Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
Bree
T he blinking cursor on the blank white document feels like an impatiently tapping foot. I watch it appear and disappear, my mind as empty as the page on my laptop. I don't know how long I've been sitting here, but I'm getting nowhere.
I'm sitting in the middle of my bed, willing my brain to cooperate and help me get some words out, but I just have the same thoughts I've had this entire time. In the past few days, there've been no developments on the pop princess story, and my editor expected me to deliver yesterday. My inquiries have all been ignored, and research into a potential loose-lipped hanger-on led to a dead end. Rumors abound, but repeating nonsense won't get me promoted anytime soon.
So my task remains the same—make something out of nothing.
Bullshitting in an entertaining way isn't too difficult for me. Or at least it wouldn't be, ordinarily. But Sam is taking up a significant amount of my mental energy.
He hasn't texted me since I left the loft. Sure, he told me to reach out to him, but the last time I left his place, he was checking on me instantly, wondering if I'd made it home safely.
No such luck this time.
Which makes me feel like he really is mad at me. Or that I scared him off.
I want to text him. I can't shake the guilt of snapping at him and practically blaming him for my shitty assignment. But I also don't have the time to chat. I'm afraid he'd invite me over and I'd have to decline.
I groan aloud and slam my back down onto the bed.
I'm lying to myself.
I don't want to text him because I'm afraid he won't respond. I'm afraid I royally fucked things up.
I'm afraid he's with another woman already.
This has been the norm since I got home to my apartment, which suddenly feels so unimpressive. The cozy vibe is now claustrophobic. It feels like there's no room for me and all my doubts, fears, anxiety, and frustration. If I'm not thinking about a different angle to tackle this baby drama from, I'm overanalyzing my last interaction with Sam or imagining him happily and enthusiastically forgetting about me.
With another groan, I pat around the bed for my phone without sitting up. When I touch the edge of it, not too far from me, I inch it closer, grab a firm hold, and quickly open up my messages. Nope, still nothing from Sam.
I toss my phone away and roll over to my side, facing away from my laptop and phone. I'll just keep doing the same stupid shit unless I get these thoughts out. No better time than now to pour my heart out to Companion.
I toggle the diary function on my band. Companion vibrates, then flashes, "What's up?" on the screen, indicating that it's listening and recording.
"Plagued by shitty writer's block that won't let up because there's nothing to talk about. Feeling like a failure about that. May have also just ruined what could have been an awesome relationship by taking my frustration out on Sam, even after he was trying to inspire me. Fuck, he was just trying to help." I pause for a second, letting that realization sink in. "Want to apologize but afraid he's moving on to bigger and better things. Praying I can at least make some progress with this article, have some kind of epiphany."
I finish with a sigh, and when nothing else comes to mind, I double tap Companion, letting it know I'm finished with the entry. The little vibrate it gives me feels encouraging, even if there's no one actually here to give me any further comfort. I've been journaling with Companion ever since the update pushed through, so it still kind of feels like confiding in someone.
I fight off how pathetic that feels as I sit up and take a deep breath.
Right, back to the grind.
I don't know if it was the journaling session, but the next hour or so goes by a bit better than I expected. It's not much, but I started focusing my research on the actor's dating history to somehow draw conclusions about what could possibly be going on now. I'm not proud of that, but the bulk of the article has to come from somewhere. Just when I'm getting in the groove and taking notes on why his previous relationship fell apart, my phone buzzes with a message.
I expect it to be my editor, so I snatch up my phone quickly, my stomach twisting into knots at the thought of reporting my lackluster progress. But it's a message from Sam: "I have a surprise for you. Get dressed in all black, don't wear makeup. I'll be there in 20 minutes. No questions."
I stare at the message, my heart starting to pound as my head is flooded with too many thoughts. He has a surprise, so he's not mad at me. Great! But I've just started to make a little progress, and it took so much effort to get here. My thumbs hover over the screen, ready to tap out a rejection, but the way his demeanor changed so quickly keeps my thumbs frozen in place. I don't feel awesome about leaving my work, but I don't feel good about rejecting him, either.
I want to see him.
In just these few days with no word from him, I've missed him. And I can't ignore the fact that I want a break from work right now more than anything.
A little outing can't hurt, right?
I jump out of bed and dive into my closet, wondering what black clothing I have. And he said no makeup. What's up with that? And I can't ask questions? Just what is he planning for me? And why?
I push clothes around, rejecting anything that isn't black, jumping between the dresser and the closet until I finally settle on a safe bet: a little black dress with long sleeves. I throw on a black pair of sheer tights, then take my hair out of its bun, letting my curls rain down around my shoulders. When I catch my reflection in the mirror, I look hopeful and eager, which explains my still-pounding heart.
I'm excited to see Sam, more than I thought.
I grab my phone and a black purse, then slip into a simple pair of black heels before racing out the door. It feels like I've been rushing these whole 20 minutes, so I'm grateful he isn't waiting outside when I get there. I have just a little time to catch my breath and think about what I'll say.
Wait, what will I say? I haven't said anything in days. If I wanted to apologize properly, I should have done it when I first got home from his loft. Or maybe he doesn't need an apology?
I'm so confused about the situation, but when his driver pulls up and then lets me into the car, I find out there's a completely different situation to be confused about.
"Here," comes Sam's muffled voice. "Put this on."
I blink uncomprehendingly at the simplistic wolf's mask he's wearing. I can see his green eyes peering at me through the eye holes, and I recognize his voice and hair, so I know it's him.
But why?
"No questions," he reminds me, pressing a white rabbit mask into my hands.
I open my mouth to speak, but all I have are questions, apparently ones that won't get any answers. Still completely baffled, I slowly fix the mask to my face, and when I'm done, I look at him silently, expecting him to offer some kind of explanation.
