Under His Control (Who She Became #1)

vi.

I sat on the edge of my bed.

The soft cotton sheets were comforting.

I laid back and felt the slight fuzz from the sheets rubbing against my skin.

Suddenly my bed felt smaller than before.

My pillow didn’t support my neck in quite the same way as I had remembered.

I laid there listening to the silence.

I was periodically interrupted by the noise from the street, the hum of the refrigerator, and the buzz of the lights overhead.

My body stirred on top of the sheets, seeking comfort.

I rolled to one side, staring at the bland gray wall.

The dull orange tinge from the overhead light diluted the wall’s color.

I rolled to my other side in my everlasting search for comfort.

I stared at my pressed wood dresser.

The fake veneer had begun peeling on one corner, the black plastic handles catching reflections of the light overhead.

My pillow suddenly felt scratchy beneath my head.

I found myself constantly scratching an itch that didn’t exist.

I grabbed my phone, the screen blinded me with its brightness that reminded me of Damian’s bathroom.

I dragged down on my notifications; none had been missed.

I dragged down once more just to make sure I didn’t make a mistake.

I laid my phone beside me, sprawling out while releasing a deep breath.

My body shot itself up into a seated position.

My eyes wandered across my apartment.

My once humble and satisfying efficiency apartment suddenly felt unfamiliar.

My refrigerator wasn’t the same shade of white I had remembered.

The windows were less clear.

I looked down at my arms.

The light seemed to reflect off of my skin rather than soaking in.

I touched my neck where his hand once laid, but I couldn’t replicate the feeling.

My hand touched my shirt.

It was perfectly my size but somehow didn’t fit as well as the one he gave me.

I stood and walked toward the refrigerator.

I opened it looking for something, but not sure what yet.

In the back, behind the milk and butter, was a plastic container of strawberries.

I pulled them from the back of the fridge, bumping the things in the way.

I sat them on my faux wood table.

I looked around, almost confused.

I remembered that I had to gather my own plate.

I opened the cupboard and grabbed the plate.

It was bright white, a faint reminder of the ones Damian had.

I placed it on the table.

The plastic container snapped open after a gentle pry.

I carried them to the sink and turned on the water.

The water splashed over the berries as I wafted them back and forth through the stream.

I took them back to the table and put three on the plate.

I pulled out my chair.

The legs scraped loudly against the floor.

I sat down and shuffled forward without any assistance.

I looked on the table for a knife to cut the tops off of the berries, but I had forgotten.

The chair repeated the same loud scrape as I slid it backwards, leaving it out as I pulled a knife from my drawer.

I took my seat again and trimmed the top off of the first strawberry.

The first thing to hit my tongue was the clean taste of the water that was the same as the fruit at Damian’s.

I bit down in anticipation of the sweetness.

I tasted it.

It was a glorious feeling that took me back to his kitchen.

My mind suddenly was elsewhere.

With my eyes closed I took myself there.

Every bite I took reminded me of the sweetness, not only from the berries, but from the day as a whole.

The seeds danced on my tongue as I slowly chewed and swallowed every bite.

I was there again.

My shoulders sank as I relaxed into the moment.

I trimmed the tops of the other fruits, and each bite took me back to him.

I finished the last bite.

I took my plate to the sink.

I turned the water on so that a gentle stream was striking the plate.

I lifted my sponge from the back of the counter and put a drop of soap on it.

I cleaned the light pink residue from the plate, rinsing the last of the soap.

I put it into the strainer and began walking to my dresser.

I pulled out a set of clothes that were folded sloppily.

I refolded them neatly and rested them on top of the dresser.

Normally I would drape a towel on the shower curtain rod when I took a bath but this time I got a towel and folded very neatly and placed it on the stand next to my bathtub.

I gathered my post shower products and aligned them neatly next to my sink.

As I made my way back to my dresser I stared at my change of clothes.

I picked them up and returned them to the dresser in their original spot, removing an oversized white t shirt to replace them atop the dresser.

I carried it to the bathroom staring down at it as I was walking.

I laid the shirt down beside my things on the counter, pressing it firmly to keep the edges cleanly folded.

I stripped myself down in preparation for my bath.

I rested on the edge of the tub as the water filled it.

I cut off the water and stepped over the edge.

I stood for just a moment before lowering myself in the water was warm.

Nearly perfect.

Still, I found myself missing the steady hand that helped me into it before.

I soaked in the water, making myself weightless like before.

I rubbed the rag across my body.

I felt different still.

Even in my home I felt like I was someone else.

I laid calmly in the water.

I focused mainly on my breathing.

I was calm.

My head was clear.

I was weightless.

My eyes slowly transitioned from open to closed.

I floated for a while; losing track of time.

I opened my eyes the final time.

I stood and allowed the beads of water to flow down me freely. I grabbed the towel from the stand and began drying myself. I stepped out with one foot, drying it first followed by the other. I worked my way over to the counter and held my hand on top of the white shirt for a moment before picking it up. I slid it over me. The oversized folds fit my body better than any other piece of clothing I had. I fumbled through my skin care products on the counter. One at a time, I applied them and looked at the result on me. My skin was gaining the recognizable glow that I craved so much.

I left the bathroom and wandered through my house aimlessly. I took a moment to show appreciation to things that I normally took for granted.

I appreciated my curtains that I normally complained about letting in too much light.

I appreciated my floors that squeaked as I walked across them.

Even the normally bleak colored walls were gaining my appreciation for simply keeping me safe.

I found myself honoring my home for taking care of me.

I made my way back to the kitchen.

I had a special bottle of red wine I saved.

I had one glass every time that I had something I wanted to celebrate.

I grabbed my favorite glass.

It was one with a long stem and a wide bulb on top.

It was made of real crystal.

I only used it for special occasions.

I filled the glass a little more full than I usually do.

I made my way back to the couch, sitting with my legs bent beside me.

I swirled the glass, the scent rose before the glass ever touched my lips.

Dark and warm, slightly sweet, with something sharp beneath it that made me inhale again just to understand.

The first sip surprised me.

Bold at first, almost too much, before soft notes lingered behind it.

Warmth slowly spread through my chest.

I took another sip, slower this time.

Somehow it tasted better when I stopped fighting it.

My eyes wandered as I enjoyed my celebration.

My home was silent, brightly lit by outside light making its way through my partially closed curtains.

My breath was slow and effortless.

I occasionally swirled my glass mindlessly as my mind wandered.

As I took my last sip from my glass I let the warmth travel through my body as I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply through my nose.

I exhaled through my mouth and stood.

As I made my way to the kitchen my mind was at ease, almost blank.

As I rinsed my glass even the water seemed calm, warm.

I sat my cup to dry.

My body carried me toward my bedroom.

I sat on the edge of the bed before laying back.

The cotton sheets held me, but they left me wanting more.

I rustled through my pocket and pulled out my phone.

The screen lit up the room for a moment before fading back to black.

No missed calls.

No messages.

I set it on the nightstand and folded my hands across my stomach.

The apartment was quiet again.

The refrigerator hummed softly.

A car passed somewhere outside.

The same sounds I listened to every night before today.

Only they weren’t the same.

Neither was I.

My fingers drifted absentmindedly to my neck, to the place where his hand had rested. I closed my eyes, and for the briefest moment I could feel it again. The warmth. The safety. The quiet certainty that I had belonged somewhere.

A faint smile crossed my lips.

I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. I didn’t know what place a man like Damian Vale could ever have in a life like mine. But as sleep slowly found me, one thought settled into my mind with a certainty I couldn’t explain.

I wasn’t waiting for his call.

I was waiting for him.