Chapter 5
When he leaves the room,I take a few minutes to collect my thoughts. I haven’t thought of my mother or… or the other for a very long time. The pain I’m in has my defenses down, and that’s unacceptable. I close my eyes and imagine the wall I built around all the things I can’t deal with. Try as I might the wall won’t go back up. The emotional hurts keep spilling out, amplifying my pain. I realize I’m crying. Whether my tears are from my emotional pain or physical, I don’t know. Both are crippling.
Please, God, just let me forget again,I pray. Please. I visualize the crumbled wall in my mind and carefully start to pick up the bricks and stack them back together. It’s no longer the strong, tall wall it once was. Now the bricks are haphazardly stacked and held together with metaphorical bubble gum and duct tape, but it will have to do. Just as I stick the final brick into place and the memory of my mother’s face disappears behind it, the door to my room opens.
There’s no knock or warning of anyone approaching except the click-clack of high-heeled shoes on the tile floor. “So I hear you are finally back with us,” a reedy voice quips as she comes into my line of sight. “Some mess you got yourself into. A fine mess, indeed. Master Bennett tells me that you’re in a great deal of pain and understandably so,” she tsks. “I can give you some pain medication which you should use because frankly, you have a long road of recovery, and without it, you won’t be getting rid of that catheter anytime soon.”
Well, that’s news to me I didn’t even know I had a catheter in. The lady, who I’m assuming is the doctor, doesn’t pause for my response, so I just blink stupidly as she carries on a one-sided conversation.
“Do you have any allergies I should be aware of? Do you have a primary care physician? Who is it that will be assisting in your recovery? I can get you my card, and I can handle your care if need be, it would be charged to your account here at the club and added to your fees.”
My head spins at all her questions. I hardly know which one to answer first, again I only manage to blink up at her. “Well?” she asks, seeming a bit put out by my silence. She turns a pointed look to the person standing just behind her. “Has she spoken at all? Did you find her membership records yet?”
I notice for the first time that the man, who I’m beginning to think of as my hero, is standing just behind the doctor. I was so overwhelmed by the doctor and her rapid-fire questions I hadn’t even noticed him. I give him a pleading look, and he steps forward, grabbing my hand, then runs his thumb over my knuckles soothing me. My tense muscles relax, and I breathe out a sigh of relief.
“No doc, we don’t have her membership records. From my understanding, she was brought as a guest, and Adrianne didn’t verify her information. No one else in the club recognized her to give us a name. Damon, of course, is no help,” my whole body stiffens at the sound of Damon’s name, “and until about ten minutes ago, she’s been unconscious. So no, I don’t know who she is… yet.”
His tone is quite harsh with the doctor, and I notice she averts her gaze from his and looks submissively towards the floor. “I’m sorry, sir, I meant no disrespect. I forgot my place.”
He nods to her, then turns his burning blue gaze back to me. “Miss, can you answer the doctor’s questions?”
I shift my head in just a tiny nod and open my mouth to speak, again only a hoarse whisper comes out.
“Drink?” I manage to choke out. My throat feels like sandpaper again. I feel a straw tap against my bottom lip, and I instinctively wrap my lips around it and take a deep pull. The cool water floods my mouth, and I choke slightly as I swallow, but I don’t pull away from the straw. I look up expecting the doctor to be holding the cup, but it’s him—my hero—and he’s staring at me with a look I don’t recognize. I suck on the straw until the cup runs dry. I drink so long and hard that I have to catch my breath before I can speak.
I manage a half-smile for my hero. “Thank you.” He returns my smile with the sexiest devil-may-care grin I’ve ever seen. It lights his whole face up and makes him impossibly more attractive. Wow. “I feel much better.”
“Great!” The doctor interjects, breaking whatever that brief moment was. “So allergies?”
I look back to the doctor and take her in, she’s an attractive Latino woman, probably in her mid to late thirties. Her eyes are a warm chocolate, and her hair is pulled into a tight knot on the back of her head. She’s dressed in a sharp dress suit, and she gets several inches of her height from her shoes.
“No, I haven’t got any allergies that I am aware of, I’ve had pain medications in the past with no trouble.” I answer the easiest of her many questions first. She nods and pulls out a needle. My heart skips a beat or ten, and I start to hyperventilate. Once again, my hero comes to my rescue kneeling down in front of me, he meets my gaze and continues his rhythmic caress of my knuckles.
