Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Debra barely had time to steady herself before she opened the door.
Billie stood there in jeans and a shirt, her sleeves rolled up her forearms, battered Converse scuffed from use rather than neglect.
Debra had never seen her looking so…casual.
Her hair fell into her eyes, making her look younger and softer.
And she was smiling. In that moment, Debra one hundred percent forgot how to breathe.
Billie’s presence wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t a rush or a jolt. No, it was calmer than that. It was a sudden awareness and a shift in the space between them, as though the air itself had thickened.
“Hi.” Billie regarded Debra with a faint smile.
Debra reached out, her fingers closing around Billie’s hand. She tugged her inside gently, the door closing behind them with a soft click that sounded far too certain for how fragile everything still felt.
“Thank you for coming.” Debra let go of Billie’s hand and smiled. Nothing else followed. No kiss, and no lingering touch. Just the weight of sincerity settling between them.
“I’m glad you asked. I never would have found the courage. Not these days.”
As they moved into the living room, Debra suddenly felt acutely aware of how intimate her home felt with Billie in it again.
She busied herself pouring two whiskies, grateful for something physical to ground her.
When she handed Billie a glass, their fingers brushed, and Debra noticed the way Billie flinched.
Not away from her as she’d done the last time they were here together, but as though she was surprised by how normal the contact felt.
They sat down, and the quiet stretched. Debra could feel how delicate and charged it was, and she was beginning to wonder if they would simply drink in silence, allowing the evening to be gentle.
But Billie suddenly cleared her throat, choosing not to sit in it for a moment longer. “There’s something I need to tell you before I lose my nerve.”
Debra set her glass down and turned to Billie. “Okay.”
“She, um…” Billie stared down at the floor, her nostrils flaring. “Her name was Janet.”
Debra hadn’t realised she was holding her breath until her chest started to ache.
She sat as still as she possibly could, her whisky untouched on the table, every instinct screaming not to interrupt, or move, or do anything that could shatter the fragile steadiness Billie had forced herself into.
Debra knew instantly that whatever followed would not be small.
“I was twenty-four when we met. She was charismatic and confident. She knew exactly who she was, and…I didn’t. That should have been my first warning.”
Debra’s body reacted before her mind could catch up.
That painful ache in her throat as the nausea crept in.
Her hands curled into the fabric of her jeans, her nails pressing hard enough to leave marks.
She may not have much of a history with Billie, but Debra loathed anyone who could put someone they supposedly loved through pain and turmoil.
“We were together for about two and a half years.”
Two and a half years…
Debra tried to comprehend the length of it. The seasons passing, birthdays and anniversaries, even the ordinary mornings. Billie had carried the pain of it all silently.
“For the first six months, everything was perfect. I thought I’d found someone who cared about me.” Her voice faltered. “And then I realised I was in love with her.”
Debra placed a gentle hand on Billie’s knee in support.
“That was when things really changed between us.”
Debra imagined Billie at twenty-four. Bright and unsure of the world but wanting to be chosen. And then she imagined Janet recognising Billie’s vulnerability immediately, knowing exactly how to shape it into obedience.
“She told me she was dominant,” Billie said. “That it was her lifestyle. She always spoke about it like I was lucky she wanted me.”
Debra’s stomach roiled.
“The whipping came first,” Billie continued. “She said it was about trust.”
The words whipping and trust should never have existed in the same sentence, not when the woman doing said whipping was a complete animal.
Still, Debra would keep her opinions on Billie’s ex to herself.
A long time had passed from what she could gather, and Billie had been terribly young to enter into such a relationship.
Debra glanced at Billie’s hands. They were steady now, but she still remembered those same hands trembling on her doorstep, her knuckles white as she asked for permission to stand. The more Billie said, the quicker the pieces slid together with sickening clarity.
“She’d tie me to the bed sometimes,” Billie said, toying with the frayed knee of her jeans. “And then she’d leave for hours. Not as a game, just…because she could.”
Debra’s thoughts started to stutter. She had to anchor herself to the present; she had to remind herself that Billie was here, and she was breathing, and she was alive.
Because the image her mind conjured up made her chest constrict so suddenly that she wasn’t sure what she was capable of if she ever came face to face with Janet.
“When she drank,” Billie paused and cleared her throat. “She stopped pretending it was about control. She didn’t bother with rules or consent then. She just…hit me.”
Debra’s breath caught, audibly this time.
“Afterwards, she’d tell me it was my fault. That I’d pushed her. That if I’d behaved as she’d expected of me, none of it would have happened.”
A cold fury ignited beneath Debra’s horror, contained only by the fact that Janet was nowhere near her.
“She made me kneel,” Billie whispered. “Every single time.”
Debra’s vision blurred. How could anyone treat another human being that way? How could anyone inflict hurt on someone they ‘loved’, and then blame them for it happening?
“She’d leave me there until my knees were bruised and I couldn’t kneel any longer,” Billie added. “I stayed still because I thought that was how you made someone stop hurting you.”
“Hey, you don’t have to say anything else.” Debra squeezed her knee gently and dipped her head. She wasn’t sure she could bear to hear anything more. “You’ve said enough for me to understand everything.”
Billie nodded slowly, and the silence settled back in again. Only then did Debra realise that tears were sliding down her own face. She brushed them away in anger, ashamed of crying when Billie had been the one to endure it.
She slowly moved closer, giving Billie every chance to pull away. She knelt in front of her, thankfully by choice, and took both of Billie’s hands in her own. “Listen to me,” Debra said, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to steady it. “None of that happens here. Ever.”
Billie’s breath hitched.
“You will never be hurt in my home. You will never be punished. You will never kneel for me, or anyone for that matter, or apologise for wanting something. I won’t allow that to happen.”
