by Clara Reese
We both laugh. God, this woman is adorable. Everything she says and does just makes me want to hold her close and keep her warm and secure. A sharp pang stabs through my chest at the thought and the weight of the ring around my neck grows even heavier. I have to remember that I can’t always have what I want.
“Would you consider going back?” I ask, taking a drink of my juice.
Katrina blink. “I...” She chews on her lower lip and looks out the window. I wish I knew what she’s thinking, what sort of thoughts she’s running through before she finally nods. It was slow and cautious, but it was there. “I would. I think. It’s a nice thought.”
I smile brightly and give her knee another squeeze, “Then let’s do it.”
“Do it?”
“Yes.” I nod, “We can look at nursing schools, find one that’s close and get you enrolled. We can talk to the admissions office, see when classes start and if what you’ve already completed can be transferred over or if you’ll need to start from scratch.”
A few emotions cross her face. From bewilderment to a cautious excitement. I can’t tell if she is truly in favour of my idea or if she is simply agreeing for the sake of an argument. Not that there would be one. If Katrina really didn’t want to go back to school, nursing or otherwise, then I won’t force it on her. But I would really like her to consider it as a valid option.
Katrina takes another bite of her breakfast and chews slowly. She is still thinking over what I said. Or at least I hope she is.
A couple more seconds pass and she nods more confidently than last time, “I would like that, very much.”
“Are you sure?” I have to ask. I don’t want her to feel pressured into anything.
Katrina looks at me and smiles, bringing a hand up to cup my face and brush her thumb along my cheekbone. “A little overwhelmed with the thought of going back to school and achieving my dream but, yes. I am sure.” Her smile is contagious, and I feel myself returning it in seconds.
I’m still worried that she isn’t completely on board with the idea. She isn’t vibrating with the excitement that I thought the idea would instill. I can only assume the reasoning behind it.
I am confident that we would be able to enroll Janet as well if we really needed to. If the right people on the faculty knew what the situation was and why she was required to be there. If that would ease Katrina’s worries when everything is over, then that is what we will do.
I just want to make sure that Katrina is set. Yes, she will have the payment as per our contract when the baby is born…But I don’t want her to go back to whatever crummy job she was breaking her back at before to make ends barely meet.
I want her to be safe. To be able to pay all of her bills, rent, and still have money left over to buy whatever the hell she wants to. I don’t want her to ever have to have the conversation I heard her have with her landlord ever again.
She has enough worries and anxieties. Money is one that I can help alleviate. If she will let me.
19
Katrina
It’s amazing how good a simple breakfast can be when you have a few ingredients to mix in. Charlotte’s cupboard is full of spices and sauces that she clearly has no idea how to use. I want to ask about Addy and if they cooked together but I don’t want to touch the raw wound.
I’m kind of amazed that she got up to make breakfast for me. It’s not something I would expect. I feel strange. Comfortable and happy.
Sexual satisfaction is not something I’m completely familiar with. I’m sure in the early days with Grady, it was great, otherwise I wouldn’t have kept it up. Now though, my only memories are of pain.
Waking up feeling satisfied and warm is a new one for me. I feel loved. I don’t think I’ve ever felt as cared for as I do right now.
Making breakfast together was just magic. Stuffing my face with as much good food as I can stomach doesn’t hurt either.
Charlotte refills my tea and we look at each other over the counter. We share a smile so warm and wide its clear we both feel the same way.
That scares the shit out of me.
I’m not here to fall in love, I’m here to offer a service. I couldn’t resist Charlotte last night and that’s on me. I should have been able to hold myself back, but something just took me over.
Charlotte’s relentless need to care for someone, something, that’s what took me over. I know Charlotte’s sitting there, selling it to herself like she did it because she needed to be a tough dom for a while and give herself some comfort. That’s not what this is.
The dom cares for the sub. Always. Grady never got that. He just went to town doing anything he wanted, and he didn’t care how I felt or if I walked away with injuries.
