Cutting Cords (Cutting Cords Series Book 1)

by Mickie B. Ashling

  “Indeed,” Max replied, kissing me chastely on the lips. “You are full of surprises, young man.”

  “I shocked myself.”

  “You’ve never explored BDSM?”

  “Never.”

  “Would you be interested in learning more? I think you’d make an ideal submissive.”

  “I don’t take orders well.”

  “You did fine a moment ago.”

  “I’ll do anything to get off,” I said truthfully. “Submissive is not a word I would associate with myself. No one has ever been able to tell me what to do.”

  “You’ve never been given the right motivation. I know what makes you tick, Sloan. I felt the scars on your legs.”

  I sucked in a startled breath, embarrassed at being found out so soon. I thought I’d have more time.

  “Darling, please don’t fret. I work with models day in and day out. There isn’t a single one who doesn’t have some kind of body-image issue. Cutters are pretty common in my world.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. Was it true? He’d said the word without even flinching. “Do you know other people like me?”

  “Yes, my darling boy. But you’re in good hands, Sloan. I can give you controlled pain that will segue into intense pleasure. You’ll never cut yourself again.”

  “Really?”

  “You’ll have to trust me on this.”

  “Okay.”

  “Will you let me take you on this journey?”

  “Yes.”

  “Stay the night?”

  “No. I’d like to go home and think about everything we did.”

  “I’m a little disappointed you won’t be staying, but I understand,” Max said kindly.

  “A lot has happened since we’ve met, and it’s a bit overwhelming, to be honest. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Max assured me. “Go home and recover. The most important thing to take away from this experience is that I’m here for you as a friend. Perhaps someday you’ll let me be your Dom.”

  “My what?”

  Max crossed the room to a glass-covered bookshelf and pulled out two books and handed them to me. “Take these and read them at your leisure. It’ll explain a lot more.”

  I glanced down at the black leather-bound books. The titles were embossed in blood-red ink and looked quite formidable. Submission and Dominance on one and Bondage and Masochism on the other.

  “My homework?” I asked reluctantly.

  “Yes. Let me know how you feel once you’ve had a chance to study them.”

  Chapter 21

  Cole rolled over and reached for Juliana, but she was gone, most likely on her way to work even though it was a Sunday. A job in retail included weekends, and although her hours were flexible, the days of the week were fixed. Wednesday and Thursday were her normal days off.

  In the bathroom, Cole lifted the toilet seat and did his business. He flushed and moved over to the sink to brush his teeth. He paused as he was flossing, unsettled all of a sudden. There was that odor again. A sharp, metallic smell he’d picked up a few weeks ago. He looked down on the floor, glancing left and right, and saw nothing untoward. Then again, if there was a dead mouse or some other critter causing the stink, he wouldn’t be able to see it unless it was a few inches away. Giving up the search, he continued with his morning routine.

  When he was done, he dressed for his lunch meeting with John. He’d called him last night before texting Juliana, desperate to unburden himself with someone impartial. Thankfully John was able to rearrange his schedule. Dangling the engagement carrot last night had been a terrible mistake. He had to convince John to meet with Juliana in the near future to enlighten her on all aspects of life with a disabled man. If she heard it from a professional, perhaps she would see things more clearly and realize their marriage would be a mistake.

  Emily was in the kitchen, looking the worse for wear. There was a cup of coffee close at hand, but it appeared undisturbed. She turned in his direction and blinked owlishly. In a croaky whisper, she announced, “I have a massive hangover.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Cole smirked. “I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t overindulged.”

  She smiled weakly and rested her head on one hand. “Fuck…I’m never having another drink.”

  “You’ll rebound in no time. When does your train leave?”

  “Three thirty.”

  “Is Sloan around?”

  “Yup. He came home last night after all. I let him in after he sent me a text.”

  “He’s lucky you were still awake.”

  “It was only two in the morning.”

  “Oh.”

