desperately don’t want to be mad at him. I want a normal relationship with Sam. A normal friendly relationship. Why can’t we have that like we did before? Years before we dated? We had that once, and I don’t understand why we can’t have it again.
It’s not like we were with each other to kiss or hug or have sex. Sure, we shared videos and had phone sex, so that is a little more, but it’s not like we were living with each other then.
Going back to that sort of friendship with him, minus the sexual stuff? That’s what I want with Sam. I just want my friend back.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” I call out, hoping he’ll listen and go to bed.
I could talk to him right now, but I don’t want to. I need a break. I need some time to think. And I think he does too.
As I hear him walk away, I don’t feel any better.
For some reason, this whole thing just irritates me even more, and this strange whirlwind of emotions rises up and settles in my chest heavily.
It could be what happened with Sam on top of reading all this stuff that has me in a weird mood, but I pick up my phone and send a text to Shadow before I run out there and take this out on Sam.
Things with Sam aren’t going to work out.
I can’t go back to Jaxon.
So the only thing to do now is move on…
Golden_Phoenix: When can you be here?