“Shhh, it’s okay, love, she doesn’t have to poke you with that, she is only going to put it in the IV line. Just breathe. I won’t let anything bad happen to you, you’re safe with me.” His tone is smooth and gentle. He’s so confident that what he says is true that I allow myself to be soothed by him once again. He flashes me another smile. “There’s a good girl.”
Seconds later, I feel the heat of the pain medication in my veins. My body slowly numbs, and the tension I didn’t realize I was holding onto seeps out of my muscles. Taking a few minutes to fully enjoy the numbness, I stare into the face of the man in front of me. He’s still kneeling, watching me closely for distress. I can’t help but wonder why he is so invested in me. I don’t even know his name. The doctor called him Master Bennett, but we haven’t been introduced.
He must be a dominant like Damon, no, not like Damon. I can’t picture this man being so cruel. I can’t imagine calling such a kind man ‘Master.’ He’s nothing like Damon. Even knowing virtually nothing about this man, I have no doubt that he’s the opposite of my old Master. I bet Damon is furious. I giggle at the thought of a red-faced Damon stomping around his big mansion, pouting like a child whose favorite toy was taken away. The pain medicine must be really good because I don’t ever giggle.
Now that I am feeling more relaxed, I ask, “Where is mas—I mean Damon?”
In an instant, the gentle look leaves my hero’s face, and in its place is a mask of rage. I flinch back from him, worried that I’m the one he’s angry with. I open my mouth to apologize but think better of speaking when he’s like this and close it again. One thing I’ve learned over the years is silence is best in these situations. Seconds tick by, and he takes a deep breath, the rage pushed aside. “I assume he’s at home or work.”
“Oh… Does he know where I am?”
“He knows I’ve taken charge of you,” he replies shortly.
I chew on my lip as I think things over. “When do I go back?” I don’t want to ask, but I would rather have time to prepare myself for the inevitable. I signed a contract. I owe Damon six months of my life, and there is no escape clause unless I can pay him back in full plus interest.
My hero stands and paces away from me, I swear I hear him growl before he leaves my side. If his reaction weren’t so scary, I would think it’s hot. “That, I suppose, is up to you. Do you want to go back?” he asks, a look of hurt flashing over his beautiful features before he schools them again.
“Oh,” I chew harder on my lip while I think of how to answer him. “I would rather never go back, but he owns me for the next six months. I don’t really have a choice.”
Buck up, don’t you dare cry,I scold myself as my eyes burn with unshed tears. You did what you had to do when you signed that damn contract. It’s only six months. I sigh deeply as I try to reason with myself.
He paces back up to my bedside and drops down to his position in front of me again, “You have a choice. Those contracts aren’t legally enforceable. They’re just for a dominant and submissive to set ground rules and expectations.” He says it with such confidence that I want to believe him, but I know he’s wrong. My contract is unique.
I squeeze my eyes closed tight, trying to force the dreaded tears back. My breath shudders out as I try to suppress my sobs. “My contract is different,” I whisper. “He—” I stumble over my words, not wanting to reveal the reason behind my contract, “hired me as an employee with a six-month contract. The only way out is something I’m unable to do. Only Damon can release me early, and I can’t see him doing that.”
I don’t mention that Damon insinuated that the only way he’d release me early would be to put me in a pine box.
This time I know I hear him growl as he stands up and starts pacing. With a curse, he pulls a sleek cell phone out of his pocket and deftly sweeps his finger over the screen a few times before lifting it to his ear. “Daniels, get over to Damon’s place. Figure out what it will take to get the girl out of her contract.” He pauses, listening to whatever Daniels says. “No,” he snaps. “I don’t fucking care what it takes, just make it fucking happen.” Another pause. “Yes, by any means necessary.” He swipes at the screen again and shoves the phone back into his pocket before addressing me again, “We will figure it out, no worries.”
I am floored by his confidence and the fact that he is so willing to help a complete stranger out of trouble. I let the tears flow freely now. “Oh, God, thank you.”
As I cry, he runs his fingers through my hair gently. The pain medication is fully working now. Each time I blink, I think I am losing minutes instead of seconds. Between one blink and the next, the doctor is gone. Another and my hero’s back at his post in the chair by my bedside. The only difference is that instead of holding my hand, he’s concentrating on his phone. I must’ve dozed off for quite a while because the only light in the room is from the moonlight streaming in the large windows.
I stretch my arms and legs slightly, trying to flex my stiff muscles. It feels like I have been lying here for days. Surprisingly enough, though my backside is sore, the pain seems manageable. Feeling brave, I move a little more and find that while it is better, I’m far from healed.
