by M. S. Parker
Rylan looked down at me with an expression of disgust on his face. I wanted to look away, to cover myself up, but I couldn't move. I was held tight between the men fucking me and could do nothing but pray that Rylan would turn away. He didn't though.
“Suzette and Zeke were right. You're just a filthy little whore, aren't you, Jenna?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of cash. He dropped it next to me and unzipped his pants. He didn't wait for the others to be done, shoving himself inside me...
“No!” The word was still on my lips as I woke. I winced at the sharp pain in my head, but it was a welcome reminder that it had only been a dream. Rylan hadn't done that. He hadn't been there. And he wouldn't have done it even if he had been. I'd heard the anger in his voice when I talked about being abused. He wanted to kill the men who'd hurt me. I hadn't left him because I hadn't believed that he loved me. I'd left because I'd known he loved me.
Exhausted emotionally and physically, I drifted in and out of sleep. Sometimes I managed an hour or so without nightmares, but they always came eventually. Some were memories of my past. My mother hitting me, burning me. The man who'd like to hunt me. Individual men, faceless when they raped me, their perversion feeling almost normal when compared to other things I'd been forced to do. Christophe making me watch those videos.
Worse were the ones my mind made up entirely. Most starred Rylan. Sometimes he was joining in the abuse, but more often, he was happy, married to someone else, a father to beautiful children. In my dreams, he’d forgotten me until I approached and then he would send me away, not wanting me to contaminate the precious life he'd created. There were dreams where I'd married Rylan and we had a family. Those were the worst of all, because I'd be happy in the dream and then wake up to feel the loss all over again.
At some point, I realized that I'd slept almost the entire weekend away. It was late Sunday night and I hadn't taken a single moment to think about what I was going to do tomorrow. I knew what I wanted to do. Sleep. Try to find even a few minutes of peace. I could feel the darkness tugging at me, promising relief. Even though I knew it was a lie, I wanted it.
Growing up, I'd never allowed myself to think much of the future because I'd known that if I'd seen it, the black stretching outward, endless days of pain and misery, I'd either go mad or I'd kill myself. When I'd started Lang Tech Consulting, I'd allowed myself to see a positive future, but only in my work. With Rylan, however, I'd been unable to stop myself from thinking about a future with him because he'd seen one with me.
Now there was nothing. I could start Lang Tech Consulting back up again. My clients had been sad to see me go. I didn't really want to do that though. As much as I'd fought against working at Archer Enterprises, I'd ended up enjoying the job. The people, for the most part, were polite and let me do my own thing.
I couldn't go back though. I knew people had started to put two and two together regarding Rylan and I, and they'd soon figure out I broke up with him. I didn't want to be there when all of that shit hit the fan. There'd be blame and gossip and all of the things that made me prefer computers to actual people.
And then there'd be him. I couldn't face Rylan again. I couldn't bear to see how badly I'd hurt him. Or worse, if I hadn't hurt him at all. I'd told myself that I knew he loved me, but I couldn't stop myself from wondering just how deep that love actually went. Of course, there was always the problem of what I'd do if he tried to get me back. It had taken all my strength to leave. I was a strong person, but I didn't think I could walk away from him again. One look, one touch, and I'd be his. It would've been so much easier if I didn't love him or if he'd done something horrible, but none of that was true. All I had to hold onto was that I was giving him the chance to find the happiness he deserved.
When Sunday turned into Monday, I made up my mind about what I had to do. I didn't like the idea, but I knew it was the right thing for everyone involved.
I waited until six o'clock and went downstairs. I knew how good Rylan was with a computer. If I sent the email from my phone, he'd be able to find me. The cab driver gave me an odd look when I asked to be taken to the local library, but he didn't argue. It wasn't open yet, but I'd made friends with the security guard a while back and he'd sometimes let me in early. I handed him a cup of coffee and he unlocked the door. I promised to be in and out in just a couple minutes. It didn't take long and, by six-thirty, I'd sent my resignation to Rylan's personal and business emails. Even if he did track the origin of the email here, he'd never find me. And that was a pretty big if. Another reason I'd wanted to use the library's computers was that I'd used them before and hidden a nice little re-routing program to my log-in that made it seem like I was working from other parts of the country.
