Thirty-One Evelyn
I opened my eyes at the word, shifting as I tried to take in my surroundings and make sense of what was happening. I felt disoriented, as though I’d been abruptly pulled from a deep sleep—but instead of refreshed, I felt anything but.
“Evelyn, please respond. Kiwi.” Her voice sounded strained as she shook me gently, fumbling with the knots.
“Is there a fire?” For some reason, that had always been my one fear when it came to being restrained by her.
“Fuck, I can’t,” she muttered, the echo of a drawer being yanked open filling the room.
“What’s wrong?” I tried to sit up, only to feel the scarves still binding my limbs. I couldn’t see much from where I lay flat on my back. I strained my neck, confusion spiking as she lifted a sharp blade.
“Vanessa, please!” I exclaimed, panic rising. I tugged at the fabric. Why wasn’t she just untying me? There was no smoke, no alarm. Why had she used our safe word only to hesitate?
“Honey, I’m going to cut you out.” Her voice was alarmingly weak.
I nodded, trusting she would explain later. Something was clearly wrong.
She set the knife down as her hand began to shake.
“I’m having a migraine,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her temple and closing her eyes as she winced.
“I understand. I’m okay. Don’t worry about me—do whatever you need to,” I said, steadying my breathing.
“I can’t leave you alone like this,” she murmured, more to herself than to me. Her gaze darted between me and the en-suite bathroom, the color draining from her face.
“Vanessa, go. I’m fine,” I urged gently.
She disappeared into the bathroom.
I lay there for what felt like hours, helpless and exposed. Though my only real fear centered on whether she was okay.
She returned shortly after, posture forced into something closer to its usual composure as she rushed toward me. The ornate clock on her nightstand said only nine minutes had passed. She didn’t speak, keeping her head down as she undid the knots around my wrists in complete silence.
“This isn’t your fault,” I said breaking the tense silence.
She didn’t respond as she made quick work of freeing my ankles.
The guilt radiating off her formed a pit in my own stomach.
“You had no way of knowing, and I’m completely unharmed,” I continued, hoping she’d just apologize so I could assure her it was okay.
“That doesn’t matter, Evelyn,” she muttered, not meeting my eyes—a stark contrast to her usual confidence.
Sensing she wouldn’t be saying sorry or anything else for the time being, I slipped one of her shirts over my head and fetched us both glasses of water.
“Thank you,” she said, her tone flat. She gave me a small, empty nod before taking a few slow sips.
“How do you feel now?” I asked, recognizing she wasn’t apologizing out of fear anything she’d say would be an understanding.
“I’m not worried about me right now. Not like that.”
“Nessa, I am. What can I do?”
She finally looked up at me, meeting my eyes. She blinked a few times, as if she were slowly processing the fact that I was actually okay—and that everything was, for the moment, safe enough to speak honestly again.
“Honestly,” she said at last, “I feel ill. My head’s pounding, and the nausea hasn’t gone away.”
“Can I make you ginger tea? Maybe a bath would help?” I asked, hoping she’d recognize the sincerity in how much I just wanted to take care of her.
“I’ll run the bath. There’s fresh ginger in a jar in the lower left of my fridge.”
I’d meant a tea bag, but of course she would think to use fresh ginger. I wanted to run the bath for her so she could rest, but I understood she needed the control of doing it herself.
I sliced and steeped the ginger, adding lemon and raw honey before pouring two mugs. When I returned upstairs, she was kneeling beside the tub, adjusting the temperature, her expression more solemn.
“Has it gotten worse?” I asked, setting the tea on the wide glass ledge.
“Not specifically.” She didn’t say it, but I could feel she wasn’t just troubled by pain. She seemed to be having an emotional drop too.
“Vanessa, you can’t blame yourself for this,” I said, kneeling beside her. “You did nothing wrong.”
“I should have been more careful. Better prepared,” she said dryly.
“You were prepared. I was never in danger—the knots were loose enough. You even kept a knife nearby.”
“And yet you had to be vulnerable and exposed when you didn’t want to be.”
My blood ran cold. This wasn’t just about the scene.