I turn my head towards the door, and I’m shocked to see my hero slumped in the chair still. He’s wearing different clothes than I remember, and he’s clean-shaven. The lack of facial hair doesn’t take anything away from his handsomeness, but I kind of miss the rugged look.
I groan a little as I start to feel all the aches and pains in my muscles and joints. At the sound of my groan, he shoots up out of the chair, causing it to slide backward. He looks around the room in an almost panic, for what I’m not sure. It would be hilarious, but the fierce look on his face keeps me from laughing at his cartoonish reaction.
After assessing the room and obviously not finding what he was looking for, his gaze lands on me. When he notices I’m awake, his lips tip up in a smile. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
I start to respond in kind, but a huge yawn slips out at the same time garbling my words, I laugh a little awkwardly and apologize. He shakes his head, and his eyes sparkle in amusement. “How long have I been out?” I ask after another little yawn.
He cocks his head slightly to the side as if he is trying to decide how to answer the question, or maybe he doesn’t know. Just because he was here every time I remember waking up, doesn’t mean he’s been here with me the entire time.
“Three days,” he shakes his head briefly like he is trying to shrug off an unpleasant memory. “Nearly four, actually.”
Four days, wow. I try to think back to the times I woke up, and all I can remember is pain. I vaguely remember having a nightmare. Being scared. Then hard hands holding me tight without hurting me. Screaming… Thrashing… it’s all a garbled mess in my head. Probably from the pain medication. I still feel sluggishness from it, but it’s definitely wearing off.
His gentle touch on my hair brings me back to the here and now. “How are you feeling?”
“Honestly?”
“I always want the truth. Especially where your well-being is concerned.”
It takes me a second to digest his words. Why would this stranger care so much? It doesn’t make sense, but his firm confidence is unquestionable, and I find myself being honest even though it makes me feel vulnerable.
“I’m a little confused. I think I remember bits and pieces of the last few days, but I’m not sure what’s real and what’s a dream.”
He doesn’t respond with anything more than another nod. His eyes travel down my body, several things flash through them as he takes me in. The anger and sadness I understand, the guilt not so much. I don’t know why he would ever feel guilty for what happened. He didn’t do this to me, Damon did. His eyes sweep back up my body taking it all in again, then for the briefest instant, I swear I see desire in his eyes.
It’s then that I realize a couple of things: First being, that I’m completely naked, which causes me to instantly flush in embarrassment. The second, I still don’t have a clue who this man is and what he wants from me.
The doctor calling him Master Bennett flits through my mind and plants the seed of an idea. What if he wants the same thing Damon did? That little seed grows like poison until I can feel the panic bubbling to the surface.
I don’t realize I’m hyperventilating until he kneels in front of me. Once his face is level with mine, I notice his lips moving. He’s speaking softly to me, but I can’t hear his words over the wheezing of my breath and the blood rushing through my veins. Those gentle fingers of his run through my hair while he runs the thumb of his other hand over my knuckles again. I don’t remember him grabbing ahold of my hand. I focus on the way his thumb feels as it caresses me and the gentle tug of his fingers through my hair, slowly my breathing evens out. I can finally hear the words he’s saying, well singing actually. He’s singing a song I don’t recognize, but his voice is amazing.
He’s amazing.
I pull a deep breath into my lungs and release it slowly like I learned long ago. I’ve had anxiety attacks for as long as I can remember, brought on by any number of triggers. He leans back, taking his hand from my hair, but when he goes to remove his hand from mine, I grip onto it tighter, a silent plea for him not to leave me alone. “I’m s-sorry,” I stutter, “Anxiety issues.”
“It’s okay, love. I understand you’ve been through a lot.” His words are calm and kind. “Are you in much pain? I can give you another dose of pain meds, the doc has basically kept you asleep after you…” he gets quiet for a minute while he thinks about how to nicely put what I now realize was not a dream at all. I can’t hold in the sigh, nor can I hold back the silent tears that fall without my permission.
“After I had a nightmare and freaked the fuck out?” I finish for him.
“I was going to say episode, but freaking the fuck out pretty much sums it up. We were worried you would hurt yourself further, and not really knowing your medical history, the doc thought it would be best to keep you sedated.” He shrugs in apology. “Do you need more medicine?”
“I won’t lie, it fucking hurts, but I don’t want the medicine. At least not yet.” I really want to ask him some questions. Now that my head is less fuzzy, I’m starting to remember bits and pieces. I vaguely recall talking about Damon and a phone call he made asking someone to speak to him about the contract.