He doesn't.
He's wearing all black like me. Looks like we both chose long sleeves, but he went with a thin turtleneck sweater and pants. Still, he looks classy in his silver chain and watch.
I notice there's no alcohol chilling on the floor. That's disappointing. I could use something to break the ice, especially since Sam doesn't say another word until the car comes to a stop again.
The driver opens Sam's door, and he gets out, still wearing his mask. I look around the street, but no one is around to witness the spectacle. Sam opens my door for me and offers me a hand. I slip mine into his, and he closes his warm fingers around me. My heart flutters in my chest as I give him a squeeze.
"Keep an open mind," he murmurs, leading us into an alley between a couple of nondescript buildings.
My head is spinning as I look around, desperate to try to uncover the surprise. Nothing gives anything away, not even when we walk carefully down a set of concrete stairs that I didn't expect to be there. It leads to a red door, which opens for Sam before he has time to knock.
"Welcome, sir," a young woman greets us with a slight bow of her head.
I don't say anything, just watching as Sam acknowledges her with a tilt of his head before breezing past her. She's wearing a leather dress with a frilled skirt, matching the vibe of the two shirtless men in leather pants on either side of a second door ahead, which leads deeper into the building. I can hear thumping club music, and suddenly, I'm excited.
The men let us through with silent nods into the darkness beyond. Sam and I pause there, taking in the scene. Energetic, bass-heavy music envelops me, and bodies in various states of dress grind on the dance floor. I look around, expecting there to be a bar somewhere, but there isn't one, and I don't see anyone holding a drink, either.
I can smell incense burning somewhere, and the music, the anonymity offered by the mask, and the jumping crowd are making me want to dance. So this was the surprise? Taking me out dancing? But what's with the attire?
I squeeze Sam's arm, eagerly looking toward him to see if he's ready to hit the floor, but he's looking elsewhere, not at me. He's watching two women approach us, and he doesn't seem like he's going anywhere. I stiffen beside him.
The women slide right up to us, the one in a cute gray mouse mask clinging to the one on the left, who's wearing a white cat mask. They're dressed in a matching set of lacy lingerie and stockings, each in either white or gray to match their mask. I guess they forgot their dresses at home. From the angle of their masks, I can tell they only have eyes for Sam.
"Look who it is, Kitty and her Mouse," comes Sam's muffled voice.
The two women giggle and shiver with pleasure, Mouse hugging Kitty's arm tighter.
"Wolfie, we haven't seen you in too long, you know! Where have you been? I've been sniffing everywhere for you!" Kitty paws at Sam's chest playfully while Mouse nods along.
"Been keeping busy," he replies shortly, not reacting to her touch.
"Have you come to play with us?" asks Mouse, trailing her fingers up and down the inside of Kitty's arm. "We haven't done a scene tonight, not yet. Will you keep us company?"
I shift uncomfortably next to Sam and frown beneath my mask.
"No, I've only come to dance. This is Bunny, we're here together." Sam gestures toward me, and I nod at the two, not really wanting to speak.
They don't spare me a glance and instead start protesting, both of them pressing forward to lay their hands on his chest.
"Aw, come on!" Kitty purrs.
"Can't you play a little?" Mouse whines.
They go on like that until Sam gathers their hands up and pushes them gently back.
"Don't be rude to Bunny," he chastises sharply, and they shrink even further back.
"Sorry," they mumble to me, and Mouse tangles herself back up with Kitty.
"Well, don't be a stranger. Come and find us when you're done… dancing."
The two women giggle and slip away, their hips swaying as they edge around the dance floor and disappear.
Sam doesn't say anything. But he watches them go.
It totally feels like I'm not getting the full story here, which is making me feel worse than I was already feeling. I thought we were going to have a night of fun, but that interaction has thrown me completely off. I want to be upset that he made me watch that, but the guilt from snapping at him makes me freeze. Plus, we've never discussed what we even are.
But I hate the thought of him playing with them.
"Sorry, those are just a couple of girls I know. I used to come here alone more often."
"To dance?" I ask quietly. My voice betrays my insecurity. I'm indirectly asking about them, like I'm trying to punish myself or something.
"Not to dance," Sam says gently. He turns to me and takes my hands. "You can dance here, really let go if you want to. I thought you might want to dance like no one was looking, and this is the only place that grants you that anonymity. But this place is also a sex club. You can hold consensual BDSM scenes in the back, if you want. Or you can just dance, it's up to you."
I glance in the direction where I last saw Kitty and Mouse, remembering how they threw themselves at him. What kind of scenes was he doing with them? I don't know anything about BDSM, but they seemed to like him a lot.
Does he wish he could do a scene with them now? He wouldn't have invited me here if that was the case, seeing how easily he could have gotten it. I believe him, but I can't help but wonder if he'd be satisfied with just dancing here. I bite my lip under the mask.
"Come on, let's dance," he says, starting to pull me toward the other dancers.
"I don't want to," I say honestly.
My enthusiasm has completely melted away, thanks to those girls' derisive giggles. I just know they were rolling their eyes. Who comes here just to dance? And they asked him to come find him, like they knew he'd soon get bored with me. I look down at my dress. It hugs my body and flatters me, but next to them, I look like a fucking nun.
"You don't want to dance?" Sam asks.
"No," I say firmly.
Suddenly, I'm annoyed at this whole situation. They think they can ridicule me and take Sam away easily. I don't know what his reputation is around here, but one thing's for sure. He's here with me tonight. And I'm not letting him leave with thoughts of any other woman.
"I don't want to dance," I say more clearly. "I want to do a scene."