Tears brimmed on Billie’s eyelashes.
“You’re safe here,” Debra said. “In this space and in my life. Whatever shape that life takes, it does not include control, fear, or pain.”
Billie’s eyes brightened, and then she leaned forward suddenly, her hands sliding up Debra’s shoulders as their mouths met.
It was nothing like the kisses they’d shared before.
It wasn’t careful or tentative. It was desperate, visceral, and the kind of kiss that came from finally being believed.
From saying the worst of your past out loud and not being turned away.
Debra kissed her back, one hand cradling the back of Billie’s head, the other steady on her thigh. She didn’t take and she didn’t lead, she simply met Billie where she was.
Billie drew back, her breath uneven, and touched her forehead to Debra’s. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I just…if everything I’ve just said means you don’t want to see where this goes, then I had to kiss you one last ti—”
Debra cut her off gently. “You don’t need to apologise. Not for that. Not for wanting comfort. Not for wanting…me.”
Billie exhaled a shaky breath, visibly relieved as her shoulders loosened. “I should have told you from the beginning.”
“But you didn’t, and that’s entirely your own decision.”
Billie smiled weakly as she pulled Debra up off her knees and guided her to the spot next to her on the couch. “To be honest, there hasn’t been anyone since her where I felt as though it was time to share my past. You’re the first woman I’ve been interested in since the day I walked out.”
“What…happened to her?” Debra swallowed, mindful of not continuing this conversation for much longer. She didn’t want Billie to have to remember. She wanted Billie to just be, to exist in this space with her…calmly.
“I don’t know. Her place was up for sale a few weeks after I’d left.
” Billie relaxed back onto the couch and drew Debra into the side of her.
She placed a kiss to Debra’s temple and sighed.
“The last I heard, she was doing a lot of moving around. She started seeing escorts instead, and I believe she met a girl in Liverpool, but I don’t know anything beyond that. ”
“Moving around?”
“She’s in interior design. All the top architects used to hire her. They probably still do. People like Janet always land on their feet.”
“I have friends in architecture. What’s her surname?”
Billie side-eyed Debra. “Mason.”
“Perhaps I’ll have one of them do some digging to see where she is and what she’s doing now.
” Debra wouldn’t go ahead with that unless Billie gave her the okay.
It didn’t matter if she desperately hoped Janet had got her comeuppance; it was Billie’s decision alone.
“If that’s something you’d be okay with me doing? ”
“I don’t want any contact with her. So long as checking her out won’t result in that, I don’t care what you do.” Billie turned on the couch and leaned in, kissing Debra again. “I don’t want to talk about her anymore. I’d rather focus on the present.”
Debra lifted a hand and touched it to Billie’s cheek. “Me too.”
Billie had never felt like this before. Not the rush of adrenaline she used to mistake for excitement, not the brittle relief that followed surviving something awful, and not even the controlled calm she’d worn like armour for years.
This was different. This was…lightness—the strange, buoyant sense that her body no longer needed to brace for impact.
Debra was curled against her side on the couch, one leg tucked loosely over Billie’s thigh as the television rambled on in the background.
Billie couldn’t say what they were watching.
It was the kind of programme that didn’t demand attention, thankfully.
Billie’s was solely on Debra Allen and the fact that her head was resting on Billie’s shoulder.
There was no tension or expectation. There was nothing waiting to cut her open if she made one wrong move.
Billie tipped her head back against the cushion, her eyes half-lidded.
She could feel the rise and fall of Debra’s chest, the rhythm of it grounding her in a way she hadn’t realised she’d been craving.
Every now and then, Debra’s fingers shifted absently against Billie’s forearm, a small, thoughtless touch that made Billie light up in the best possible way.
Nothing feels daunting here. Not with her.
She waited for the familiar twist of anxiety to follow that thought, the ‘this won’t last, don’t get used to it’, but it never came. Instead, Billie felt borderline high. As though something inside of her had finally been put down after being carried for too long.
Debra shifted, murmuring something under her breath, and Billie’s smile widened. The sound vibrated against her collarbone, domestic and absurdly precious.
This is actually real. I’m here. I didn’t break anything.
That realisation had emotion welling in her throat. She swallowed it back and hesitated on her next thought. Asking for things still felt like stepping onto thin ice, but Debra had been clear. Over and over again. Wanting was allowed.
“Debra?”
“Mm?” Debra didn’t lift her head. She just pressed closer, as though the sound of Billie’s voice was something she wanted more of.
Billie’s heart fluttered when she nuzzled closer again. “Would it be okay if I stayed over tonight?”
Debra did lift her head this time, her attention focused fully on Billie.
“I can take the spare room,” Billie rushed out. “Or the couch. Honestly, I don’t mind. I just—” Billie took a breath. “I feel different when I’m here with you. I don’t want to leave you.”
Debra studied her, her gaze steady. Billie held herself as still as possible, those old instincts whispering that asking had consequences, even when logic told her otherwise.
Then Debra regarded her with one of those soft, uncomplicated smiles that melted Billie completely. “Of course you can stay.”
“You’re sure?”
Debra laid a gentle hand on Billie’s chest. “And you don’t have to take the spare room unless you want to.”
Billie frowned. “I don’t?”
“You can have the other side of my bed.”
Billie’s breath stuttered as emotion rose suddenly behind her ribs. She nodded once, afraid her voice would fail her if she tried to speak.
“Do you want the other side of my bed, Billie?”
“I…yes,” she managed. “I’d like that.”
Debra settled back against her, fitting easily into the space between Billie’s arm and shoulder as if they’d done this a hundred times before. Billie stared ahead, a small smile tugging at her mouth.
She wasn’t kneeling and she wasn’t apologising. She was simply wanted.