Chapter 6
We exist in comfortable silence for several minutes, him drinking his tea, me kneeling beside him.
My mind, usually racing with anxiety and memories, grows quiet.
There's only this moment—the soft sound of his breathing, the occasional clink of cup against saucer, the warmth radiating from his body so close to mine.
I find myself sinking deeper into this moment of calm, my body relaxing in a way I haven't experienced since before the facility.
My thoughts, usually a chaotic storm of memories and fears, have quieted to a gentle hum.
The position—on my knees beside Aiden—feels right somehow, like I've found my place after months of drifting.
His hand comes to rest on my head, fingers gently stroking my hair. I stiffen for just a moment before melting into the touch. It's so different from the harsh handling I've grown accustomed to. This touch doesn't demand or hurt—it soothes, connects.
"How are you feeling?" Aiden asks, his voice low.
I consider the question, searching for the right words. "Peaceful," I finally say. "Like I can breathe again."
His fingers continue their gentle path through my hair. "Good. That's what this should feel like."
When he finishes his tea, he sets the cup down and shifts on the couch to face me more directly. "Stand up," he says.
I rise to my feet in one fluid motion, my body responding to his command without hesitation. The ease of the command feels right, natural in a way I never expected. There's freedom in this surrender, a lightness that comes from letting someone else direct my movements, even temporarily.
Aiden rises too, standing close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
"I want you to understand something, Lana.
What we're doing right now—this exchange of power—it's meant to serve both of us.
My dominance isn't about breaking you down.
It's about holding space for you to let go safely. "
His words sink into me, a balm on wounds I've been carrying for months. At the facility, submission was forced, a breaking of will through pain and fear. This feels like something else entirely—a gift freely given, a burden willingly shared.
"For the rest of the evening," Aiden continues, "I'm going to give you simple tasks. Each one is designed to help you stay present in your body, to focus on the moment rather than your memories. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir," I say, the words feeling more natural each time I speak them.
"Good girl." He touches my face briefly, his fingers warm against my cheek. "First, I want you to shower and change into something comfortable," he says. "Something that makes you feel good."
I nod, grateful for the directive. Making decisions has been overwhelming since I returned home—too many options after months of having no choices at all. Even selecting clothes each morning leaves me paralyzed with indecision.
"Take your time," Aiden adds. "I'll be here when you finish."
I retreat to the bathroom, closing the door behind me with a soft click. The small space feels safe, contained. I turn on the shower and let the room fill with steam before undressing slowly, avoiding the mirror.
I'm not ready to confront my reflection yet—the body that still feels like it belongs to someone else.
The hot water cascades over me, and I close my eyes, focusing on the sensation.
This is another luxury I'm still getting used to—showers that can last as long as I want, water as hot as I can stand.
At the facility, showers were cold, brief, often witnessed by guards.
Now I can stand here until the water runs cold, and no one will punish me for it.
I wash my hair with deliberate care, massaging the shampoo into my scalp, letting my fingertips press in small circles that remind me I'm here, in this body that's mine again. The repetitive motion soothes me, anchoring me to the present when my mind threatens to drift.
When I step out of the shower, I wrap myself in a thick towel, patting my skin dry with gentle care. I select a pair of soft cotton pajama pants and a loose t-shirt—comfortable clothes that feel like me, not the revealing outfits they forced us to wear at the facility.
I brush my hair, watching droplets of water darken the fabric of my shirt. My hands move automatically, performing this simple task that connects me to the woman I used to be. The woman who got ready for bed without fear, who didn't flinch at shadows or startle at unexpected sounds.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Aiden is sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He looks up when I enter, his eyes moving over me in a way that doesn't feel invasive but appreciative.
"Better?" he asks.
I nod. "Yes, Sir."
"Come here," he says, patting the space next to him on the couch.
I hesitate for a moment, then move to the couch, sitting close enough to feel his warmth but not quite touching. My body still hums with a strange energy—part tension, part something else I'm afraid to name.
"How does it feel," he asks, "to make your own choices again? Even something as simple as what to wear?"
The question catches me off guard. I stare down at my hands, considering. "Strange," I admit. "Sometimes I stand in front of my closet and can't decide. There are too many options after having none."
Aiden nods, his expression thoughtful. "That's normal. Freedom can be overwhelming after captivity."
"Is that why this feels... good?" I gesture vaguely between us. "Having someone else make decisions for me again?"
"Partly," he says. "But there's a crucial difference. You chose this. You can end it with a word." His hand moves to rest beside mine on the couch, not quite touching. "That's what makes it healing rather than harmful."
I let his words sink in, feeling their truth resonate through me. This is nothing like the facility. There, my submission was taken. Here, I'm giving it freely. The difference feels monumental, like comparing drowning to swimming.
"What happens now?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.