Chapter 22
The days pass by quickly.I settle into a routine that keeps me busy and from focusing on Damon’s threats, Mr. Perfect, and all the other unknowns. I spend my days helping Hannah around the house whenever she’ll let me. I’ve taken over cooking breakfast not only for Matthew and me but for the whole staff too.
Oftentimes I go to the club with Matthew and answer phones or file paperwork or whatever other odd job he needs doing. Though, I think he makes things up just to make me happy. I know he doesn’t like me working, but I hate feeling like a leech. He doesn’t argue with me anymore. He’s agreed to disagree and has supported my need to help.
My favorite place to help is in the recovery suites. The third night I worked alongside Matthew at the club one of the submissives experienced something called sub drop. It was terrifying, but I’m well suited to help in those situations because it’s basically like a really intense anxiety attack followed by a wave of depression.
It’s something that tends to pass quickly from what I’ve been told, but in the moment, it’s overwhelming to the person experiencing it. Even more so for someone who has never experienced anxiety or depression in the past.
For the first time in forever, I feel like I belong. I feel like I’ve found a real home. Matthew is my home. It’s so easy to see how our future would play out. Except for my past still looming in the background, waiting to snatch away my happiness. I’m not na?ve enough to think Mr. Perfect has given up. He’ll come for me sooner or later. For now, I’m determined to enjoy my time here.
I’ve gotten closer to Hannah. She’s taken me under her wing, and we’ve become fast friends. Slade and Kisten have both taken on brotherly roles. Slade is never far from my side unless Matthew is around. Matthew is the only person trusted to keep me safe without Slade’s back up. Even though I suspect Kisten is more than capable of keeping me safe, Slade won’t leave me my side.
Unfortunately, things haven’t heated back up between Matthew and me. Even though we are constantly touching in some way when we are in the same space, he’s barely kissed me since the day Damon came to the club. Every time we do kiss if things start to heat up, he pulls back. It’s frustrating. I feel guilty for being frustrated, though, because he’s not withholding his affection. We hold hands anytime we walk side by side. If we are sitting, he either pulls me into his lap, or he keeps a possessive hand on my thigh, but nothing else. It’s infuriating. I had a brief taste of what a healthy physical relationship could be, then it was snatched away.
We eat almost every meal together. Which I love. Especially since he prefers to feed me from his plate. I feel taken care of and treasured. It’s one of the many ways he shows me how much I mean to him. Everything in this new life of mine fits into place… except for the dark shadow that’s hanging over my head.
No matter that Slade is always close to my side anytime I leave the penthouse, I’m constantly looking over my shoulder, just waiting for Mr. Perfect to catch up to me. The stress has my anxiety at an all-time high. Despite how happy I am to be here with Matthew and how much I love what I’m coming to think of as my new life, I can’t shake the anxiety.
I know it’s taking its toll on Matthew. This last week he’s hardly let me out of his sight. My nightmares have persisted, and we are both exhausted. He has asked what I dream of, but I just can’t talk to him about it. He already won’t touch me. What would he see when he looks at me if he knew that my dreams are plagued with memories of being raped and abused?
I hate that he’s so worried. The guilt of it eats me alive. I found out yesterday that Black Rose isn’t just one club there are actually two other locations, one in Vegas and one in Los Angeles. Matthew was supposed to travel to the U.K. last week to look at some property to potentially open another club for the members that travel overseas, but because of me, he canceled his trip.
Of course, that just piled onto the guilt. Matthew’s business is being impacted by my situation. I tried to tell him to go, but he wouldn’t hear of it. I’m grateful that he didn’t listen to me because the thought of him leaving me for any length of time is terrifying. Apparently, my selfishness knows no bounds.
I let out a tired sigh as I look through the ridiculous amount of clothes on my side of Matthew’s closet. Well, one of Matthew’s closets. Part of my new extensive wardrobe is here at the club for the nights we stay here instead of going back to the penthouse. I flip through half a dozen dresses, jeans, blouses, and more feeling disgusted with the waste.
The only real argument Matthew and I have had has been over this wardrobe. I insisted that he return things. He spent an ungodly amount of money on me, and it’s completely unnecessary. I’m used to having one or two outfits and a single pair of shoes. Between the two closets, I could wear a different outfit every day for two months and still not run out. Don’t get me started on the shoes. Who needs ten pairs of high heels?
I spent an entire day ignoring Hannah and Slade because they are the traitors who purchased everything. Apparently, Matthew had told Slade to buy not only the things that I tried on and liked but everything I showed the slightest interest in. Ridiculous! I’ve been wearing the same five outfits and two pairs of shoes as a silent rebellion. I know it’s wasteful, but I can’t get over the cost even though I’ve been assured a dozen times that I couldn’t spend all of Matthew’s money in five lifetimes and to just enjoy being spoiled.
I pull out a brand-new dress and slip it over my head. Even though my back is completely healed, I avoid wearing the pretty bras that Hannah picked out for me. I wasn’t allowed to wear one at Red House, and I just can’t seem to get used to the restriction. My breasts are small enough that it’s not really necessary anyway.
