The End

by Charlotte E Hart

  His fingers are like a vice grip on my skin as he carries on, his arms constricting harder with every breath he takes. And people move, I see them do it, their eyes seeming deferential to him as he forges us through doorways and out into another open space. He’s admired here, loved for exactly what he is, just like he was at the stage-show. Women bow and curtsey, all the time smiling at my continued struggle in his arms. The men nod their approval and wave their hand on, some of them beginning to follow behind us as I sneak a look over his shoulder.

  It all makes me stop my struggle a little and look at the side of his face, following the contour of his jaw until I reach his lips. They’re as tight as his hold is, a near grimace attached to them as he frowns and scowls at others in his way. It’s the same look I saw when he stood by her grave, the same one I watched develop when he first told me about her.

  “You’re scared,” I mumble, noticing the emotion on his otherwise elusive features. It softens whatever determination to leave I have, bringing a charm to the situation around us as I bounce in his arms. He really is. And it’s not fear of them, or of himself, its fear of me saying The End of us. There’s the slightest twitch to his lips, something that no one else would even notice as he stops somewhere. I don’t know where, I’m too busy trying to see his eyes, my body hitching around to get in front of him. “You’re scared of me leaving you alone again, aren’t you?”

  He puts me down slowly, the rough fabric of his clothes rubbing against my exposed skin as my feet lower. And then he just watches me, nothing other than that and that slight raise of his mouth as he lets me go.

  “Please, just trust me,” he whispers, his chin tipping at something over my shoulder. I don’t look. I can’t. Looking will mean letting go of those eyes, and that’s something I don’t want to do, not yet. This look he’s got now, this might keep us safe. Forge a path somehow. It will keep us together as long as I can make him hold onto it. So I stare back, trying to fall back into that sense of freedom he gives me, if only for one last time as I run my finger down his cheek. He’s right, at the moment I don’t know what I want, or how I do what he’s asked for, but I’m not leaving him until this proof of his is done. One way or another, we’ll finish this. We’ll finish our story.

  Chapter 23

  Alana

  M aybe I’m eclipsed by something, or maybe it’s just the smell of these people around that begin to encroach on our space, encircling us again. I don’t know. I still feel like I know as little about this world now as I did when this started, but what I do know, what I trust, is him. All this around me seems to pale into insignificance now I’m focused again. Noise dilutes, the thrum of chattering and music becoming less intrusive as I sink deeper into his eyes. That’s all we need. Just us. None of this matters—the real world outside these doors or the inescapable truth of what is about to happen. It’s coming for me no matter how I run or try to avoid it. Perhaps this proof will show me something. Guide me. It’s a part of me I can’t put a decision to. Right and wrong. Up and down. Stay, go. Leave him or give him what he wants. I can’t find the answer. I’m torn in two, losing the will to choose either path by myself any longer. So, for now, no arguing, no debating, no thought other than eyes and need. It’s our rabbit hole, our little world where love lingers. It might be screwed up, might even be something others would deem completely inappropriate, but it is inside me now. He’s right. I can’t run anymore. And, now that our connection is back in place, now that I’ve felt his fear and seen that need he talked of displayed openly, honestly, I don’t want to. I’m lost in him again, ready for whatever he wants with no real inclination to challenge or disobey him. It’s as natural to me as the old Alana who asked questions of him once was. My fight has gone, seemingly evaporated because of the hold he forced around me to get me here, the one that’s still firm regardless of the five feet separation he’s now put between us.

  I smile at the memory as I continue gazing into his eyes, listing the endless moments we’ve had when he’s given me nothing other than sensation to answer my pushing. A slap, a shove, a nudge, all of them guiding towards this very space we’re in. Complete trust. Carefree abandon, accepted because of what will eventually be. He’s given me nothing to be afraid of, nothing I can’t tolerate. And now he’s giving me the love I asked for, too. His heart. He’s offering himself here as much as he’s asking me to give myself over. It’s all real this time as I stand in the middle of this floor, naked, and surround by his peers. We’re one here. A unit. Combined, and stronger because of it.

  My life in his hands.

  I scan the suiters near us, not knowing exactly what’s coming as they smile in return. There’s no leering this time, though, no sense of perverted anger or frustration coming from them. In fact, they all seem composed and reflective, as if admiring something, me presumably, or the man in front of me. It makes me turn on the spot, ensuring I see each and every one of them, remember their faces and smiles. Perhaps this is a family in some ways, his family. A community unlike the one he first showed me. There’s certainly no leather and outfits on show, nothing to shock the innocent. These people are dressed normally, suits and dresses, with normal behaviour to match, it appears. Not counting the situation I’m currently in.

