Adventurous Me (22 page)

Oh. My. GOD.
That’s
why he’d gone to such lengths to try to get us together. They’re not casual friends; he loves Clint like a son. “Trish, let me ask you something: Did he tell you about Christi? His wife?” I nod. “Do you realize you’re the first person he’s
ever
shared that with outside the family? He’s never told another living soul. His friends only know what they’ve heard from the rumor mill; he’s never discussed it with anyone.”

My heart starts to tremble in a weird way that it never has before. Maybe I’m having a heart attack. I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter. I can’t trust him; I’ll never be able to trust him. He almost killed me trying to get me to go away when he could’ve just said, ‘Scram. Get out of here.’ But he didn’t. He just tormented me, tortured me, tried to destroy me. I can’t just ignore that.”

And then he drops the bomb. They could hear it across town, I’m sure. “That night I had to leave? When he did the anal work with you? He told me it was all he could do to stop himself from wrapping his arms around you and telling you that he was in love with you. He’d known it from that first night when you asked if you could sit next to . . .”

“STOP!” I slam my beer bottle down on the bar and several people nearby turn to stare, but I don’t care. “None of that matters! I went to him in love and trust, and he used me and hurt me and broke me. I damn near lost my life trying to please him. If he can’t say those three words to me himself, I sure as hell don’t need to hear them from you!”

I hop down off the stool and make a beeline for the door. Behind me I hear Dave call out, “Trish? Honey, please . . .” but I keep going straight out the door to my car and drive away.

And I damn near get myself killed because I’m crying so hard I can’t really see to drive.

When the doorbell rings, I panic. But when I look through the peephole, I’m infuriated. “What the
hell
do you want?”

“Trish, let me in.” Before I can say no, Ron pushes the door open. “Holy shit, what’s wrong with you?”

“None of your goddamn business. Get the hell out,” I say. The chair across the room is too far away, but I make it there and drop into it, lifeless.

“Damn, Trish, you look horrible. Are you sick?” He actually looks a little concerned. I try not to let that sway me. I know it’ll pass.

“As I said before, none of your goddamn business.” There’s something in me that is really pissed by the fact that he’s asking any questions at all. He lost that privilege when he walked out.

“Can I do anything for you?” He really
does
sound concerned. Good.

“No. I just need to be alone.”

“Did that sex god of yours hurt you?” There’s this pseudo-compassionate look on his face, and it really infuriates me.

“You need to do whatever you came to do and get out.” I let my eyelids drop and point at the door.

It’s quiet for a few seconds, and then he says, “Look, if he hurt you, I’ll just go and . . .”

Bile rises up in my throat and I have trouble breathing when I say, “Nothing anyone else could do could hurt me more than you have. Leave. Me. Alone. Go.” It’s a lie, but it’s designed to wound, and I think it’ll do the trick.

The air in the room shifts as I feel him get up and hear him walk down the hall. There’s the sound of shuffling and rustling around, and then he comes back through the room with a box of his stuff. “You know where to find me if you need me,” he says, and I look up to find his hand on the doorknob.

I try to find something supremely hurtful to say, and I come out with, “If I really needed you, I’d pretty much be fucked, now wouldn’t I?”

Without a word, he walks out the door. And in that moment I hope I never see him again as long as I live.

I
try to stay away from the club. I’m terrified that I’ll run into him there, and I’m not sure what I’ll do if that happens. Breaking down would be the worst, and that’s exactly what I’m afraid I’ll do. It’s best to just stay away.

When Dave calls and tells me he still needs to do an exit interview with me, I tell him I’ll come if he makes sure that Clint’s interview appointment is nowhere near the time of mine, and that Clint won’t know when I’ll be there. He sounds like he wants to try to change my mind, but in the end he promises that he’ll honor my wishes. I go in and refuse to answer most of the questions he asks.

As I leave, he reminds me that the collaring ceremony is two weeks away on Saturday night. I shake my head but he tells me, “I hope you’ll consider coming. Maybe there’s someone who’ll collar you.” My mouth won’t make words to answer, so I just run out the door, get in my car, and leave.

The days drag by, and I stop being sad and start to get angry. The second stage of grief, right? If he’s so sorry for how he treated me, why hasn’t he even called to check on me? Knowing how hurt I was, he doesn’t even bother to follow up? The confusion I feel threatens to take me down, and my self-worth is at an all-time low, even lower than after Ron pulled his stunt. It’s past time for me to job-hunt, but no one would hire me with in shape I’m in now.

On the Thursday before the collaring ceremony, my doorbell rings. I’m afraid it’s Clint, but when I open the door, there stands Dave. “Hi, sweetie. Can I come in and talk to you?”

I say nothing, just push the door open wider and motion for him to come in. I point to a chair and he takes a seat. “Would you like something to drink?” I ask and realize my voice sounds hollow and disconnected.

“No, no, that’s okay. I just wanted to check on you. You doing okay?” He does look genuinely concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You don’t
sound
fine.”

“I’m fine.”

He waits for a bit, looking around and tapping his fingertips together. “You know he’s hurting, don’t you?” he finally says.