I desperately want to ask, but I’m afraid of what he will say. If I have to go back to Damon, he will kill me. I know that now, but if I don’t go back, what will this man demand as payment? I know Damon wouldn’t let me go for free. Sucking in another lungful of air and pulling up my imaginary big girl panties, I decide to ask my questions. Might as well get it over with. Like ripping off a band-aid.
“Did you really take care of my contract, or was that just a hopeful dream?”
He pushes his fingers to the bridge of his nose and slumps into the chair behind him. He drops his hand and levels me with his midnight blue eyes. “Damon didn’t want to release you, but in the end, I was able to convince him it was for the best.”
I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I feel like he only told me part of the story. “I’m free?” I ask, just to make sure I didn’t misunderstand.
“Yes,” he says, “Damon won’t be coming back for you.”
Again, I don’t feel like that’s the whole truth of the matter, and I know I’m going to regret asking, but I have to know. “How is that even possible?”
Again, he holds the bridge of his nose and lets out a sigh. “The only way out of the contract was to pay your debt… with interest, so I did.”
I can’t hide the shocked expression or the tears that are threatening to fall again. Holy crap! I can’t believe he did that, I mean it wasn’t like a few hundred dollars, we are talking several thousand, like fifty of them plus whatever constitutes ‘interest’ in Damon’s book. I know my mouth is doing the whole fish out of water thing, but I really can’t stop myself. I should say something, I know I should, thank you seems like too little. How am I ever going to pay him back?
He’s silent while he watches me process this information. “That’s just too much. You can’t. I can’t… How will I ever repay you? I c-ca-can’t repay you. Oh, God. What am I going to do? You don’t even know me, why would you do this?” I’m stuttering and tripping all over my words.
I can feel the anxiety bubbling up from that dark place deep inside me. It takes hold and washes through me like a wave. Before I know what I’m doing, I jump off the bed, and I scramble towards the door. I have to get out of here. Something tugs on my hand and I look down, expecting to see him holding me back, but it’s the damn IV line. I give it no thought as I rip it from my vein and start towards the door again.
Panic has taken hold, and I’m reduced to nothing more than an animalistic need to flee. My thoughts consumed with the need to run, hide, get out, escape, go, go… I’m so absorbed with escape that my brain isn’t processing the pain from my injuries. I’m pure adrenaline now. My hand comes down on the doorknob, but the door won’t open.
It’s locked. I’m trapped.
Trapped, stuck, trapped. Oh, God. Not again, please.I tuck myself into the corner, trying to become as small a target as possible. Remembering another time when I was locked in a room. Another time when I needed to escape. I tuck my knees under my chin and cover my face as I rock back and forth, willing my mind to detach from the moment.
“Rose.” I whimper at the sound of my name. “Rose, baby.” I rock faster at the endearment, and there is a sound coming from somewhere deep inside that is like a wounded animal, it hurts even my own ears, but I can’t stop. “You are going to hurt yourself, baby. You have to stop now.”
There is no stopping. Once the panic takes hold, I’m at its mercy. My lungs desperately strain to pull in oxygen, never getting enough. I could suffocate like this. If I could just keep the oxygen away, I could suffocate, and it would all be over. I wouldn’t have to do this anymore. No more fear. No more weakness. No longer the victim. I could be free, but my stupid lungs keep sucking at the air—they obviously aren’t on the same page as my brain.
The pounding of my heart feels as though it will bruise my chest from the inside out. Not a steady thump, thump but a stampede beating its way through my breastbone. Memories flick through my head of being overpowered, held down, beaten, and worse. How can anyone be asked to endure this?
Why?
Why can’t I just die already? I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve prayed for mercy. No one listens. No one saves me, but I plead on anyway. I’m trembling so hard my teeth chatter, my entire body thrown into the hysterics that accompanies this illness.
“No, no, please, no. Please, don’t. Not again.” I’m begging.
“Shh, love,” someone croons from just in front of my huddled form. Something deep inside me says I can trust that voice, but I’m lost to the madness that is my anxiety. I force myself to open my eyes, to see what monster is chasing me this time and am met with concerned midnight blue eyes. “You’re okay, sweet girl.” Slowly, he reaches out to me, cautiously touching his fingertips lightly to the back of my hand before grabbing ahold of it. “I’ve got you. I swear to you, you are safe with me,” he promises.