I was numb as I went back to the hotel. It was done. I'd cut all ties with Rylan and now I'd make sure I stayed out of his way, at least until he'd moved on. I could leave Fort Collins, I supposed, make a new start somewhere else. I wasn't quite ready to do that yet, but if I had to, I would. Seattle might be a good place to disappear to.
I pushed the thought aside. I wasn't there yet. Right now, all I wanted to do was sleep and not think.
Chapter 3
I had the driver stop at a drug store before going to the hotel and I was glad I had. I'd never been fond of taking sleeping pills since they made me sleep so deeply that I wasn't aware of my surroundings, but at the moment, they were better than the alternative of alcohol. At least the sleeping pills wouldn't give me a hangover. Plus, once I checked my room to make sure no one else was inside, I could bolt and lock the door and feel as safe as I did anywhere else – more than I did in my apartment. I ignored the little voice in the back of my head that said I'd be even safer with Rylan. That wasn't an option anymore.
For the next few days, I slept. I woke periodically to eat something or use the bathroom, but I didn't bother showering or changing my clothes. I turned down maid service and tried not to think. It was harder than one would imagine, even with the sleeping pills.
I'd never been the kind of person who could do things like stare at a television for hours, watching mindlessly. I always had to be doing something. Work. Reading. Anything to keep my mind busy. My therapist had mentioned once that, because my IQ was so high, my brain needed more than one thing to focus on or it got bored and I got distracted.
So I slept, and half-slept, and my mind followed whatever little trail it wanted to. Sometimes into the past, sometimes into the future. Always bleak and hopeless. I tried not to think about Rylan and our time together. That hurt too much. But I wasn't strong enough to resist it, especially when I was in that place half-way between sleep and awake. That was when he came to me.
I could see him clear as day. His dark hair. Those blue-violet eyes that darkened to almost purple when he wanted me. I could picture the Celtic cross that ran the length of his spine and across his shoulders, the way his muscles rippled beneath the tattooed skin. Strong jaw, lightly stubbled before he shaved. High cheekbones that emphasized his amazing eyes. He was the perfect combination of rugged and, well, pretty.
And then there was the way he looked at me, like I was something precious, to be protected. I could feel his fingertips caressing my face, almost as if he was afraid I'd break. His mouth gentle on mine. Then, firm and demanding. His body moving above me, behind me, inside me. He'd known what I needed, and had always put me first. He wanted to dominate me, but he'd been cautious, always making sure I was okay.
I could still hear his voice saying my name, calling me love. He'd worshipped my body, made it come alive, but he'd done so much more than that. He'd given me back my heart, my soul, and I'd given them right back to him. I'd submitted to him, let him fulfill fantasies that I'd never admitted, ones that I knew he wanted but would never ask because he'd known they were triggers for me. He'd told me about the BDSM lifestyle and offered to walk away from it for me.
Each time those things came back to me, whether in fragments or whole m
emories, my heart would break again. I missed him more than I'd ever thought I could miss someone. I missed the feel of him, and not just during sex. The safety I felt when in his arms. The warmth of his voice. His smile.
To make matters worse, he'd been calling me since Monday morning. And texting. And sending emails. By Tuesday, I'd turned off my phone. I didn't have anyone else who'd be calling me since I hadn't bothered to try contacting former clients yet.
I hadn't answered any of the attempts at contact, but I hadn't been able to stop myself from listening to the voicemails, reading the messages and emails. Yet another reason I'd turned off my phone. I wasn't sure which would've been worse, if he hadn't tried to contact me at all or hearing the pain in his voice, seeing it in his words.
