The Art of Submission (53 page)

Yes, I
will
negotiate for Isa. I will give her whatever
she wants; whatever she needs.

I walk into the dungeon, get undressed and
wait for her to wake.

**********************

Isabel

It’s very late and my bus to Atlanta doesn’t
leave for another three hours, so I catch a cab to the 24-hour
market for something to snack on. When I’m there I spy a box of
brown hair dye and I get enraged once again. Fucking Cassie with
her long legs and gorgeous brown hair. Why is life so unfair? I
grab the box and go to the counter to pay. He wants a brunette,
than that’s what he’ll get. I pay and make my way back out.

I catch a cab to a cheap motel and get
the room for a few hours. I make my way into the rat trap motel and
decide to dye my hair and then shower before my long trip. When I’m
all done, I look in the mirror and I’m horrified at my own
image.
Yuck.
Brown is
definitely not my color. I immediately regret my decision but I’m
too tired to give a damn. I lie down and take a small nap. When I
wake up, I still feel miserable and not at all rested.

The next hour is spent going to the ATM
and taking out as much cash as I’m allowed and going back to the
Grey Hound bus depot to await my bus departure time. While I’m
waiting, I begin to feel forlorn again. I hardly know Dylan, so why
am I so upset about all of this? I’ve been with men for much longer
and was never affected this way by them when things ended. I guess
it’s because he gave me what I really needed; what I really
wanted;
a way out of myself
.
I felt in control for once. Even when he was dominating me, it’s
because I allowed it, and I had the control to say yes or no or to
stop it if things went too far. Will I ever be able to go back to
vanilla? No.
I don’t want
vanilla
. But I don’t want to do the things I did with
Dylan, with anyone else. Perhaps I’ll just have to take a vow of
celibacy.
Oh brother.
Who am
I kidding? I guess I’ll just have to invest in some dildos. At
least I won’t have to worry about getting emotionally attached to
that kind of dick.

When my bus finally arrives, I load myself
and my carry-on bag. I only briefly have second thoughts.

The next day and is spent going through the
motions. Driving, crying, self-chastising, being angry, stopping
for a break and stretching…. and then the same routine over
again.

When I get to my final destination, I
catch a cab to my father’s home. It’s early evening and he should
be back from work. On the way to the secluded neighborhood, I’m
flooded with memories of my childhood. I have a few fond memories
of my mother, but mostly, the memories are bad and painful to
recall. Why did she leave me? I can’t think about that and I push
the memory of her to the back of my mind. When I arrive at the
house, I feel queasy and afraid. Much like the way I used to feel
when I lived here eons ago. The house looks exactly the same with
its perfectly manicured lawn and tall foreboding gate walls. The
lights are on inside and I see my father pass in front of the
kitchen window. I suddenly feel like running. Why did I come here?
My eyes begin to water profusely and I suddenly lean over and
retch.
Fuck, Isa, pull it together.
Why am I still so afraid of him?

I pull myself together and force myself to go
to the front door. I ring the doorbell and wait fearfully for my
father to answer. When he opens the door, he just stands staring at
me completely emotionless. I knew I wouldn’t get balloons or a
party at my return, but this… well… I was at least expecting a
smile. Since he won’t be the first to react, I coax my mouth and
body to smile and speak a polite hello.

His simple and cold response, “What are you
doing here?”

He doesn’t even invite me in. I tell him I
came to talk to him.

“Do you need more money or something?”
He asks. What a jackass. I don’t need his fucking money and I don’t
want it either. I hold my tongue from saying it, fearful of what my
punishment will be.
Punishment?
I’m an adult, damn it.

I walk past him, not waiting for an
invitation anymore. When we’re in the foyer, I decide to spill the
beans. There’s no making friendly talk with my father and there’s
no point in beating around the bush.

“I want to know why you hate me so much.” I
tell him, sounding much more timid that I wanted.

He looks only mildly taken with my
response.

“You drove all the way out here to ask what
you already know?” He says callously.

Oh my God.
This is not going to go well. I can already see that. What
the hell was I thinking by coming here? Fine. I call out to my
inner alter ego for some help and she makes her
appearance.

“You’re right. I already know why. I
came here to tell you that I don’t want your fucking charity
anymore so stop sending it. If you’re feeling guilty about the way
you’ve completely and utterly shattered your daughter’s self worth,
then get some fucking therapy and keep your guilt money you
cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch.”
Holy
shit.
Way to go, Isa!

My father has a look on his face like
one I’ve never, and I mean
never,
seen before in my life. He’s obviously shocked at my audacity
and sudden growth of balls. Still feeling invigorated and proud of
myself, I turn to leave, but he lunges at me, pushing me down to
the floor and pinning me with his knees.
Not again. No… no… this is not happening.

I start thrashing and fighting which
takes him by surprise I think because before, I would’ve just let
him beat me.
Fuck that
. I try
my best to push him off, but he’s much larger than me and I can’t
budge him. Then I see him start to remove his belt,
slowly
. Oh my God.
I start to
panic and lash out. I get in a good swipe at his face and claw him
across his left cheek. He lets out a shriek and then the belt comes
down, but I block it with my arms in front of my face. Then he
jumps up, flips me over and starts whipping the belt across my
back.
Fuck… it hurts so badly
and I immediately start screaming. Then I stop thrashing and
go silent.
Maybe if I stop moving and shut
the hell up, he’ll stop hitting me. No -
that never
worked before. I try to make myself as small as possible and brace
myself for the pain. He stands above me and brings the belt down
over and over. I feel myself float up and out of myself, just like
when I was a child. I’m watching from above, thinking only of Dylan
and how much I wish he were here to protect me. How someone,
anyone
was here to protect
me.

