17. Chapter 17
Frankie
“How can one small human do this?” Frankie grumbled into the bathroom mirror as she applied concealer over the bruise under her eye.
Evan stood just over five feet tall, was very lean, and probably weighed no more than a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet, yet not only had they successfully knocked Frankie over, they’d hit her hard enough to cause swelling and a bruise.
I deserved it.
Frankie pinched her lips together, taking a deep breath in and out through her nose.
She should never have grabbed Evan after they’d knocked her off the first time.
She wanted to call it instinctual, but honestly, she wasn’t sure what had happened.
At first, she mistook Evan’s aggression as an attack, but after, Frankie had freaked out a little, worried she’d somehow hurt them.
In response, Evan had done what any cornered animal would do—attack.
“Let me go!”
Goosebumps broke out over Frankie’s arms whenever she recalled those words. Evan had screamed them in such a way that it could only mean one thing. Something Frankie had said or done had triggered them.
“Who hurt you?” Frankie whispered, reaching for her lipstick.
She hadn’t seen Evan since the “incident,” as she was calling it, but could guess they weren’t anywhere in the building.
If they didn’t show up for their shift, Frankie would deal with it.
Regardless of the fact that a huge part of her wanted to find Evan and hold on to them for dear life, the last thing she should do was chase them down when things were so volatile between them.
Frankie finished getting ready and had just enough time to make a protein shake before heading out the door.
She locked up and headed downstairs, checking her purse to make sure she’d packed her cell.
It was surprisingly therapeutic to speak to Danny earlier.
Frankie may have called in a panic, but they chatted for quite a while after.
Only he and Auntie B knew everything about Frankie’s past, and her inability to open that ominous door was why she continued to fail with relationships.
A better Domme would have read the room and not pushed for more than a kiss, Frankie thought bitterly on the way to her office.
It’s why McCoy had left her. She’d said it wasn’t, but what else could Frankie think?
She’d only had two other subs before McCoy, and neither one had wanted Frankie as their Domme for long.
A knock landed on her open door. “Hey, boss, any idea where Evan is?”
Frankie set her purse and protein shake on her desk, taking a moment to gather herself before turning. Rain looked at her expectantly. “Evan wasn’t feeling well. I doubt they’ll be in, so I’ll need to do some rearranging in the kitchen.”
“Want me at the dish pit?”
Frankie tapped her chin and slowly shook her head.
“No, I think we can all help with the dishes in between other tasks for now. Spread the word for me?” Rain nodded, taking off again.
Frankie sank into her office chair, eyeing up the shake for lunch instead of the salad she’d gone upstairs for in the first place.
She sighed, picking it up and taking a sip.
Somehow, she needed to push thoughts of Evan and her own insecurities aside for, oh … about twelve hours.
Good fucking luck with that.
Evan was situated at the dining booth when Frankie got home that night, sitting lengthwise on the bench with their back against the wall, boots barely reaching the edge. Two empty bottles of Frankie’s homemade brew sat on the table next to them.
Frankie’s throat worked overtime as she swallowed. It’d been awful not knowing where Evan had disappeared to. “You’re here.”
Evan glanced up from where they were working in their sketchbook, an unreadable look on their face.
Their gaze landed on the floor past Frankie, and she turned to see Evan’s backpack.
“I left, then remembered I was homeless before this, so …” Evan shrugged one shoulder and briefly met Frankie’s gaze.
“I bought new doorknobs for the bedrooms. You need a better toolkit, by the way.”
“Doorknobs?”
“Yes.” Irritation crossed Evan, but as swift as it’d come, it was gone again. “Ones with a lock. As your tenant, I have the right to feel safe in my personal space. Don’t I?”
“Of course. Of course you do, Evan. I never intended … Earlier when we …” Frankie couldn’t get the words out.
She cleared her throat. “At what point did you no longer consent? I should have explained safe words, and then you could have said something. I would have stopped, Evan, I-I, I didn’t mean to …
I would have stopped. Did something happen to you? Before, in the past?”
“Who’s Emily?”
The abrupt change in topic threw Frankie off guard, but then, she had a feeling Evan had done it on purpose. Her shoulders sagged, and she slumped into the dining booth across from Evan. “Emily? How do you know that name?”
“I heard you on the phone this morning. Was she a girlfriend?”
Frankie frowned. “You eavesdropped on my private conversation? You had no right.”
“You were in my bedroom, cleaning up.”
Unease settled over Frankie as she recalled her conversation with Danny. The past had been brought up throughout the call, and with it, the topic of Emily. There hadn’t been a phone call where Emily wasn’t discussed. Even gone, she played a pivotal role in Frankie’s relationships.
“Did she give consent in the beginning too?”
“Stop talking about her,” Frankie snapped.
She shoved herself out of the booth and glared down at Evan.
“Next time, knock instead of skulking around.” She had to get out of the room before she did something she regretted, like break down in front of Evan.
Frankie fled to her bedroom, noticed that the handle on the door was indeed swapped for one with a lock, and shut it firmly behind her.
Exhaustion from the day weighed down on her as she stripped her clothes off and crawled into bed.
Tears burned her eyes, and she wiped them away angrily.
“Fuck you, Evan,” she said in a choked whisper. Fuck them for making her worry, for causing her heart to bleed tonight when all she’d wanted was an honest conversation. And fuck them for amplifying the self-doubt she already had as a Domme.
Brushing more tears away, Frankie leaned over and pulled open the drawer of her bedside table.
She rummaged around for the picture of Emily she always kept there, frowning when she came back empty-handed.
Sitting up now in the bed, she sniffled and reached for the drawer again, this time pulling it out completely.
She turned the contents over on her bed, sifting through the small pile.
A pair of suede wrist cuffs, vibrator, lozenges, phone charger, e-reader, but the picture wasn’t there.
“Shit.”
Had it fallen out in her mad search for her charger the other night?
Frankie didn’t throw the drawer, even though she wanted to.
She placed everything calmly back inside and returned it to the bedside table.
She was too mentally and emotionally depleted to get down and look for the picture tonight.
Tomorrow she would, and perhaps then she and Evan could have a proper conversation.
She’d finally met someone she felt she truly connected with, yet at every turn, Evan seemed to take a step forward with her only to take two giant leaps back.
What if Frankie was wrong? What if Evan wasn’t submissive enough?
What if Frankie were no longer dominant enough?