“No. I didn’t feel that way. I was with you. I could never feel that way when I’m with you.”
She didn’t respond. She turned off the water, undressed slowly, tied up her hair, and stepped into the bath, closing her eyes.
“Nessa, can I come in too?”
“Of course,” she whispered, offering a strained smile as she reached for her tea.
“Your hair,” she reminded gently with a softer smile.
I clipped it up and took her hand as I stepped in, appreciating the way the eucalyptus and Epsom salt filled the air. I settled against her, nuzzling into her chest, listening to her heartbeat as she sipped her tea.
After a few minutes of holding me, it began to slow. I closed my eyes as she traced soothing circles along my arms. But when I smelled vanilla bourbon, I opened them to find soap suds across both our skin.
“Nessa, the world won’t end if you let me take care of you for once, you know,” I commented.
She rolled her eyes, looking more like herself.
“You are. The tea is exquisite, and this is exactly what I need. Letting me take care of you is taking care of me.”
“But you don’t tell me what you need enough. I want to do more for you.”
“I haven’t told you because I haven’t needed to. You figure it out. Those pancakes that morning—you hadn’t even been given permission to use my kitchen yet, and you made them.” She kissed the top of my head, then each of my wrinkled hands lightly.
I mirrored her exactly, planting exaggerated kisses on her head in hopes of making her laugh. I was glad when she did.
“We’ve been in here too long. I need to sleep this off,” she said after a comfortable silence.
After I helped her get ready—we climbed into bed.
Vanessa fell asleep within seconds. It took me much longer, as I lay awake, the weight of the evening settling over me.
She shifted eventually, gently lifting me off her and resting my head against a pillow. She pulled the covers to my neck, pressed a kiss to my forehead, and sat up to take another sip of water.
I couldn't hold back a smile at her affectionate gesture, giving me away. But just like all those weeks ago, I continued pretending to be asleep. I didn't want her to worry that I had been up.
"Hello to you too, Evelyn," I could hear the smile in her voice as she recalled the same scenario.
I giggled, opening my eyes.
"Why are you up, darling?" Vanessa inquired, her voice angelic but nevertheless demanding an answer.
"My insomnia," I murmured, my eyes downcast to avoid her disapproving look.
"From what I've observed, my mere presence has been the balm. Have my calming charms lost their abilities?" she inquired playfully.
"No, I'm just thinking," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
"About?" Vanessa's gaze intensified, capturing mine with an unspoken demand for honesty.
"You... I was worried about you," I confessed, sliding down to lean my head against her legs. She was always the strong one.
“I’m so sorry I worried you, Evelyn—truly.
While I’ve gotten used to expecting these migraines each month, they usually come with warning signs.
Luckily, mine are consistently on the shorter side.
” She dropped her hand down to hold me. “I don’t want you to ever be put in that position again.
I’m going to think through some precautions and a plan for what we should do if it happens during a scene.
I’ll write it up properly in the file and go over it with you tomorrow. ”
"Write it up in the file?"
"Yes, after our first conversation, I created a secure file saved with important information you've shared and relevant insights I've gathered—soft limits, hard limits, sensitivities, your nuanced responses to things we've tried, and aftercare techniques that I've learned work best with you," she shared casually, petting my hair with one hand.
I frowned, completely unsure how to feel about this. It was completely in character for her, with her insatiable need to organize everything. I was honestly surprised she didn't ask me to sign some sort of formal contract or NDA; she definitely seemed the type.
"So in short, you made a 50 Shades of Grey style contract except I don't get access to it." I lifted my head to get a better look at her, but she pushed it back down.
"It's not a contract per se, more my personal notes. I can't enjoy doing things to you when I'm not 100% confident it's something you desire, and it pained me not being able to end something when it became something you no longer enjoyed."
I understood where she was coming from.
"You can't compare—it’s incomparable. But Nessa, I want to see it. I'm sure I could make corrections, considering it quite literally is about me."
"It doesn't need corrections," she replied defensively. "But if you insist, I'll share it with you and we can go over it together."
"Good," I said as Nessa put down her glass and lay back down. I lifted my head off her legs, crawling back up from near the base of the bed.
