Epilogue: The Dark Duet (20 page)

“Oh, Kitten.
What a strange pair we are. I’m… a little speechless. You know what I like. I
don’t just
like
dominating you—I
love it.
But it’s difficult to turn it
on and off. It’s… different.”

Livvie tugged at the sheet between us
nervously.

“I know. But… couldn’t
we try? We’ve sort of been doing it. Like… just when we’re having sex. Couldn’t
it be like that?”

My brain felt like it was expanding in
my skull. She was offering me control, but only under certain circumstances. It
was a big concept for me to grasp, but one I was eager to thoroughly
comprehend. My dick was fully erect just trying to understand it.

“So if I were
to say to you, ‘Get down on your knees.’ You would say?”

Livvie let out a deep breath and
smiled. She slid off the bed and onto the floor.

“Yes, Caleb,”
she whispered and blushed.

My heart leapt.

“I think… I’m
going to like this.
A lot.
”

February. Things were changing. Again.
Some of the changes, perhaps even most of them, I enjoyed.

My favorite development had to do with
Livvie’s thirst to be dominated. Since “The Laptop Incident” and our subsequent
pact to be more forthcoming with one another, Livvie had no choice but to break
her silence on the subject.

Some of it hadn’t been surprising. The
sex we’d been having had been undoubtedly familiar to me. I knew Livvie enjoyed
being spanked, chased, held down, and occasionally fucked in her ass. What I
hadn’t anticipated was her desire for what she called
games
and I referred to as
reenactments.

It
had been my hope that upon finding Livvie again, we would start fresh and
pretend the past had never occurred (it sounds asinine when I read it back).
However, all freshmen are required to take psychology and Livvie seemed to take
to it like a duck to water. She wanted to experiment with Exposure Therapy in
the hopes that by reliving some of her experiences in a safe environment, she
would no longer fear them.

Needless to say, I thought it was a
bat-shit crazy idea (that’s the technical term). The last thing I wanted was to
reprise my role as Livvie’s captor. What if it didn’t work and she ended up
hating me? It took a great deal of convincing from Livvie, but ultimately I’d
agreed to some of the less… disturbing moments.

One morning I made us breakfast, put it
on a wheeled cart from IKEA, and took it into Livvie’s room. Livvie had taken
the time to prepare herself while I cooked breakfast, and I’d been pleasantly
surprised to find her wearing one of my white button-up shirts and a dainty
pair of kitten ears. I understood the significance of the shirt. The ears were
a nice touch. I felt that touch center mass.

“Should I take my shirt off?” I asked.
History dictated I should.

“If you’re over your
self-indulgent modesty
,” she whispered. In
the past, I would have found her words incendiary—another time, another place—but
in our reimagining I found them to be… charming.

I’d removed my shirt, enjoying the way
Livvie’s eyes lusted instead of feared. I took a chance and played along.

“It’s a pity I
have nothing to bind you with. I’d be hard-pressed to recall anyone who looks
as good as you do in a collar and shackles.”

Livvie turned and brought me a box from
beneath her bed. Inside I found a jeweled collar, a leash, and a pair of fuzzy
handcuffs. I laughed.

“Oh my, you
have been a busy girl. When and where did you get these?”

Livvie blushed and the memory was
further reshaped.

“I ordered them
online,” she said timidly. Her hands were already behind her back and she
swayed gently from side to side.

I kissed her. It was a light meeting of
lips, a token.

“Turn around,”
I ordered. Livvie shivered and a small sound escaped her lips. She complied
quickly.

As I fed Livvie breakfast while she
knelt at my feet, I was struck by several thoughts. First, I realized the power
of forgiveness. Second, I found Livvie’s game enticing. Third, I could never
leave Livvie. Fourth, I never
wanted
to leave her.