  “I met Juliana, Cole. She told me you proposed, so I guess congratulations are in order.”

  He felt his cheeks heating up. He was embarrassed to talk to Emily about Juliana because he had no idea what Sloan had said to her about their recent encounter.

  “Um, I think she’s getting ahead of herself. We talked about an engagement.”

  “Oh well, maybe I’m the one who misunderstood. She seemed very happy.”

  “Have you had anything to eat?” Cole asked, eager to change the subject.

  “No.”

  “Would you like me to make you something? I’m meeting a friend for lunch so I can’t join you, but I’m willing to heat up some leftovers if you’re in the mood.”

  “Japanese food for breakfast?”

  “It’s a meal, isn’t it?”

  Emily groaned. “I think I’ll pass.”

  “Okay.” Cole poured hot water into a cup and threw in a tea bag. After it had steeped for a few minutes, he pulled out a chair and joined Emily. “Where’s Sloan?” he asked in between sips.

  “He said he was going to take a shower.”

  “I didn’t see him in the bathroom.”

  “Maybe he’s back in bed. Long night, you know?”

  “I’m sure no one forced him to do anything against his will. He’s not that kind of person.”

  “True,” Emily agreed. “Maybe you and Juliana can visit me in Boston. I’d love to be able to return the favor.”

  “You mean staying here?”

  “Yes. It was really nice of you to invite me, a complete stranger, to stay over.”

  “You’re Sloan’s best friend, not a stranger.”

  “Well, I appreciate it nonetheless.”

  “You’re welcome to visit anytime you want.”

  “Thank you.”

  I could hear the drone of voices and assumed Emily and Cole were chatting in the kitchen. Naked and huddled under my blanket, I didn’t pick up any content, too freaked out over what had just transpired.

  I’d lost it earlier when Emily recounted her conversation with the girlfriend. Cole had done the unthinkable and proposed marriage. What in hell was he thinking when he had so many unresolved issues, primarily me.

  How could he? I’d bet my last bag of weed and my entire Queen collection on his questionable orientation. Fucking coward. He’d rather slink back into the closet than stand up to his father and live his most authentic life.

  But that bombshell wasn’t what had scared the life out of me. Nor was it the blade I’d reached for in a desperate moment. I was in the middle of a cutting session with snot running out of my nose and tears rolling down my cheeks when he walked into the bathroom. I was sitting in the tub, in plain fucking sight, blood seeping out of the multiple gashes on my thighs, and Cole acted like I wasn’t even there.

  He took a piss and then went to brush his teeth while I watched the crimson rivulets trickle down my thighs and pool in the white porcelain bathtub. Why didn’t he react? I wasn’t invisible. Maybe I was still drunk and not processing. Was I in the middle of a bad dream?

  Or had I imagined all of it. My evening with Max, including the kinky sex, couldn’t have been real. But there were two leather-bound books on my desk—BDSM-for-dummies—that were tangible proof it was legit and not some drug-induced fantasy.

  S
o why the fuck didn’t Cole see me? Was he too self-absorbed to care? Surely he would have bitched about the mess if nothing else. The man was a stickler for neatness and I was sitting in a puddle of my own blood. Realistically, Cole should have screamed like a banshee and called me every name under the sun. Sick fuck would have hurt, coming out of his mouth, but it would have been appropriate.

  I’d had an amazing day yesterday, riding high on the success of the photo shoot, and a magical night, with a famous man who was happy to grovel at my feet. Yet, I’d ended up back in the same insecure hole I’d just climbed out of. Desperately unhappy because the man I was obsessed with didn’t want me. Once again, I had taken one step forward and two back.

  It was time I faced the truth. Cole didn’t give a shit if I lived or died. I was nothing but a means of release, a live fuck doll. He wasn’t going to waste one minute of his energy on my sorry ass even if he had enjoyed plowing into it the other night.