I don’t think Charlotte even realizes that her dominant sexual nature is about caring. She is naturally caring but I don’t think she puts two and two together and associates those things. Her need to control the environment, the food, everything, makes her a true dom. ‘Tops’ are only on top during sex and they don’t give a fuck after the fact. Doms extend their care into the entire relationship and it’s based on respect.
I watch Charlotte move around the kitchen as I sip my tea. Having a domme control my life doesn’t sound like such a bad thing. If she wants to serve me, who am I to deny her? The fact that she is being so generous only makes me want her more.
I have to remember though, Grady was awesome about the aftercare in the beginning. I think that’s why I let it go on, even after I started getting hurt. He’d tell me how good I was, how much fun he had, and I’d feel so great I couldn’t wait to do it again. I’d let him do all kinds of horrible, painful things just so I could get that gratification from pleasing him.
Until the aftercare stopped and he started telling me I was a bad sub. You aren’t trying hard enough. You’re being a brat. Just do as you’re told. Stop screaming, it doesn’t hurt that bad.
I can’t help the nasty scowl that pulls onto my face. I think every man on the planet should have a nice enthusiastic ass-fucking by someone with a big mean strap on. Once they know how it feels to be jerked around on someone’s dick like a stuffed animal, then they might take a bit more care when they penetrate someone.
I can feel myself getting really angry about the whole idea that men don’t know what it feels like to get fucked, and they really should. I don’t want to dwell on men and how they are all either dicks or assholes, so I think about last night instead.
Charlotte’s hands, firm but smooth on my skin. Her quick eyes, watching me; her mouth, pleasuring me. She made me feel so safe, so loved. Even when she was firm, I felt the love.
She’s a nurturer, it’s obvious. She can only get it out in the bedroom because she’s built herself a public persona that isn’t soft, not anywhere. I don’t think she gets how gentle she really is.
All I wanted since Grady started getting really aggressive was that safe space back. Part of the reason I cry all the time is because I’m lingering in the worst subdrop of the century. Part of my brain keeps spinning on the fact that I gave all I had, even to the point of injury, and he said I was bad.
Subs aim to please. Finding out that you failed to service your dom even though you let them hurt you, physically as well as emotionally, cuts deep.
I immerse myself in the feeling of Charlotte’s hands on me last night. My heart throbs and so do other parts of my body. So, so safe. Charlotte makes me feel incredibly secure.
I want it. I want it badly. I want to throw myself into her arms and give myself to her, body and soul. All I’m craving is that one person, that one place that can make me feel that again.
But I’m still scared.
Not just of Grady, but of myself. Charlotte too. I can’t let myself get reeled in. I know, it’s a bad idea. It always is. I’ll just find out that the place that feels safe, isn’t, and never was. Then I’ll be dealing with this same trauma all over again. I really don’t think I can do it.
I put my tea down and get
up, holding my back. I’m nowhere near big yet but it’s as if I can feel the inner strain on my body, even now.
I love this baby. I love it so much already that I would die to keep it safe. If I let myself fall for Charlotte, I’m just going to endanger her and the baby. I can’t let that happen. Once this is over and I run, Grady will follow me. He always does.
I come around to the sink where multiple pans sit, blackened eggs plastered onto them. Some of the pans are still smoking a bit. I shake my head as I roll up my sleeves.
“Charlotte, get your skinny butt in here!”
“What?” She sticks her head in from the living room.
“Help me with these dishes. You made the mess and I’ll help you clean it up, but not by myself.”
She grins bashfully as she comes into the kitchen.
“Okay, honey. Whatever you say. Where do I start?”
“You’ll never get that charred bit off with a scourer. Scrape it with a flat knife then hand it to me.”
I start filling the sink with hot water and suds, watching Charlotte scraping at the pan. I can’t help laughing and Charlotte laughs too.
