Chapter 50
"I've been doing a good job of making them think I'm quite alright but I hope I don't blink. You see it's easy when I'm stomping on a beat but no one sees me when I crawl back underneath" - Paramore
It has been a month since the argument that tore us apart. On this particular day, the weight of the charade was crushing; Donald had to escort me to lunch just to stifle the rumors that our "fairytale" was fracturing.
Following the strict orders of the image team, orchestrated by Vanessa and Sarki, we’ve been making strategic public appearances.
Our engagement is only a month away, and the walls are closing in.
I can no longer outrun the commitments I’ve made.
On the surface, the plan is working; I’ve garnered unlikely support for my nomination.
If I can keep this mask from slipping, I will be the youngest person ever to ascend to the Supreme Court.
But the cost is astronomical.
The first hearing of the afternoon dragged on for eight grueling hours. I sat on the bench, lightheaded from hunger, as the prosecution laid out a tedious case of corrupt contractors and money laundering.
"Your Honor, it must be understood that the evidence here is purely circumstantial," the defense attorney droned.
He had already earned my absolute loathing.
Not just for his legal incompetence, but for having the audacity to walk into my chambers earlier that day wearing the same perfume Kelsey uses.
It had sent me into a spiral, a forty-minute crying fit behind locked doors that left me hollow.
"We will take a two-hour recess before resuming the session," I announced, the sound of my gavel echoing like a final judgment.
"Your Honor," the attorney interrupted as I rose to leave. "Will we be extending into the late evening? My client usually spends his nights with his family."
I raised a single, icy eyebrow. "Your client is being prosecuted by the State, Counselor. His social calendar is currently the least of my concerns."
I turned my back on them and retreated to my chambers. I collapsed into my leather chair and ordered a chaotic meal, a salad, fries, and a burger, the food equivalent of my mental state.
Once I’d finished, I sent a message to Charlie, inquiring about the club she’d recently opened here in D.C. I requested a one-time session. Anonymous. Masked. I needed to be someone else. I needed to feel nothing.
My phone rang almost immediately. It was Charlie, and I could already hear the lecture in her silence.
"Are you sure about this, Megan?" she asked, her voice heavy with concern. "This would be your fifth session this week, and you haven't looked even remotely happy in a single one of them."
"Hello, Charlie. I need a session. Tonight."
"You’re trying to fill a void with empty things, Megan," Charlie countered, her voice heavy with the wisdom I was trying to ignore. "You know this is a mistake. What Kelsey…"
"She has no business knowing which clubs I frequent," I snapped, cutting her off. "Would you rather I go look for a place where you don't know the staff?"
A long silence stretched over the line. "Fine. But I want to know exactly who you’re meeting. Two hours after your hearing ends. Send me the confirmation."
I hung up, but before the screen could dim, a video call flashed. It was my throuple of chaos. Lisa, Sarki, and Vanessa, all huddled around a pizza with smiles that felt too bright for my current mood.
"We want to know if you're joining us for trivia night!" Sarki beamed.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, a tired smile tugging at my lips. "I can't. I'm still in court, and I have... plans afterward."
Vanessa raised her hand like a student in class. "Do those plans involve calling Kelsey and finally talking like two rational adults?"
Lisa swatted her arm, but I just shook my head. "For the millionth time, Kelsey chose this path for both of us. I'm not the one who has to go chasing after her."
"So, where are you going then?" Lisa asked, taking a massive bite of pizza.
"I’m headed to Charlie’s club for a private session."
Lisa practically choked, coughing into her napkin while Sarki shot the camera a look of pure disapproval. "Megan, that’s what... the fourth time this week? You don’t need a club; you need to go back to therapy."
"I have to go. Enjoy the game," I said evasively and ended the call.
I returned to the bench and finished the job. In just over an hour, I handed down a guilty verdict, read the sentencing with cold precision, and declared the session closed.
Donald was waiting for me, the perfect image of a devoted fiancé. We headed back to my apartment together, but the moment the door closed, the mask slipped. I told him I was going out.
"Have fun, Don," I said, kissing his cheek. He hugged me tight, he was probably exhausted from months of playing my therapist and hearing me pine for Kelsey.
"I'll tell you how my date went... tomorrow," he laughed, tilting my chin up. "And I hope you’re tired enough by the end of the day to come see me so we can eat chocolate doughnuts."
"Your wish is my command," I forced a smile, and he let out a loud laugh as he departed.