“Jenna, love, please don't do this. Tell me how to fix it. If things were moving too fast, you moving in here, it's okay. I can step back. We can go as slow as you need to. Just, please, talk to me.”
“Was it something my parents or Suzette said? We don't have to go back again. I'll make sure they know that they're not welcome until they can accept you. I won't lose you over their ignorance. Call me. I love you.”
“Did I hurt you? Please, talk to me. I'm so sorry if I did something...Just tell me what it was. You know I'd never hurt you on purpose. Please, love. I need you.”
Gradually, I could hear the anger under the hurt, read it between the lines.
“You're quitting? What's going on? I thought things were good between us. I mean, we hadn't even been arguing. Was it because I didn't immediately tell off my parents for being rude? I told you that I'd choose you over them and I meant it.”
“I can't fix things if you don't tell me what happened. Talk to me, Jenna. You promised me, after the Lara thing, that you'd talk to me when you were upset. What the hell did I do wrong?”
Then came the voicemail that had made me decide to stop listening.
“When I said I loved you, I meant it, and I asked you not to say it back out of obligation. I truly believed you meant it that night, and every time since. If you didn't love me, you could've just said so. I would've understood and waited, or bowed out. It would've been kinder. Or was it that you didn't know until...is there someone else? Have you fallen in love with someone else and didn't know how to tell me? Do you love him or is he just a game to you? Was I?”
It was killing me, knowing that he thought this was his fault, that he'd done something wrong. That he was doubting my love for him. Better that than the alternative though. Even if I told him the truth, he'd insist it didn't matter and he'd be angry with Suzette for what she'd said to me. I couldn't drive a wedge between him and his family. With me out of the way, they'd mend things. Rylan's life would go back to normal. He'd be able to return to how things were before he met me and he'd be happy again.
That annoying little voice in the back of my head spoke up, reminding me of what he'd said after the Lara incident, how he'd sworn off relationships, not wanting to risk his heart until he'd found someone worth the risk. Guilt settled in my stomach, a heavy lump that weighed down every part of me. He'd trusted me with his heart and I'd violated that trust. After what Lara had done to him...my actions were reprehensible. But I had to believe that he would find someone truly worthy of him, someone who could give him everything I couldn't.
All of these thoughts and more swirled around and around in my head every day, pulling me down further and further into the darkness. After what I'd gone through as a child, I'd struggled with depression, and I'd thought I'd finally beaten it. I hadn't had a bout of it in a few years, not since moving out here. I'd believed that I'd left it behind in Florida, along with my real name and everything else that had symbolized who I'd been.
Now, I saw that it had always been there, lurking below the surface, just waiting for something like this to happen so that it could break through and swallow me. It was like drowning, or at least what I'd always imagined drowning would feel like. Struggling to keep my head above water, desperate for air, arms and legs fighting against the current until it was just too much. Giving up was so much easier than trying to stay afloat.
By Thursday evening, I knew I had to make a choice. I was at the turning point. I could give in and let myself wallow here until I finally ended things, or I could keep fighting. I didn't want to fight. I'd been fighting my whole life, even when I hadn't realized it. I'd tried to kill myself before, but I'd survived and kept fighting a bit longer. Even when I wished I'd die, I hadn't pursued the idea. I supposed I could still snap out of this on my own, but I also knew that if I gave in to it, there was a chance I'd never come back.
I fumbled with my phone, turning it on before I realized I'd made a choice. My heart thumped painfully against my ribcage when I saw that Rylan's calls had finally stopped. I ignored the couple messages he'd left yesterday and went to my contacts list. I hadn't dialed this number in a long time and I hoped it was still good since it wasn't her office line.
“Hello?” A vaguely familiar voice answered on the second ring.
“Dr. MacLeod, it's Jenna Lang.” My voice sounded weaker than I liked, but I pressed on. “I need to see you.”