  Eventually, I end up back at him, my whole body buzzing from the air around us, and the anticipation of what happens next. Fucking happens—I do know that. I saw it the second time I met him, watched that girl have them all paw at her and pounce on her as if she were fresh meat to be devoured. It felt like it was going to happen when I was in chains earlier, before he left me hanging. Fingers probing and pushing in, making me wet and encouraging the lust to come. They needn’t have bothered; just Blaine is enough. Just his eyes and I’m wet again. I can feel it ready to pour from me at any form of instruction now. It’s debilitating in some ways, making me desperate to be touched, but in others it’s soothing, quieting.

  It only takes a small smile on his face and a glance at the floor and I’m bending my knees, ready to drop for whatever he chooses. Pain, harmony, either or. It’s the same thing to me. The same sense of freedom in minutes under devil’s hands. Under water. On land. Heaven or hell, anything in between. He’s my devil. My heart. His beats inside me now, alongside my own, to help the continuation of both. End this or not, I am comfortable here as my skin brushes the wooden floor, almost relaxed because of it. He looks as handsome as always, pride beginning to wash across his stoic features as he keeps gazing. And there’s so much love that passes between us in this gaze, so much adoration in our silent conversation. It’s a true bond. A heartbeat. One I now realise is inescapable, regardless of the muddled future I see.

  “Pretty thing.”

  I hear Priest’s voice and wonder if he’ll be the first, as I watch Blaine harden a touch. At least I know him. At least I’ve already felt his lips on me, felt his appetite. Letting him fuck me won’t be hard, not as long as I can see Blaine all the time. I’ll imagine it’s him, let his thoughts keep me together as I’m rutted at, welcomed in. That’s what all this is, isn’t it? A welcoming ceremony.

  Funny how that seems so calming compared to the first time I saw it. It’s warming me now, my insides telling me I’ve found something here that other people wouldn’t ever understand. And why should they? Why would they even try? Sadists such as these aren’t meant for the outside world around them. They’re meant for communities that harbour them, keeping them safe from interrogation and blame.

  I smirk at the thought, readying myself as I hear footsteps cross the floor behind me. They’re Priest’s’ I know them. I don’t remember how I know them, but I do. I can hear their balance. It’s unlike Blaine’s, lighter somehow. I smile wider and close my eyes, acknowledging how much I have actually learnt from these people without even knowing it. All my senses work as one now. Listening, waiting, smell, touch, taste. Different sounds and nuances, helping me anticipate next moves and feelings that will come. I can even feel the tiny hairs covering
my skin standing on end, heightening themselves to feel sensation quicker, learn faster.

  I’m aware of myself first. He taught me that. He’s taught me that without me even knowing. I know me now. I understand me. Inside. My needs. My thoughts. And if I listen carefully, if I let go of all this around me, just listening to it on a top level, I can hear my own blood pulsing through my veins, sending me inward.

  The footsteps carry on around me, circling and warning me of things to come. A click clack of rhythm, one after another, and then more pairs join in, echoing the sound further on the boards. My hearing is on pins as they keep coming, trying to gauge each and every footfall around me, waiting for something to land on my skin and wondering what will come first. Lash, spank, whip. Kisses, fingers, caresses and cajoling. Fuck it. None of it matters because all I can see as I stare into my own black mind space is chocolate eyes and a devil’s grin, one that’s widening with every second that passes. Pride, lust, love. The sense of closeness in his arms as he folds me into him at night, the feel of his lips as he trails them along me, constantly tempting me with no thought at all. Other than his, anyway.

  A kiss lands on my forehead, soft and hovered. It’s followed by a finger on my shoulder and then the lips have gone. I frown at the gentle caress, waiting for something else to come, something harsher, but nothing does. And then another pair do the same, different ones this time, cold and less soft, but it’s still brief nonetheless. No punitive pain. Nothing for me to brace for. It carries on like that, one after another. A kiss and then a touch, barley allowing me to feel any pressure, just enough to know someone was there. More lips, more touches. All of them filled with a sense of reverence or compassion. Some lingered, some brief and fleeting. A few leaving lipstick prints against me, only for the next one to wipe the stain away.

  It’s harmonising after a while, leaving me breathless and full of such calm I almost forget where I am for a moment. It’s dreamy, like a deliberate enchantment being placed on me to soften the blows that will come. And then finally the one I’m waiting for comes. It lands on my lips instead of my forehead. I heard his footsteps long before he got to me, heard them all the time clipping the ground around me as the rest took their turns. I could feel his impatience in each step, his hesitance on occasion, faltering a step and then moving again. I heard him over every other set of shoes here. Not because he’s the loudest, but because he’s the one that resonates in my mind. The fall of those feet is like the beat of my heart, teasing me with how I should be reacting to everything in life.

  I smile into him as he picks up my chin and the kiss deepens, letting every slight hesitance disperse and disappear. It causes a groan to emanate from him, his mouth devouring what little care I had left away from me. And then I feel the brush of his trousers against my knees, the bone in them rubbing against my own. It makes me frown again, wondering what he’s doing down here with me like this. Only once did he sit with me. It was in the beginning to tell me about my reflection. My lips soften against his, trying to form thought, getting lost in my own memories of that time. It seems so long ago. And it worked, all these things he’s taught me, they have made me feel like he is a reflection of me. It’s not dirty or sordid like I once thought it would be. It’s a soul’s reach for something it knew nothing of, a stretch for continuation in someone else’s form. A heart’s leap into safety, regardless of the danger involved.