My phone dings with a text message. That’s another thing that I tried to tell Matthew was ridiculous. The only people I talk to are him, Hannah, Slade, and Kisten. I don’t need a cellphone to do that since I’m never truly alone. Matthew shut down my argument quick by threatening to take me over his knee and spank me into submission. He immediately apologized, thinking that he scared me… he didn’t.
After spending so much time at the club, seeing how devoted dominants are to their submissives, it’s hard to not want that level of devotion for yourself. Matthew gives me all the devotion a good dominant gives, but none of the physical stuff that goes along with that kind of dynamic. I don’t know if it’s that he’s basically cut off our physical relationship other than innocent kisses and cuddles or if it’s something that’s broken inside my psyche, but I ache for him.
On nights that I’m not haunted by nightmares, I dream of Matthew. I dream about the things I’ve seen at the club. Of being spanked, then caressed and brought to orgasm. I dream about him licking me all over before fucking me senseless. I always wake up from those dreams covered in sweat with drenched panties.
Luckily, Matthew just assumes I’ve had another bad dream. I wonder what he would think if he knew the truth. How would he react if he knew I was having erotic dreams about him?
The text is from Matthew. I’m going to be late for dinner. Go ahead and eat without me.
I shake my head. I’ll wait.
His response is instant. Stubborn.
I miss you.
I can picture him letting out an exasperated sigh but smiling because he likes that I miss him when we aren’t together. I miss you too, love. I’ll be up as soon as I can.
Take your time. xo
The penthouse is quiet. Today is the first time that I’ve been left alone. Hannah had a doctor’s appointment, and Slade refused to let anyone else take her. Not that I’m surprised. He denies it, but he’s just as obsessed with her as she is him. I debate on what to do while I wait and decide to use the quiet time to read.
Book in hand, I curl up on one of the plush sofas and cocoon myself in a fluffy blanket. Within minutes, I’m transported to a fantasy world full of sexy vampires and werewolves. I lose track of time while I read, and it isn’t until my phone rings that I realize the sun has set. I answer without looking at the caller id, only one person actually calls me.
“Hello, handsome,” I greet Matthew with a smile.
A dark chuckle meets my ear and goosebumps prickle along my skin. “Glad you still find your old man attractive,” Mr. Perfect says. “I’m disappointed in you, Tessa. Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been about you?”
I’m shocked speechless. I let out some kind of inarticulate noise, but as always, he doesn’t actually want a response to his question. In the back of my mind, I wonder how he got my phone number.
“Mr. Brown is willing to forgive your absence… for a price. You need to be smart and come back with me before the price is too high for you to pay.”
My breathing becomes ragged as Mr. Brown’s face swims in front of me. He’s the cruelest of all of my clients. The one who gave me the scar on my thigh, among others. To all of them, I was a toy to be played with then discarded once I was used up. Most of them were cognizant of how far they could take things without breaking me… Mr. Brown pushed those boundaries every time. Sometimes it took weeks for my body to heal after a session with him. Mr. Perfect never complained, though, because Mr. Brown compensated him heavily for the privilege of trying to break me beyond repair.
“It’s time for you to come home, Tessa.”
I try to form words, but my mouth won’t cooperate. I’m frozen.
“It’s okay, Tessa, you don’t have to say anything. I can hear that sweet panic bubbling up inside you.” Hot tears spill over as he talks. “There’s just not enough oxygen to fill up those precious lungs of yours. I bet your heart is fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings.” He pauses briefly as if he’s savoring the sound of my terror. “My cock is hard just thinking about how sweet you smell when you’re scared. I’m coming for you, Tessa. Soon.”
The line clicks, and the screen turns black indicating the end of the call. I stare at the phone in my hand like it’s a live grenade. I wonder again how he got my phone number. I know for a fact none of the four people who know it would ever give it to anyone, let alone Nelson Grant.
My panic and fear morph into rage as the reality sinks in. Mr. Perfect knows where I am, and he’s coming for me.
“No!” I scream into the empty apartment, throwing my phone at the wall. It makes a satisfying crash as the screen shatters.
The anger doesn’t subside. It grows and grows into a monstrous thing that can’t be contained. I pick up a lamp and throw it against the wall. I don’t stop with that. Everything in my path falls victim to my rage. I’ve felt many negative emotions over the years, but nothing like this. I’m out of my depth and losing control.
My voice grows hoarse from screaming, but still, I rage on hellbent on destruction. I overturn the coffee table and a chair. I fling another chair at the TV and find satisfaction in the chaos I’m creating.
I’m so caught up in the madness that I don’t hear the elevator ding, nor do I hear Matthew calling my name. When his strong arms wrap around me from behind, I scream and fight against his hold. I kick him and buck against him. He grunts when my elbow makes contact with his gut, but he doesn’t release me.