Chapter 4
When I'd gotten accepted to Colorado State University, I hadn't turned eighteen yet and I'd prepared myself for a fight with the court system to let me graduate early and leave Florida. Instead, I'd gotten a surprise. The only person I had even a small sense of trust in since Lily had died had been my court-appointed psychologist, Regina MacLeod, and that had mostly been because Lily had trusted her. When I'd told Dr. MacLeod about what I wanted to do and my fears that I wouldn't be allowed, she'd simply smiled and said to let her take care of it. At our next session, she'd told me that she'd worked it all out. Her son had moved to Denver a few years before and he'd been asking her to join him for some time. Moving her practice to Fort Collins would be a good compromise. The court had agreed to emancipate me if I would continue twice-weekly meetings with Dr. MacLeod until I turned eighteen. My last session had been the day after my eighteenth birthday. I'd seen her at least once a week almost every week for five years, and then I'd stopped going.
I'd checked in with her every so often the first couple years, but even that had stopped. I hadn't wanted any reminders of my past, and Dr. MacLeod was that. Going to see her again would bring up memories that I'd rather stayed forgotten, but she was the only person I could talk to now that...I shook my head. If I'd still had Rylan, I wouldn't have needed Dr. MacLeod in the first place. I would've had myself under control, dealing with things the way I had been for the past four years. Granted, the thing with Christophe had stirred things up again, as well as adding a new set of nightmarish memories, but I could handle them, especially with Rylan as my anchor, my support. Losing him, however, was threatening to pull me down into the dark and keep me there.
It had taken everything I'd had to pull myself together enough to shower and dress. The only other clean clothes I had were from the bag I'd taken with me to Rylan's – sweatpants and a sweatshirt to wear while we were moving things. What I'd worn the last few days had been from the little I'd left at the house the last time I'd been there. The majority of my clothes were in boxes at my apartment. I'd need to get some things tomorrow or find somewhere to wash what I had. I'd worry about that tomorrow though. First things first.
I walked into Dr. MacLeod's office more than a little nervous. It looked the same as it had the last time I'd been there. Professional, but comforting at the same time. Her office in Florida had been the same way. I'd thought she'd hired an interior decorator there, but this office was so similar I’d come to believe she'd done it herself. One of the reasons I respected Dr. MacLeod was that she didn't have an arrogant bone in her body. Case in point, she was currently standing on one of the chairs in her waiting room, her short silver hair a mess, and she was attempting to swat at something on the ceiling.
“Dr. MacLeod.” For the first time since I'd met Rylan's family, I felt like smiling.
<
br /> “Jenna.” She beamed at me and climbed down from the chair. “Apparently, a spider has made its home on my ceiling and Carolyn's too frightened to squash it.”
“That's not what I said.” A rather stout woman spoke up from behind the receptionist's desk. “I said, I can't get my fat ass up in that chair so I can reach it.” She glared at Dr. MacLeod for a moment before giving me a polite smile. “Carolyn Chisom. I don't believe we've met before.”
“No.” I shook my head. “The last time I was here, Denise was the receptionist.”
“I took over for Denise two years ago,” Carolyn said. “She decided to stay home with her kids.”
“Well, Carolyn, I wasn't able to get rid of our guest, so I suppose we'll just have to wait until he decides to come down and join us.” Dr. MacLeod smoothed down her hair and opened the door to her office. “Jenna.”
I stepped inside and sat down in the same chair I'd used the last time I was here. It was still comfortable, but I could feel a bit of a sag to it, a reminder of how long it had been since I'd last been here.
“I'm glad to see you.” Dr. MacLeod took her usual seat. “Though I'd hoped that your absence over the last four years meant that you were living a full and uncomplicated life.”
I gave her a half smile. “I was doing okay. Able to handle things on my own.”
“And then?”
I took a deep breath. “I'm not quite sure where to start.”
“Why don't you start with what made you call me?”
Right. Another reason I'd grown to like Dr. MacLeod. She didn't beat around the bush. I preferred straightforward, especially when it came to things like this. It didn't exactly make answering her question easier, but I appreciated her approach.