I rushed through a shower, dressed in something dark and anonymous, and drove to the club. The D.C. branch was even more clandestine than the one in New York, a fortress of discretion where the bar and the private rooms were completely isolated.
The hostess greeted me with a silent nod and handed me a sleek latex mask. It covered my forehead and nose, leaving only my eyes exposed.
For the first time all day, I felt I could finally breathe.
"Ma'am, this is your Domme for today."
The hostess pointed toward a tall, red-haired woman wearing a mask identical to mine. For a fleeting, heart-stopping second, my breath hitched, but the posture was wrong. The energy was hollow. I lowered my head, allowing her to take my hand and lead me to a secluded booth at the bar.
"I prefer to be called Mistress," she stated, her voice devoid of the velvet authority I craved. "What are your kinks?"
"Drowning, anal, shibari, and asphyxiation, Mistress," I recited, the words feeling like a grocery list rather than a confession of desire.
"Gagball with spanking?" I nodded silently. "I enjoy foot worship as well. Is that an issue?" I shook my head, even though the thought did nothing for me.
"Safeword?"
"Cinnamon."
The session was an utter failure.
It wasn't just bad; it was amateur. My jaw ached from the gag, she ignored the agreed-upon count for the flogger, and she forced me into foot worship for nearly half an hour until my dignity felt more bruised than my skin.
I left the club exactly as I had entered: frustrated, empty, and aching for a ghost.
Back at the apartment, I tried to funnel my rage into my work, buried under stacks of legal precedents and nomination strategy.
But the silence of the rooms always drew me back to the shower. I leaned my forehead against the cold tile, the spray of water hitting my back as I used the wand vibrator, closing my eyes to conjure her.
Every touch, every bite, the way she used to steal the very air from my lungs—it was a haunting. I cursed her name, over and over, a jagged litany of resentment that peaked the moment I came and lingered long after the water turned cold.
By the second month, my life had become a high-stakes loop of political theater. I attended lunches and galas with men who had spent years denying me a seat at the table, all while my treacherous gaze scanned every room for a glimpse of Kelsey.
I knew she was avoiding me, calculating our orbits to ensure we never crossed paths, yet I couldn't stop looking.
"Calm down, Megs," Donald murmured, clinking his glass of sparkling wine against mine at yet another fundraiser. "This time apart is probably exactly what you need to clear your head."
"I don't understand, Don," I whispered, my grip tightening on my glass. "Is it really this hard to find someone who actually fits?"
"My love, you’re talking to a man who genuinely enjoys your company, who loves taking you to dinner.
.. of course it’s hard to find someone who fits," Donald said, his voice a soothing balm against my jagged nerves.
"It’s rare to find someone who accepts your limits and respects the weight of who you are. "
"The sessions have been terrible, Don. Truly, terrible."
He threw his head back and laughed, the sound bright and jarring in the dimly lit lounge. "That bad?"
"I’ve faked so many orgasms this month I felt like I was back in a traditional marriage."
"Megs," he said, his expression sobering as he leaned in. "One thing is certain, you and Kelsey left a permanent mark on each other. It was never just about the sex. You built a bond, intimacy, friendship, a shared language. You’re looking for a physical release in other people, but what you’re actually missing is the everyday life with her. "
"I hate how right you are about everything," I muttered, taking a long sip of my third glass of sparkling wine.
A pair of senators offered a polite nod as they passed, and I reflexively donned my professional mask until they were out of sight.
"I can’t keep coming to you and Sarki just to be told the truth. "
"Imagination is a dangerous field, Megan. It makes us romanticize the things we lack and ignore the reality of what we have. Don’t get me wrong, I love lying on the couch watching action movies with you, but I know I’m not the person you’re looking for in the dark."
"Let’s just dance," I whispered, the weight of her absence threatening to pull me under. "Before I get any more depressed."
And we danced. We moved through the crowd for hours, a perfect, hollow performance.
But the moment he dropped me off and the door clicked shut behind me, the silence of the apartment felt like a physical weight.
I pulled a bottle of wine from the cellar, uncorked it with trembling hands, and collapsed onto the sofa.
I woke up the next morning still clutching the empty bottle, greeted by a hangover that had become my most faithful companion.
A year and a half has passed since Kelsey and I ended things. My engagement to Donald remains a delayed, hovering promise. I am successful, I am powerful, and I am, completely and utterly, shattered.