Matthew is easily twice my size. There’s nothing stopping him from overpowering me and holding me down. He could use his size and strength in any manner of aggressive ways to stop me, but that’s not his style. He’s a dominant through and through. He might keep that side of himself locked down around me, but it’s always there simmering under the surface.
I fight against his hold like a hellcat determined to break free and continue my rampage. He wraps one arm around my upper arms, pinning my back to his chest. I kick out with both legs trying to dislodge his hold, but he doesn’t release me. When I try to headbutt him, he grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls until my head is forced back and to the side. The bite of pain snaps something inside me, and the fight drains from my muscles. Matthew doesn’t stop there. Using his hold on my hair, he pulls me down until I’m kneeling in front of him, his arm a steel band around my torso.
Somehow, everything in my head is calm. The riotous storm of emotion has evaporated. That one bite of pain brought me back from the brink of insanity.
“I’m going to release your arms now, and you will be calm. You will not move from this spot. Do you understand?” Matthew’s words are full of command and send electric shivers throughout my body.
Oh, my God.
“I asked you a question.”
I try to nod, but my head is held in place by his firm grip. I swallow thickly. “Y-yes, I understand.” The words are barely whispered through my savaged vocal cords, completely raw and abused from my screams.
Slowly, he loosens his grip on me. First, he releases my body, then the punishing bite of him pulling my hair lessens, though he doesn’t release it completely. As soon as the bite of pain disappears from my scalp, the energy drains from my body. My bottom falls heavily onto my feet, and my shoulders hunch forward. The only thing keeping my head up is Matthew’s hand still tangled in my hair.
Using one finger, he tilts my chin up, forcing me to look at him. “You care to tell me why you destroyed our home?”
Our home.
Not his home.
Ours.
Tears blur my vision, and a vise squeezes around my heart. What have I done?
Matthew’s grip in my hair tightens in warning. He wants an answer, but I can’t settle my thoughts enough to tell him what happened. I look around at the utter destruction surrounding us, and hot bile rushes up my throat.
“Sick…” I whimper.
Thankfully, Matthew has quick reflexes. In seconds I’m in the bathroom, my head over the toilet as I empty the contents of my stomach. I retch until there is nothing left, and even then, I heave more as if my body is trying to cleanse the darkness from my soul.
The whole time, Matthew kneels beside me, holding my hair, whispering soft platitudes that are meant to soothe. I sit back on my heels once it has passed. Without a word, he wets a washcloth and wipes my face. He helps me to my feet, but when my knees give way, he lifts me in his arms and sits me on the counter.
I feel apart from myself. Almost like when I would find that dark safe place inside my head and disappear but different. Numbness permeates my body and mind.
“Open,” Matthew commands.
I blink at him slowly and then realize he’s holding a toothbrush to my mouth. I mechanically follow his instructions and open my mouth for him. He never looks away from my eyes as he brushes my teeth. He looks worried… scared even. I want to erase that look from his face. My Matthew isn’t afraid of anything. He’s strong and powerful. He’s my hero.
“Spit.”
Again, I do as I’m told. He puts a cup to my lips and tells me to rinse my mouth. After I’ve done that, he fills the cup again and makes me drink. I take a few sips, but don’t dare to take any more in case my stomach decides to revolt again.
“Good girl,” Matthew praises. He kisses my forehead, then lifts me into his arms. I hide my face in the crook of his neck when he walks us through the main room. I’m so ashamed of my behavior. I can’t stand to see what I’ve done.
When we get to our bedroom, he sits on the bed, cradling me in his lap. “Rosie, love, can you tell me what happened?”
I fist my hands in his shirt and keep my face buried against him. I want to crawl inside him and hide. He strokes my hair and back until bit by bit, the tension leaks out of me.
“I— He—” My mind can’t seem to pull together a coherent thought. My breath shudders out of me as the numbness starts to wane, and the anxiety starts to build.
Matthew turns my face so I have no choice but to look directly at him. His eyes are black pools of burning lava as they bore into me. “Slow down, sweetheart. Just breathe.” He’s using that dominant voice of his again, and my body responds. My breath evens out, and my mind slows enough to make sense of my rushing thoughts. “Good girl.”
“Mr. Perfect… h-he called me. I froze.” I try to look away, not wanting to see Matthew’s judgment of my weakness, but he doesn’t let me hide away from him. He holds me with gentle, yet firm hands so that I have nowhere to look other than at him. “He said he’s coming for me. I wanted to yell at him… I-I just froze, Matty. Why did I freeze?” I don’t give him time to respond before continuing. “I got so mad…” My voice breaks on a sob. “I’m so s-sorry.”
“Shh. It’s okay, love. You’re safe.” Matthew repeats the pretty lies over and over as I cry a lifetime’s worth of tears. He’s wrong. I’m not safe, and it’s not okay. I’ll never be okay again.
I lose myself to the sadness. At some point, Matthew shifts us so that we are laying down with me stretched across his chest. Eventually, I cry myself to sleep. I welcome the sweet oblivion.