He shouldn’t promise. Promises are made to be broken. There is no such thing as a good promise.
He kneels there in front of me, holding my hand, talking softly, reassuring me over and over that I’m safe. My brain acknowledges that he isn’t a danger, but years of abuse have reprogrammed my mind. Common sense isn’t attached to my reactions anymore. My fear feeds the panic like gasoline on an open flame. The panic feeds the oxygen stealing anxiety. The anxiety grows into fear… It’s a vicious circle that I will never be free from.
Several minutes that feel like a lifetime of hours later, the panic slowly recedes. My heart stops thundering, my lungs finally accept the readily available air, and my trembling body calms as I push away the anxiety. The fear. I will it back into the darkness. That horrible place inside myself where I hide all the horrors.
Not once during my episode did he turn away from me, and now I find that I’m lost in the gaze of the man who saved me, who keeps saving me. My body starts to protest my awkward position, and without the adrenaline coursing through me, the pain comes back tenfold. I nearly pass out when I try to stand.
Again, being that he is my hero and all, he gently scoops me up, holding me behind the knees and high up on my back where the damage is minimal and carries me back over to the bed. He sets me on my feet and turns me to face away from him. I feel his fingers whisper against my back, checking to see if I’ve hurt myself further. He finds a tender spot, and I hiss out my breath.
“It’s the worst of them, you’ve reopened the wound a bit, but it’s not bad. You’re lucky. Let me see your hand,” he orders.
I turn and face him, trying to hide my naked body as much as I can with one hand. I’m blushing from head to toe. I’ve never been an exhibitionist, in fact, I’m more prude than Mother Theresa. Blood is dripping from where I ripped the IV out, and I notice the smears on his shirt. I cringe at the sight. “Sorry,” I say lamely.
Can I possibly embarrass myself anymore?
“Do you want to tell me what that was about?” He words it as a question, but from his tone, I know it’s not a question at all. He’s commanding me to tell him why I freaked out.
“I have issues with anxiety like I said. I used to take medicine to help control it, but since I’ve been with Damon, I haven’t been allowed. It was part of his terms. He liked my fear. Any stressful or overly emotional situation can set off an attack. That’s what you’ve seen. I’m very sorry, I know it’s a lot to deal with.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Rose. It’s not your fault that Damon didn’t take good care of you.” He makes a frustrated sound, then fiercely says, “If you were mine, I would never let anything happen to you. He doesn’t know what it means to be a Master.”
I can’t help but wonder, does he expect to be my Master after paying my debt? He had to know I didn’t have the money. Did he only do it so he could have a new slave? I don’t know if that scares me or excites me. So far, he’s been nothing but kind and gentle. I know he’s a dominant, and that means he isn’t always gentle or kind. With Damon, I was desperate. I had run out of options. He was my last hope. My body was my only currency. Damon was greedy to collect.
Will this man give me another option, or will demand I pay him with my body?
“Did you help me so you could own me?” My voice is so quiet it’s barely a whisper.
“Is that what you think?” He scoffs, “You think I helped you so that I could own you? That I bought you like a steak?” I can’t make my voice work, so I merely nod. “Holy, fuck. Who do you think I am?” His voice is full of fury, and I’m afraid for a second, but then I remember how tender he’s been with me. How patiently he brought me back from the darkness.
“I’m sorry, you’re right, I don’t know you. You’ve shown me only kindness.” I chew on my inner cheek as I struggle to find the words that will make him understand my worries. “I just don’t understand your motivation for helping me. I mean, you don’t know me. Heck, I don’t even know your name.”
He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Matthew, my name is Matthew Bennett. I own this club and several others. My motivation for helping you is that it’s the right thing to do. I know how Damon treats his slaves, and by the looks of what he did to you, in a public scene no less, things were going to be very bad for you in private. I don’t expect you to pay me back,” he pauses a moment and catches my gaze. “In any way.”
“Oh.” It’s all I can say, I’m embarrassed and disappointed, which leaves me confused. Why would it disappoint me that he doesn’t want me?
“Let’s get you back into bed. I’ll go get the doc to look you over again and see if we can leave that IV out or if she thinks it’s needed. You should talk to her about your other medications. I’ll have her get you what you need.” He moves towards the door and knocks twice. A few moments later, the lock clicks, and he slips out. Seconds after the door shuts, I hear the lock snick back into place. I should feel offended that I’m locked in, but for some inexplicable reason, I find myself feeling safe. It confuses me to no end.