"Evelyn, please fetch me another glass of water," she ordered sweetly before I could lie back down.
I paused. Vanessa never gave me commands like that, though I wouldn't mind if she did. Her head had to be the reason she uncharacteristically preferred to rest, but I didn't mention it. Instead, I took advantage of this rare opportunity to serve her like this.
"Yes, Vanessa," I grinned, crawling off the bed, eager to oblige.
"Good girl," she purred as I sauntered back, kissing my forehead and pulling me back against her.
After spending Saturday with her as well—where we had a much better time—we reached the conclusion that if we left our phones on, I could always use Siri to contact help.
It was now late Wednesday afternoon, and I was watching her prepare to lead one of her weekly department meetings.
She’d seated me next to her at the table as she spoke, claiming my presence would calm her.
It was ironic to hear, considering I’d been on edge for the past few days, waiting to hear back from the university.
Still, I hadn’t passed up the opportunity to be near her.
Sitting with my laptop open, I typed notes on nearly everything she said.
Knowing my days here might be numbered, I’d found a new burst of motivation, wanting to make the most of them.
My need to impress Vanessa hadn’t disappeared, and I’d never become desensitized to her praise—no matter the context—but it was no longer a problem. Now, it was something we could embrace.
Every word from her mouth commanded the attention of everyone in the room.
Though she couldn’t exactly be described as calm, there was nothing chaotic about her demeanor.
When she tapped her heel rhythmically to emphasize a point or coolly overruled someone’s objection, she was every bit the queen—and this multi-billion-dollar company her palace.
Tearing my eyes away from her, I forced myself back to my typing. In the corner of my screen, a notification popped up from my inbox. The sender: the university.
My breath caught. I clicked on the long-awaited email, Vanessa’s captivating voice fading into the background.
My heart dropped. My mouth going dry as I read the first sentence.
‘Thank you for your interest. Unfortunately—’
I shut my laptop in record time, refusing to process what I’d seen. It didn’t make sense.
I glanced at Vanessa. She was speaking to someone on her other side. She hadn’t noticed, and I didn’t want her to. The disappointment burned, but the shame and humiliation were worse—deeper. I tried to refocus, but my mind went blank. Everything felt unreal, distant.
I reached for the pen beside me, deciding to write by hand instead, thinking it would help. After my second word, I dropped it.
The pen clattered loudly against the marble floor in the sudden lull of conversation.
I bent down to retrieve it, meeting Vanessa’s eyes on the way up. “Sorry,” I muttered quickly, scribbling down notes I’d already written, as if to prove my attention.
The tip of her heel grazed my calf in a subtle, sensual gesture that would usually set my body alight. This time, I felt nothing, ignoring her completely.
The rest of the meeting passed with my head down, furiously writing anything and everything while her gaze burned into me.
I barely registered when it ended. I stood automatically, desperate to escape to my office and release everything I’d buried over the last forty-five minutes.
“Evelyn, unfortunately I have one last meeting scheduled now, but you’re coming to my place after,” she said, gathering her papers.
“I can’t tonight,” I mumbled, already near the door.
“Evelyn, you do not walk away when I am speaking to you.” I stopped moving, but I didn’t turn around. If I did, she would read everything in my eyes. “Unless you have a legitimate reason, you can—and you will,” she added coolly, turning on her heel.
With the productivity surge from the previous week, I was able to leave an hour early. So I did, and went straight to my apartment where I unraveled completely.
I sobbed for nearly an hour—first over how I’d let my mother ruin everything for me, then over the possibility that maybe she’d been right all along, and finally over how I’d ruined everything at Vector Line—which inevitably spiraled into how I’d therefore ruined everything with Vanessa.
It felt delusional that some random professor from the university, Meghan, and especially Vanessa believed I could be a successful professor when my own mother never had.
When the crying finally subsided, it gave way to something else: the need to cope.
I considered alcohol, but I was still rational enough to know it would only make things worse. So I reached for my phone instead.
Vanessa’s offer to come over still stood.
She could give me exactly what I needed to forget.
Evelyn: I'm sorry for being rude earlier, I definitely deserve to be punished for it tonight.