Chapter Two
Milly
This test is so fucking stupid. Do people really like taking orders from their partners?
I’ve never really dated anyone, but I’ve fucked plenty of men.
None of them has ever told me to do something, and I actually liked it before.
Granted… Most of them have never made me come either, so maybe I’m just fucking the wrong people.
Ten, obviously.
Do they have a camera on me or something? Ten. Pain is the only thing that grounds me most of the time.
I get through all one hundred questions before standing and handing my tablet to the man at the front of the room. “Your marriage placement will be Friday evening at six. Be sure to be in the auditorium ten minutes prior. You will be placed with ten other couples that evening,” he tells me.
“Uh… okay,” I say, confused. I know Greg thinks all women should take the test, but I didn’t think this was how he would force me to marry someone.
Hopefully, they are telling the truth about compatibility.
Greg was bitching recently because leadership changed within The Society.
It is a woman and her partners running things now.
I don’t know much about what’s going on simply because Greg never allowed Molly and me to mingle with any of them.
I’m scared that I won’t get to see Molly anymore after getting married, but if we are supposedly compatible, then they should be my perfect match, right?
My perfect match would want to help me save her from him, not keep her with him.
The school was renamed right around the time that the marriage pact program restarted after being shut down years ago.
I like the sound of The Dove Institute. It almost makes me believe that freedom is possible.
I wanted to sign up for their submissive classes, but I never could get them to answer me if Molly could, so Greg made me do this instead.
I should probably mention this test to Grayson today, but I will wait until Friday so I can try and make sense of this first. Maybe I am misunderstanding.
When I get to Grayson’s office, I knock lightly. “It’s open,” he calls out. I open the door, and Grayson looks up at me from his desk and smiles warmly. “Hey, Milly. You are early.”
“Yeah. I was already on campus. Is that okay?” I ask.
“Of course. I have a free hour before our sessions on Mondays and Wednesdays. You know you are always welcome to come hang out early,” he tells me.
Grayson Torres is a tall—at least six feet three inches—and muscular man with sandy blonde hair.
It’s longer, but perfectly styled. I’d love to run my fingers through it, but I won’t…
Because that would be weird. He looks like he lifts weights or something, because his arm muscles are fucking thick.
I am around five feet five inches. By societal standards, I am pretty with my round ass, thick thighs, and big breasts, but Mom loves to nitpick the shit out of me.
Greg too. They say some of the rudest things to me, but Greg says way worse to Molly.
He is always telling her that she is lucky her cunt is so inviting, or else no one would want her.
How could someone say something like that?
Molly is a beautiful woman. I wish she could see it, though. She is always so hard on herself.
I sit, and Grayson sits on the opposite side of the couch from me. He has his tablet, but he is focused on me. “How have things been since Monday?” Grayson asks me.
“Uh…” I say. “Greg raped Molly again last night.”
“Oh?” he says. “What happened there?”
“I feel like this is a trick,” I admit with a frown.
“Why do you feel like I am tricking you?”
“I don’t know. You always ask me to explain. It feels like you are trying to catch me slipping or something,” I say with a shrug. “Like suddenly details won’t match up, and you’ll tell me I’m lying.”
“Have you ever blatantly lied to me before?”
“No,” I say. “I just tell you what I can remember. No sense in lying about it.”
“Okay. Have I ever accused you of lying?” he asks.
“No,” I sigh. “Never mind. Anyway. He came into the room and raped her. I held her hand and pretended to sleep as usual. He was a lot rougher with her than he has been lately. Maybe that’s why she was crying like that.”
“Like what exactly? Was something about the crying different?”
“She just sounded so… Broken,” I say. “I’m afraid that she might hurt herself. She doesn’t really talk to me much. She listens, but she’s just… Silent. I haven’t heard anything from her but crying in days.”
“Why do you think she might hurt herself?” Grayson asks. “Has she tried to?”
“No, she just… I don’t know how to explain it. She just seems to be giving up. I try to tell her that I will get her out, but I’m afraid she is giving up on the idea of being able to leave,” I explain.
“I know you’ve struggled after these incidents. How are you doing since that?”
“You’re going to lock me in the loony bin one day,” I laugh nervously.
“You laugh when you are nervous,” he says. “How deep was the cut this time?”
“Uh. It was deep, but not like… bad,” I say with a shrug. Grayson stands and retrieves his first aid kit before coming over to sit on the ottoman in front of me.