  I pulled open the drawer of my nightstand. Thankfully, the bag of Xanax was still there, and I dry swallowed two pills, knowing they’d knock me for a loop. I didn’t give a shit. I had every intention of spending the rest of my day in a drugged-out haze.

  Emily stuck her head in the door. “Are you decent?”

  “I will be in a minute. Give me five, okay?”

  “Sure thing.”

  She shut the door, and I got out of bed reluctantly. I’d forgotten about her. She was leaving today, and I had to take her to Grand Central so she could catch her train. What the fuck…. How was I going to manage it, higher than a kite?

  I stumbled into the bathroom, locked the door, and stuck two fingers down my throat. The pills came up quickly; they hadn’t even dissolved yet, thank goodness. Barfing wasn’t one of my favorite things, but I couldn’t let Emily wander around looking for her train. I could always take more pills when I got back.

  In the shower, I turned the water on full blast. I wanted it as cold as I could stand, hoping it would wake me up and knock some sense into me. As my head cleared, the logical side of my brain kicked on and scolded me. There was something mysterious going on that made no sense. It was physically impossible for Cole to have missed a naked man shivering in his tub. Maybe Emily’s theory about his eyesight was correct after all. The man desperately needed glasses but was too goddamn vain to wear them; or perhaps I was really and truly going mad. This last theory seemed more plausible. Did psychotic breaks appear out of nowhere?

  I got out of the shower and toweled off quickly. I sprayed my thighs with the antiseptic. I’d done some pretty serious damage last night and they looked like I’d been mauled by a wild cat. Max’s theory about BDSM replacing my cutting was a joke. He had no idea who he was dealing with.

  The loosest pants I owned were a pair of sweats I’d inherited from Junior. They had the San Francisco Giants logo on them and were baggy and unattractive, but I wasn’t ready for skinny jeans. The thought of denim scraping against my thighs was unnerving. A loose T-shirt with Freddie Mercury blaring into a microphone topped off my grungy ensemble. I grabbed my iPhone, my earbuds, and walked into the kitchen.

  Cole was at the table with Emily, and they both looked up when I appeared.

  I had hoped to see some sign of interest, a tiny clue that might be mistaken for concern, but there was no indication. Just those unforgettable blue eyes looking sort of bewildered. Or maybe I was imagining this as well.

  “You ready to go, Em?”

  “Now? It’s early, isn’t it?”

  “I thought we could grab some lunch first.”

  “Can we go to Hard Rock Café?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Let me buy you a new Queen T-shirt?” she asked, hoping it might cheer me up.

  “I’ve got plenty.”

  She half smiled. Emily knew me better than anyone else, and my signals were pretty clear. Every atom cried out for help, but she couldn’t fix this problem. No one could make this better except me.

  Chapter 22

  There appeared to be a million people at Hard Rock Café on Broadway. The music was too loud, and excited tourists calling out to each other in multiple languages hurt my ears. The chaotic ambiance was wreaking havoc on our mutual hangovers.

  “This was a rotten idea, Em.”

  “I know.” She groaned. “There’s already a conga line in my brain and the noise level isn’t helping.”

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” I grabbed her duffel with one hand and dragged her along with the other. We’d decided to bring all her stuff so we could head straight to the train station after lunch. We stepped out on one of New York’s busiest streets and were buffeted by the lunch crowd, intent on grabbing a meal before rushing back to their desks. I craned my neck to find a hidey-hole where we could hang out without breaking our budgets.

  “You want to try the pizza joint over there?” Pizza parlors in New York were deceptive as hell. Most of them looked like dives from the outside but had amazing food most of the time. If this one could afford to pay rent on Broadway, it had to be good.

  “Anywhere so long as it’s quiet,” Emily mumbled.