When I feel the beating cease, I come back to
myself and suddenly feel the pain. It’s searing and excruciating
but I hold my tears. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me
cry. Not ever again. When he stops, I stand up, pull myself
together, grab my bag and look my father straight in the eyes.

“Are you done now?” I ask him defiantly.

He looks shocked and starts to bring the belt
up one more time but I stop him. I recall Dylan’s words to me and I
use them as a weapon against my father.

“Don’t.
If you
know what’s good for you,
don’t.
That’s the last time you’ll ever lay another hand on me.” I
say narrowing my eyes at him and my tone being deadly serious. Even
if it’s just faked, I do my best to make it threatening.

It must have worked, because he lowers the
belt and backs away from me. I make my way out of the front door,
practically tripping over my own feet and run to the street. I make
it to the edge of the sidewalk and fall to my knees and vomit. As I
gather my wits, still shaking uncontrollably from the adrenaline
rush and intense pain, I finally start crying.

I walk for a good half hour towards the city
limits with the cool sticky air on my face. I call a cab and make
my way back to the bus station. What a sad waste of time that was.
Just like my life; a sad waste of time.

Luckily, there’s a bus leaving for Denver
shortly and I make my way on. I haven’t eaten practically all day
and I feel weak from lack of food and from my beating. I drift off
to sleep, crying again at my own stupidity for thinking that things
would be any different and for losing Dylan over my need for
control.

I awake to the sound of the overhead speaker
telling us about a short stop in Nashville. I need to get out and
walk a bit. I’m stiff and sore and I need to stretch.

When I make my way off, I no sooner get
inside the bus station when I see Dylan.
Oh my God
. Am I hallucinating? How the hell did
he get her and how did he know I would be here? Dylan’s words of
‘You do know what I do for a living, right?’ come to mind. I stand
frozen in my spot, not knowing what the hell to do or say. He leads
me to a bench, but I sit just out of his reach, not knowing what
he’ll try with me.

“What did do you to yourself?” He asks eyeing
my hair and gesturing with a nod.

I thought this is what he wanted. “This
is what you like, isn’t it?” I ask him, feeling embarrassed about
my stupid decision to dye my hair. Suddenly he reaches for me. I
pull away, still feeling defensive and wary because of my earlier
attack, but then the desperate look on his face makes me regret
having done that to him. Wait… he slept with his receptionist
and
I’m
feeling
guilty?
Typical, Isa.

“No, it isn’t what I like. Not anymore. Why
were you in Atlanta? Were you with another man?” He asks, sounding
hurt and even jealous.

Not anymore?
Really?
He suddenly changed his preference since
the other night? Another man? Is he serious? I tell him there is no
other man for me, because there isn’t, and that I went to see my
father, trying to put his mind at ease and feeling sick about how
my father just beat me again.

“Did you go see him because you think I slept
with Cassie the other night?” He asks looking concerned.

What does he mean ‘think?’ Is he saying
he
didn’t
sleep with
her?

“
Yes, I did sleep with
her...”

This is ridiculous. Why the hell is he
telling me what I already know?
Seriously.
Why the hell is he here? Just to
remind me of that I’ll never satisfy him? I feel my tears
threatening to break free, but I hold them back the best I
can.

“Isabel, please. Let me finish. I did sleep
with Cassie…”

He slept with Cassie over a year ago? Then
why was she in his room? How does he plan on explaining that away?
He tries to hold my hand but I don’t want any of it.

“Because she can’t take a hint, that’s why.
She came to Dallas uninvited after I talked to her about
redecorating the spare room into an art studio for you.” He says
looking sincere.

What? Why would he do something like
that?

“Isn’t it obvious, Isa?”

Uh…
NO
.

He sighs and then rolls his eyes and
says, “Because I… because…
oh hell.
Because I don’t want to be with anyone else. Because
I…”

No, no, no
.
There is no way this man has fallen for me. Not with all of my
issues. I cut him off before he says something he doesn’t really
mean or something he’ll regret later. What about what I did and
what about the contract?

He looks exasperated. “Enough with the
fucking contract Isa…”

He was the one who wanted the contract
so damned badly. Now he doesn’t? No. It’s not enough. I want rules.
I want to know exactly what his expectations of me are and I want
to know what to expect out of him. I can’t believe I’m actually
saying this,
but I want the
contract.
I want it in writing that he’s not going to
be with anyone else and that he’s not going to hurt me.

“You
want
the contract? Jesus, Isa…” He says sounding
resigned.

Holy revelation.
He doesn’t want anyone else? Not
ever?
I’m floored by his response, but the
contract isn’t arbitrary. It means something. It means that he can
do the things that he needs to make him happy and that…
I can too
. Doesn’t he understand
that?

“
I know where you’re going with this,
Isabel, and I can’t be tamed.
I won’t
be.”
He says with furrowed eyebrows.

Then he looks down at his hands and I
feel heartbroken that he thinks I want to control him. Where would
he get an idea like that? Oh, my poor dominant Dylan. Doesn’t he
know that I love the Dom in him? But I need to have just a little
bit of control, too. Is that so much to ask for? I don’t want all
of the control, just a little bit of it. Why can’t he understand
that? I’ve never had control in my life.
Ever.
Not until I met him and now he wants to
deny me the little bit that I’m asking for?

“Isabel, I can’t talk about this anymore
right now. Please. Just come home with me and we’ll discuss it
tomorrow, okay?” He says trying to reach out to me.

What difference will one day make?