“
He’s
hurting? Oh, wow, whatever shall we do?” I spit back. The pain that drifts like a cloud over Dave’s face makes me instantly sorry. “That wasn’t like me. I don’t want him to hurt. But there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Could you at least talk to him? Just for a few minutes? I know he’d like to hear from you.”

And that’s it. I can’t take any more, and I jump up and start to pace. “He’d like to hear from
me
? You know, he hurt me, emotionally and physically, and then brought me here and walked away. I thought he’d call in a few days, check on me, see if I was okay after he left me to seize on that bed, but he didn’t. He hasn’t. He won’t. I know what he told me happened to his wife, but that’s no excuse for treating me like shit.”

“Trish, he just . . .”

I stop and glare at him. “Oh, stop it! Stop making excuses for him. He’s a grown man.” Dave drops his eyes to the floor. “So he had a crisis, an unfortunate thing happened to him. So what? Happens to people all the time and they don’t treat the people around them like shit. I’m sorry. This conversation is over. I don’t want to hear any more about him and I don’t want to talk about him. If you’ve got something else to say, we can talk, but I’m finished with this.”

He stops, then looks up at me. “I wanted you to know that a few of the Doms at the club have asked about you. They wanted to know if you and Clint had worked out a permanent contract, and I told them no. I think one of them will probably offer to collar you if you show up Saturday night.”

I knock a knee out and fold my arms across my chest. “Yeah? And who might these Doms be?”

“Well, Steffen for one.”

“What about the sub he was paired with?”

“They didn’t get along too well. I think she was too young, just not mature enough.”

“Oh. I see. Who else?”

“One of our regulars, a guy named Gary.” Yeah, Gary from the grocery – of course he’d want to collar me. “Said he’d met you and he’d love to have you in his home.”

“Anybody else?”

“Yeah. Do you know Hank?” I shake my head. “Master Hank” sounds too much like Mr. Hankie the Christmas Poo from
Southpark
to me. I don’t think I can do that. I’m sure he’s a nice guy, but no. “He’s been around for awhile. And a young guy named Trevor. Nice looking, maybe late twenties, early thirties. He’s seen you in the club and wondered if you were collared. I think he’s interested. The subs he’s worked with have told me he’s very good, especially for his age.”

“Anybody else?” I can’t think of anything else to say.

“Nope. Not that I can recall. Don’t you think those are enough?” He smiles at me. I’m not smiling.

“I guess. If I come, I can’t guarantee I’ll accept from any of them.” I can’t believe that many men would want me. Me? Really? Come on.

“Well, I wish you’d consider it. A couple of them would be really good catches. Come tomorrow night and check them out before Saturday. They’ll be there, I’m sure, scoping out the uncollared subs.”

I shrug. “Maybe I will.”

“Fair enough.” He stands and takes my hands, then puts his arms around me and holds me. “Remember when you asked me if we all held the subs afterward?” There are tears in his eyes, and I nod, feeling mine start to burn. “Well, that’s kind of what I’m doing right now.”

I can’t help it. I start to sob. I’m so tired and weak and brokenhearted that I just can’t hold it in. “My adventure didn’t turn out so good, I guess.”

He rubs my back and it feels good, so good that I’d like to ask him to keep it up. “I think the adventure was fine. But it’s like they say: It’s not the fall that gets you – it’s the sudden stop at the bottom.”

That’s certainly true.

On Friday night, I put some decent-looking fetwear in my bag and climb into my car. When I get to the club it’s really, really busy. First thing I do is look around; no Clint. Good. I head to the locker room and change, then walk out into the big room and go to the bar.

“Hi, honey!” Dave sings out and comes around the bar to hug me. “I’m so glad you’re here! Have a cosmo.” He never forgets. Before I can even take a sip, someone says, “Trish?”

I turn to find Steffen standing beside me. “Hi, sir. How are you?”

“I’m good.” He takes a long look at me. “You, however, don’t look so good.”

“Gee, thanks. Just what a girl wants to hear, sir.” I take a big swig of my drink.

“I didn’t mean it that way. So will you be here tomorrow night?”

Another swig and I reach out to Dave with my empty glass for another round of high-proof amnesia. “I’m thinking about it.”

“Good. I think you’ll be happy if you are.” He grins at me.

I glare back at him. “And why would you think that, sir?”

He’s a bit taken aback by my expression, I can tell. “Oh, no reason. Just want to see you show up, that’s all.” I take another swallow and he looks at me again. “I think I’m going to go mingle. It’s good to see you though. Take care of yourself.” With that, he gives me a peck on the cheek and walks away.

Dave hears me chuckle under my breath. “You’re quite the dragon, aren’t you, little one?” he asks.

“Yeah, that’s me. Fire-breathing and man-eating. I’m a bad, bad girl.”

“Listen to you. There’s something I think you should know.” He walks up closer so I can hear him better.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“He hasn’t been here since he took you home. I don’t think he’s coming back.” I think he wants me to say something, but I don’t know what. “I’ve told him I think he needs to come on back, keep himself out and around people, but he’s just holed up in that house. The girls are still at his mother’s.” He stops for a minute, tries to read my face, and then adds, “Trish, I’m worried about him.”