  We crossed the street, two specks of humanity in the immense throng, trying to safely navigate the streets of Manhattan without getting robbed or crushed. The café was atmospheric, to say the least, with black-and-white checked floors and shiny red vinyl stools lining the counters. There were a few booths with benches in the same color and miniature jukeboxes on the end of each table. Instead of making me heave, the wonderful smell of spicy sausage, garlic, and tomato sauce wafting in from the kitchen made my mouth water. Customers took their eyes off their meals for a split second when we walked in, then continued to devour slices of pizza with gusto. As luck would have it, a couple was exiting a small table for two in the back and we snagged their spot, sinking into the chairs gratefully.

  “Do you want to split one?”

  “Sure. Get pepperoni.”

  This was another reason why Emily and I were such good friends. I went up to the counter and placed our order, took the tall glasses topped with ice and soda, stuck in a couple of straws, and brought them back to our table.

  “Here you go.”

  “Thanks, Sloan.”

  “Welcome.”

  We sipped our drinks as we waited for our pizza.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “I’m your best friend, or do you have someone else who’ll listen to your never-ending tales of woe?”

  My laugh was a cross between a snort and a sob. I bit down hard on my lower lip before I embarrassed both of us. I couldn’t blink back the tears in time, and she reached for my hand immediately.

  “Oh, Sloan,” Emily said. “Tell me what happened. Did Max hurt you?”

  I shook my head violently. “Max has nothing to do with this.”

  “What then?”

  “How can he marry her?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Cole is about to make the biggest mistake of his life.”

  Her mouth practically dropped open, and she stumbled through her response. “He…must love her or feel obligated for some reason.”

  “Bull! He doesn’t love her,” I said with absolute conviction. “Not in the truest sense of the word.”

  “Calm down or they’ll call the cops on us.”

  “What the fuck, Em? You don’t marry someone because you’re obligated.”

  “Sloan, are you sure you’re not reading more into your connection? You said yourself that guys fool around all the time. Maybe it was a one-off?”

  “More like a two-off, but who’s counting. I may have overblown our first incident; we were both high on weed. But the second one was for real, Emily. Neither one of us had any booze or drugs in our system. He wanted me—fiercely and passionately—just as I wanted him. I did not imagine any of it, although I’m starting to doubt my sanity at the moment.”

  “How come?”
<
br />   “I think I may have had a psychotic moment this morning.”

  “Get the fuck out. You’re not a psycho.”

  “I mean it. I was in the bathtub and he walked in, pissed, brushed his teeth, and didn’t acknowledge my presence. He acted as if he were alone.”

  Emily blinked slowly. “I also noticed something odd.”

  “What?”

  “Last night, I went to the kitchen to get a drink. Cole was making a sandwich in the dark. The only reason I didn’t switch on the light was because he was naked.”

  “How could you see if it was dark?”

  “There was a bit of moonlight shining in through the window.”

  “So what’s the big deal? It’s his apartment and the kitchen is familiar territory.”

  “Have you ever sliced a tomato without the benefit of light?”

  “No way.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Didn’t he realize you were watching?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “This is creepy.”

  “Or it may mean nothing, Sloan. It could be one of his quirks.”

  “No, I’m sure something isn’t right. Do you think I should ask him?”

  “I wouldn’t,” Emily said. “If he wanted you to know, he would have told you.”

  “Told me what?”

  “I don’t have a clue.”

  “Did you get a chance to use his computer at all?”

  “No. Why?”

  “His font is five times the normal size.”

  “Maybe he really needs glasses.”

  “Why isn’t he wearing them? When he was a kid, he wore glasses. I remember he looked like a fucking geek. Who knew I’d fall in love with him years later?”

  Emily stared in shock. “Did you just say the L word?”

  “I meant lust, Emily. I’m in lust with him.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Sloan…. ”

  “Drop it, okay? What do we do about this vision thing?”

  “I don’t know.” Emily shrugged. “What do you want to do?”

  “Follow him. See where he goes all day while I’m not around.”

  “There will be hell to pay if he finds out. He might even throw you out of the apartment; then what’ll you tell your dad?”