For better or worse, Livvie had been
irrevocably altered by her experiences with me. She was a nineteen-year-old
with proclivities no one her age would understand and a vulnerability any creep
like me could easily spot and take advantage of. She was strong, smart,
willful, and driven, but she was also soft, trusting, and needy where her heart
was concerned. Livvie needed taking care of.

Other changes in our relationship I
didn’t enjoy quite as much.  As part of
our pact, Livvie and I discussed our fears, hopes, and aspirations for what our
relationship could be. She wanted to know more about my past, Mexico, and the
less gruesome ways I’d spent my year away from her.

Also, I wasn’t comfortable with
Livvie’s writing. However, aside from the time we spent with Claudia and Rubio—or
having sex—there seemed little else occupying Livvie’s and my time. Apparently,
I’d inspired her to go “back to the drawing board.” She wanted to incorporate
more of the facts I’d given her.

Suddenly, there were days when she
wouldn’t speak to me because she’d just finished rehashing some traumatic event
involving me. There were some moments neither of us wanted to
re-imagine
. At first I tried try to
seduce her away from her thoughts, but after the first few times she began to
see it as manipulative. Soon after, I decided to make myself scarce during her
periods of… well, her periods.

Other days, she took to cornering me on
the sofa or at the dinner table to ask me invasive questions about my past. These
usually ended in an argument over my “evasiveness” or sex. Sometimes we had
both—an argument first, and sex right after. I worried that if it kept up, I’d
get an erection every time she looked upset with me.

Yet, as with our sexual games, I began
to see the merit in expressing myself through my conversations with Livvie. I
began to realize I wasn’t as upset by her questioning as I had been before. In
slow gradations, I found myself offering information she hadn’t asked about. I
told her about RezA and how guilty I had felt for not warning him Narweh was
dead. He’d been such an optimistic person. He hadn’t enjoyed his slavery any
more than I had, but where I’d been rebellious unto my own ruination, RezA had
navigated his situation with grace.

“Do you think he could have escaped? I
mean, I’ve heard that gun go off. The whole neighborhood probably knew someone
had been shot. Couldn’t he have heard it and escaped?” Livvie asked.

This is going to sound absolutely
ridiculous but… it hadn’t fucking occurred to me! It really hadn’t. I’d been
out of my mind. To this day, whenever I recall the moment of my first kill,
there is no sound beyond the beating of my heart and the high-pitched wail of
adrenaline in my veins. I remember the heavy weight of the gun. I remember the
look of disgust on Narweh’s face. I remember shutting my eyes and squeezing the
trigger. I remember something wet splattering on my face before I hit the
ground. I remember the silence.

I sat up and I heard nothing. I stared
into Narweh’s cold, empty eyes. I remember thinking the soul must be real.
Something had been keeping Narweh alive. That something was gone. There was
only meat, blood, and bones left behind.

I remember an acute feeling of anger
and sorrow that I had not been brave enough to keep my eyes open. I remember
thinking:
I should have made him beg for
my forgiveness
.
I should have made
him plead for mercy. I should have raped him with the cane he used to beat me.

“I… don’t know if RezA could have
escaped. I suppose it’s possible,” I said. I was dumbfounded. “Rafiq said he
burned the building down with Narweh inside it. I guess… I didn’t want to ask
too many questions.”

“Why?” Livvie’s hand rested on top of
mine.

“I wasn’t sure Rafiq would like it,” I
said simply. “I figured if he could burn a building full of people down and
chat about it over breakfast, I had no business getting on his bad side.”

“How old were you?”

“I’d have to do the math. When’s my
birthday?”

“James. Seriously?”

I laughed.

“Give me a
break. I’ve never had to remember before.”

“You’re twenty-seven.” She smiled a
little sadly. I let myself think for a moment.

“I guess I was…
twelve, maybe thirteen?”

Livvie sat back in her chair and stared
at me.

“Jesus.” She
shook her head and wiped at her eye.