“Let’s see it. You are the world’s worst medic,” he jokes.
“How was I supposed to know duct tape wasn’t a good alternative?” I ask.
“Mhmm. Let’s see it, Milly,” he says with a smirk.
“It’s a little far up,” I say, stalling.
Grayson pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and hands it to me. “Turn and put your legs up. Cover up however you are comfortable.”
“You can’t get mad at me,” I say as I turn in my seat to stretch my legs out. My belly is crampy today, so this is more comfortable anyhow. I bet my period is coming soon. My birth control usually stops me from having a period, but occasionally one sneaks through.
“You know I would never get mad at you for this, Milly,” Grayson says. “You keep cutting deeper, though, so we really need to find you a coping skill that doesn’t cause you harm.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Short of whipping myself, who the fuck knows?”
“Whipping?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at me.
“Sorry,” I laugh. “Greg made me take some stupid test. That’s why I was on campus early. It was asking some questions about pain tolerance and if I liked pain. I don’t know.”
“The marriage pact program?” he asks.
“Yeah. I guess.” I shrug.
“He is making you get married? When did they say your placement was?” he asks.
“Next week,” I lie. I don’t know why I lied. I could have just told him the truth. “Whoever wrote that test should be smacked for making me so bored.”
“Well, I’d prefer you didn’t smack me,” he laughs. I gasp, and he grins and shakes his head at me. “You didn’t know I wrote that test?”
“I didn’t know you did anything with the school besides therapy,” I say.
“Most of what I do is BDSM therapy,” he says. “Did Greg not tell you that?”
“No. He told me that he’d kill me if I tried to fuck you, since apparently that’s all he thinks I do is fuck people,” I explain.
“You’re still stalling. Show me the cut, Milly,” Grayson says.
“Damn, I was hoping you forgot,” I say as I adjust the blanket and pull my dress up my thigh to expose the bandage. It’s about four inches below my hip. I knew he’d want to see. I should have worn panties today. Now he knows I’m not wearing any.
Grayson gently pulls the bandage off and sighs. “Milly, honey,” he says. “Why did you cut this deep?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I don’t know what was different last night than any other night.”
“Well, your father’s birthday is soon. Do you think there is a connection?” Grayson asks.
“I mean… probably. The past few weeks, Mom hasn’t said hardly anything to Molly. Greg only does when he is raping her. It’s like she doesn’t exist outside of Greg hitting her,” I say. “It sucks to see her hurting.”
“So first off, I’m going to clean this with some saline and glue it. Probably needs stitches, but I’d like to avoid needles with you,” he says. “Second, we need to make a decision on some things.”
“Okay. Like what?”
“Your cuts are getting worse, which concerns me. I made you a deal a long time ago that I wouldn’t make a big deal out of it unless you escalated.”
“Really?” I deadpan.
“Don’t do that. You know why I am saying this. Don’t you?” he asks, and I nod. “Now… Option one, I place you on a seventy-two-hour hold so I can observe you and determine if you need inpatient care.”
“Greg would freak the fuck out,” I say.
“Option two, we try EMDR therapy. It means eye movement desensitization and reprocessing. It’s a form of psychotherapy that helps recover and process traumatic events.”
“Why haven’t we tried that before?” I ask.
“Because you weren’t ready for it. With some people, it can do more harm than good if the patient isn’t in the right space for it. I think we have reached a point that you need inpatient care,” he says. “Next time, you could do a lot more damage.”
I clamp my mouth shut and look down at my hand, and tears well up in my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whimper.
“Talk to me, Milly,” Grayson says as he cleans the cut on my leg.
“I don’t want to die, I just want the world to stop hurting me. Everything always fucking hurts. I feel insane, and I hate it…”
“You aren’t insane, Milly. Why do you think you are?”
“I don’t know. I just… Mom and Greg say that I am. Greg says…”
“Look at me,” Grayson says softly. I do, and I have tears rolling down my cheeks. “You aren’t crazy, Milly. You are traumatized, and your brain is desperately trying to cope… What does Greg say?”
“Anytime I mention Molly… He says that I’m crazy,” I say. “Now, you’re looking at me like… Maybe I do need to be in inpatient care.”
“Do you trust me, Milly?” Grayson asks.
“Yeah,” I say honestly. “Maybe too much.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’d do anything you asked just because it was you who asked,” I admit. Oh… Now I get it. I’d crawl over broken glass if this man asked me to.