Chapter 2 Kieran #2
He pauses for a brief moment, “After you texted, I had some of the guys get started on getting rid of a few things.”
He opens the door with his key and steps inside.
It’s bare now. Emptier than I’ve ever seen it.
Instead of those chairs and high top table in the middle of the room, they are now gone.
All that remains are the chipped gray walls, which will need refreshing, the drab red curtains hanging over the large window, and the harsh white lighting from the overhead lights.
“This is it,” Vincent says, folding his arms as he surveys the space. “Clean slate.”
I glance around the room. “It doesn’t feel like her anymore.”
He raises a brow, confused. “You mean Deirdre?”
“No. I mean…Alexis,” I say quickly, brushing a hand through my hair. “It used to feel darker. It housed my pain. It was meant for control. Power.” I step further in. “But now, I want it to be about trust. Intimacy. Surrender without fear.”
Vincent leans against the doorframe, studying me. “You’re talking about more than walls and furniture, brother.”
I sigh. “Yeah.”
A pause lingers between us before he speaks again, quieter this time. “What do you want this room to be, Kieran? Say it out loud.”
I look at him. Really look.
“I want it to be the kind of place she doesn’t flinch in,” I say. “I want it to be her safe place. Warm and comfortable for her.” I motion to the window, “Deep purple curtains, instead. Her favorite color.”
I look around the room, scanning while my mind thinks of ideas. “Rope, and cuffs, things she may want to explore. Light she can control. Mirrors she can look into and still see her worth. A place where curiosity isn’t punished.”
Vincent nods. “That we can do.”
He pulls a small notepad from his coat, already jotting down materials. “We’ll get rid of the overheads. Replace it with adjustable lighting. Maybe some dimmable wall sconces. Add a deep purple palette, rose gold accents, candles that look expensive but don’t smell like cheap vanilla sex shops.”
Despite myself, I smirk. “You’ve been watching too many design shows.”
“I have taste, professor,” he says dryly, flipping to a new page. “What about music control?”
“Wireless. Discreet.”
He scribbles it down, then glances at me again, brow furrowing slightly.
“You eaten today?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Do liquified coffee beans count as food?”
“Figured.” He sighs and closes the notepad. “How’s she doing?”
“She moved her hand today.” My voice is hoarse. “Small, but…something.”
We stand in silence for a moment, taking in the new project before us.
A knot of dread forms in the pit of my stomach as dark thoughts begin to cloud my mind. Here I am, wanting to change this whole room for her, as if it will represent some new beginning, and I don’t even know who she will be when she wakes up, if she wakes up.
“Vincent, she’s going to wake up, right? I mean, she’s going to come back to me. She has to,” I ask, desperately needing him to convince me.
His shoulders drop, and there’s a shadow behind his eyes, but he answers me with earnestness in his voice. “That girl’s tougher than most men I know. She’s going to pull through.”
“I want to believe that.”
“You have to,” he says firmly. “Because if you let the fear eat you alive, she’ll wake up and find a man she doesn’t recognize.”
That lands.
He walks further into the room, his footsteps echoing in the emptiness. “You remember what this club used to be? A place people came to forget who they were.”
“And now?”
“Now,” he says, turning back to face me, “it’ll be where people remember who they want to become.”
I look around, imagining her here. Not trembling. Not guarded. But powerful. Desired. Safe.
“When can we start?” I ask.
Vincent claps me on the back. “Tomorrow. I’ve already got a few of our best contractors lined up to help with the build. We’ll make this room hers, even if she never knows it.”
My throat tightens at the last few words, but I manage to nod. “Thank you.”
He pauses at the door, watching me as I linger. “And Kieran?”
“Yeah?”
“If you need to scream, drink, or break something, don’t do it alone.”
I nod again.
When he leaves, I stay behind for a while. Just breathing. Thinking.
And praying—though I’ve long stopped believing in prayer—that she’ll wake up and walk through this door one day.
Day 5: Sunday
You’re still not awake, but your fingers moved again today. More than once. The nurse said it’s a reflex. I know better. You’re fighting. You’ve always been a fighter, even when you doubted yourself.
Your pulse is stronger. Your color looks a little less pale. Still no response. But something is shifting.
Hope is a dangerous thing, but I feel it creeping in.
I stay until the nurses shoo me out again.
Back home, I sit in my study, our journal open before me, a pen clutched in my hand, scratching these words across the paper. I write because it’s the only thing that keeps me grounded.
The night I met you—before the semester started—I denied Miss Legs for Days for the umpteenth time. She knew. She was angry. I didn’t care. Because that night you didn’t just walk into my VIP room, you walked straight into my heart.
The girl with fire in her eyes and sorrow in her bones.
You changed everything.
And I’m still here—waiting for you to open your eyes and wreck me all over again.
All my love,
Kieran