“I’m fine, Pet. At least… I think?” I
didn’t mind opening up to Livvie (much), but afterward there was always the
worry she would see me as weak. I didn’t want her pity. I only wanted her to
understand why it took so much effort on my part to give her what she needed.
Though I was beginning to learn that what I thought Livvie needed and what she
actually needed were sometimes two different things. Not often, but sometimes.
There were days I could take my job as Livvie’s protector overboard (drunk
college boys should watch their mouths if they value having teeth).

“You’re better than fine. I’m so damn
impressed with you. I feel like… the more I learn about your past… I had all
these feelings I couldn’t process in Mexico. When I tried to explain them to
Reed or Sloan, I could see on their faces how ridiculous they thought I was.”

“It’s easier to explain your feelings
for an abused whore than a man who held you prisoner. Is that about the size
and shape of it?” I kept the sound of my balls shriveling from my voice.

Livvie appeared horrified.

“No! James… no.
It’s more like… you could be so cold. But when I was at my lowest, when I felt
like I was hanging on by a thread… you always knew what to say. You have this
ability to hold me and make me believe you. You’re full of warmth and
kindness.”

I had to scoff at that, and Livvie
slapped my arm.

“You
are
!” she insisted. “I couldn’t even see
you in that room sometimes, but I could still feel it. I didn’t understand
where it came from, but when I hear you talk about the past it all makes sense
to me.”

Admittedly, I was a little embarrassed.
I’m not really accustomed to compliments, especially when they’re intensely
personal and genuine. The void almost felt… full. I, on the other hand, felt
squirmy.

“Well then.
Good. I suppose. It’s good that you think I’m… nice.”

“James, you look like I just farted in
your general direction.” She grinned.

“What! That’s disgusting.”

Livvie laughed. It was her incredibly
loud cackle that meant she couldn’t control herself. It was not a pretty sight,
but I loved it when she laughed like that. I
love
it when she laughs like that.

“No. It’s
Monty Python.
”

I was laughing too. Livvie’s laughter
is too infectious not to take part in it.

“A what?”

“It’s a movie.” She wiped tears from
her eyes.

I pulled her hand toward my mouth and
licked her finger. There are so many kinds of tears. I plan to collect them
all.

“I’m not sure I
want to see it.”

Livvie leaned forward and kissed my
lips.

“Well, we
have
to now. It’s an older movie and
over-the-top ridiculous, but I can’t wait to see your face.”

I made a face of the “what the hell is
wrong with you?” variety.

“It’s
disturbing when you do that. I always know when something big is about to
happen because there you are, staring at me with your huge doe eyes.”

Livvie shrugged.

“Not my fault
you’re so nice to look at.” Her expression turned ruefully judgmental. “You’re
the only person I know who looks
sexier
with bruises.” She poked the butterfly stitch on my eyebrow and I hissed.

“Dammit, Pet. That hurts.” I’d been
visiting the gym a few times a week and sparring. I fought Fernando mostly, but
other fighters from time to time. Some of them were even decent
conversationalists, so long as the topic didn’t stray from matches, fighting
styles, or food intake. I was compelled to try a protein shake… once.

“Oh? And it didn’t hurt when that guy
kicked you in the face?” She made a fist and twisted it near the corner of her
eye while sticking out her bottom lip.

“Are you calling me a cry baby?” I
stood and glared. Livvie’s head was craned all the way back to meet my eyes.
“Big talk for such a little girl.”

“I’m not scared of you. I’ll poke your
band-aid.” She puffed out her ample chest.

It was difficult to keep a straight
face. Had I really been outmatched by
her
?
The answer was a resounding
yes
.

“You poke my
band-aid and you’re going to have a serious problem.”

She sucked in her cheeks to keep from
smiling. Slowly her hand reached up toward my eyebrow. Her eyes met mine. She
considered. A flicker of excitement caused her to lick her bottom lip. She
pressed her fingertip to my cut. I didn’t wince.