I have to admit, even though I’m having a ton of reservations, this is fun. The casual intimacy, not just from last night but right now. Making breakfast, eating together, then teaming up to clean. It makes me feel comfortable. I didn’t expect for Charlotte’s friendship to affect me so deeply.
I swirl some soap into a pan and start scrubbing at it with steel wool.
“You’re lucky I have experience.” I look at the pan woefully. “It would take a professional dishwasher to get this clean.”
“Don’t stress out.” Charlotte examines the mess. “I can just buy more.”
The statement is so ridiculous to me that I burst out laughing. Charlotte does too, and I think how easy it is to be with her.
I’m hiding it from myself. But she means a lot to me and I’m falling for her a bit more every day.
20
Charlotte
I check my watch as the meeting drones on, conscious that I need to start wrapping things up here. It’s almost 5pm and I promised Katrina I’d be finished in time for dinner. Recently home has stopped feeling so oppressive, and I find that I’m no longer spending 16 hours a day at the office in a desperate bid to avoid going back. Not to mention that I don’t want to miss any developments in the pregnancy! I smile as I think about how having Katrina around has changed things, how it’s changed me.
I’m still smiling as I pack the paperwork into my briefcase and head out of the office. It’s a sunny day, the hottest in a while, and I slip my cobalt blue blazer off my shoulders. I’m a couple of blocks from home when I decide to stop off at the grocery store and grab a couple of pints of ice cream. I know Katrina’s favorite is mint chocolate chip, and I want to surprise her tonight.
I call out when I enter the apartment and hear shuffling feet as Katrina comes to greet me. I keep telling her she doesn’t need to get up just for me, but she still insists on coming to hug me hello every evening when I get home. Addison used to do that too, but somehow it doesn’t make me sad anymore. It feels like a weight is slowly lifting from my chest, like I can maybe start to move on.
After I wash up, the two of us sit down to dinner. I make Katrina laugh with my dramatic retelling of how two of my interns locked themselves out on the balcony today and had to be rescued by the window cleaner. In return, Katrina tells me about the 7 adorable puppies she saw on her walk to the library, and how they were trying to trip up their harassed walker. As I sip my soda, I think about how easy Katrina has made it to laugh again. Just a few months ago, I didn’t even think it was possible to be happy, let alone to be sitting at my dining room table with someone, tears of laughter streaming down both of our faces.
Once dinner is finished, I make to clear the plates up while trying to insist that Katrina takes it easy in the living room. However, one thing I’ve quickly learned about that woman over the last few months is that there’s no telling her what to do. As soon as I suggest it, she’s up and pouring dish soap into the sink. I roll my eyes and start drying the plates as she passes them over. It’s nice to stand quietly side-by-side, doing something so mundane and domestic like this.
Afterwards, Katrina makes me watch a true crime documentary with her. She lies across the couch with her feet on my lap as I massage them for her. She closes her eyes and groans in pleasure and I take the opportunity to stare fondly at her. I can’t be so mushy when she has her eyes open or Katrina pokes fun at me endlessly.
I like doing little things for her, like giving her foot rubs or running her a bubble bath, or buying her ice cream at all hours of the day and night. At first I thought it was just because she was carrying this baby for me, and I felt I had to show her just how grateful I am that she agreed to do this. I’m still grateful of course, but now there’s a deeper meaning in my actions. I want Katrina to know I care about her as well as the baby.
She has her books scattered around the couch and has clearly been studying today. I quiz her on a few chapters of her anatomy textbook and am genuinely impressed by how quickly she’s able to rattle off the answers. I’ve always had a keen head for business but I would never be able to remember everything that she learns for every class.
Like always, Katrina blushes when I say these thoughts out loud. She’s not used to compliments and kind words, and I know it all leads back to her abusive ex and the life she had with him. I hug her gently but firmly. I wish she would believe me a little easier when I list all the good things about her.
When Katrina’s eyes fall shut and her breathing evens out into sleep, I ease myself out from under her legs and make my way to the garage door. I put my hand on the door handle and take a breath. I’ve stood here countless times since the day I came home from the hospital, after the accident, but I’ve rarely worked up the courage to open it and go inside.
I close my eyes. Somehow turning the handle and pushing the door open is a lot easier when I’m not looking, so I keep them closed as I step over the threshold and into the garage as well. I walk slowly forwards and only open my eyes when I bump softly against the smooth metal of the car. Okay, this is good. Baby steps.
I take another deep breath as I place my hand onto the driver’s door and gently pull it open. It’s painfully slow going, and I’m almost embarrassed. But this is the farthest I’ve ever gotten in all these months, and that’s not something to be sniffed at.
Another deep breath, this time to brace myself as I slide gently down to sit in the driver’s seat. I’m nervous and fidgety, but minutes pass and my breathing gets easier. I squeeze my eyes shut and then open them sharply, but nothing happens. I’m still in the garage, not out on the road, and the engine is still turned off.
I almost feel the need to celebrate this victory. It is a victory. For the longest time I’ve panicked every time I even saw a steering wheel, let alone sat in front of one. I had visions of that night, of the crash, but now here I am, sitting in the driver’s seat once more.
I close my eyes and sigh happily as I reach out and grip the steering wheel. When I open them again, the garage has vanished and instead I’m racing along a wet highway, laughing along with Addy in the passenger seat.
“Faster!” she eggs me on, too drunk to take the wheel herself. “You can go faster, we’re nowhere near the limit!”
I shake my head, try to stop. I let out an involuntary moan and try to find the brakes, but the car just keeps speeding up. I try to wrench my hands off the wheel, hoping it’ll bring me back to the present, but they’re stuck like glue.
“No, no, no!” I call out, wondering if I can by some scientific miracle get through to my past self and tell her to slow down. “Please no, not again!”
I’ve had these flashbacks since the accident. I lean forward and howl as I feel the sharp pains shooting up my legs. I broke both of them in the crash and I can feel the bones snapping again.
I shake and sob and
try to remember the breathing exercises Ben gave me, but it’s too late for that. I look across the car and see Addy. My Addy. What have I done?
The next thing I know, I’ve thrown myself out of the car and landed heavily on the concrete floor. I’m back in the garage but I can’t see it. I can’t see anything except the smoke and the twisted metal and my Addy.
I scream.
21
Katrina
I’m sleeping lightly when I’m jolted awake by a thump and a scream. I instructively clutch my bump and stuff myself into a corner of the couch, trying to make myself as small as possible. I don’t know who screamed, or why, but I’m scared.
I breathe a momentary sigh of relief when Janet rushes past towards the noise, but my relief is short lived as she hurries back again.
“It’s Charlotte.” She says gruffly, her eyes betraying the worry she’s clearly trying not to show. “Katrina, you’d better come. Quickly.”
She helps me off the couch and we run to the garage. I spot Charlotte immediately, hanging half in and half out of one of the cars and sobbing hysterically. What on earth was she doing down here? I know she avoids the garage as much as possible.
As I crouch down beside her, she cowers away from me and sobs harder. I try to pull her out of the car but it’s easier said than done. My bump makes me move rather awkwardly now and Charlotte is thrashing around. She’s clearly having a panic attack.
I decide that I have to try and calm her down a little before I can get her out of the situation. I inch closer, trying to pitch my voice to be low and calming, and rub small, soothing circles on her lower back.
“It’s okay. Charlotte, can you hear me? You’re here with me, with Katrina, and everything’s okay. You’re not in danger, honey, I promise you.”
I hope I’m saying the right things. I feel a pang of pain, worry and sadness within my chest. I know I’m starting to feel more for her and the baby a lot more than I should, especially considering this job has an expiration date that’s fast approaching. Once the baby is born, I will have to hand her over to Charlotte and leave.