  “I won’t let them at you,” he murmurs, as his lips break from mine. I slowly open my eyes, and find his shining brightly at me, a smile coming back that leaves me breathless for more of his lips. “You’ve done your part for now, little dove. Nothing will ever hurt you again but me.” I have? I turn slightly, looking at all the others who seem to be lining up or pacing about edgily now, rather than the composure they portrayed earlier. I don’t understand what he means. “It’s my turn now. For you, I’ll take my turn.” That doesn’t help explain. I still don’t know what he’s talking about. I snap my head back to him, tilting it and trying to find the right question to ask. None of this makes sense. This is about them on me, isn’t it? Proving myself. That’s what I came in here for originally. It’s why I followed him. Why he carried me to this spot. It’s the way it happens. “Go and sit over there,” he says, nodding his head away from the floor and over to the chairs behind me. “It’s my turn to show you how I feel. You deserve that from me. It’s the proof you need.”

  “But I thought…” He snarls, so quick it makes me flinch a little as he nods his head again and scowls at me.

  “You’ll make me change my mind if you carry on.” Oh. I snatch a look at the others and see one of the men picking up a whip, Priest hovering behind him and smirking at me. “Go, Alana. Sit. Learn. Let me give you this.”

  So I do, gingerly raising myself up until I’m standing above him and looking down. It’s seems odd as I back away slowly, quick glances between him and the hoard waiting for my departure from the floor. He looks so alone there, his large frame kneeling in the centre of the room, veins already breaking out on his arms to prime muscles, no doubt. And he watches me so intently as I go, his body moving to take the shirt from his shoulders and then letting it fall beside him.

  Sudden realisation dawns as I feel the floor change to carpet under my feet. They’re going to beat him, aren’t they? They’re going to torment and bruise him, just as he does me. And he’s going to make me watch it, show me something that is for us alone. Why? I don’t want that. I didn’t ask for this. This isn’t the way it should be.

  My head flicks through the crowd, looking for Priest so he can explain. He’s nowhere to be seen, no matter how hard I look through the bodies beginning to form a queue. I look back at Blaine instead, ready to tell him to get up. This is stupidity. He doesn’t have to do this in any way, or for any reason as far as I’m concerned.

  “You don’t have to d—” My hands fly to my mouth as I see a man step in to him and throw the whip, the crack of it making me jump. And then I yelp out as I back into something, my eyes fixed on Blaine as I watch him grunt and lean forward to take the brunt of it. Jesus. “Stop!” The word springs from my mouth without thought, my fingers reaching forward as I push away from whatever I crashed into. But hands grab my arms, holding me firm.

  “Another.” I gape at Blaine as he pants a little and then smiles, his shoulder rolling as he steadies himself. “Stand still, little dove.”

  “No, I don’t want this.” He chuckles. It’s a menacing sound, not like his normal one. This time it’s filled with underlying rage and frustration, pain probably. He’s not showing it, though. He’s collected, calm, his breath easing in and out, stabilising himself again.

  “He honours you, Alana. Let him.”

  Honour? I snark at Tabitha’s voice, her fingers now digging into my arms, all the time still gazing at the man I love and wondering what the fuck this is all for. I would have done this for him. I’d do just about anything for him. The last thing I want to see is this happening.

  “Why?” He smiles again, but doesn’t give a response. He just waits for the next one to come, more long breaths being pulled in to help him get ready for them.

  “Because he won’t share you. This is his reward, to remind him what he’ll get if he hurts you.”

  “I don’t understand.” Another lash lands on him, enough force behind it that he doubles forward, one hand bracing his fall. It brings tears to my eyes as I watch him push back for more, no sound coming from his lips. “But he doesn’t have to. Blaine, please.” I look up at the next man coming in behind him, trying to wriggle free of Tabitha’s grasp on me. She tightens immediately, kicking my fucking legs away just as she did before until I’m back on my knees again. “No, please.”

  “Listen carefully and watch this while I explain,” she says, snagging my arms tighter behind my back and kneeling behind me. “This is your highest accolade, Alana. Remember it well. Only one other person in this room has ever offered what he’s giving you. We share here. We do it to
ensure safety. If he keeps you with no one else to offer guidance, how do you know if it’s acceptable?” Oh. My brows rise as I soften my fight against her, my skin bristling as I watch a woman coil a whip ready to cause damage. “Sadists like him like to hide and play, abuse. This is our way of keeping you healthy.” Right. “His way of keeping you alive.” Yes, alive is good. “You’ll get lost in him, lose your mind, probably. He’s so very good at that. I’ve seen it.”

  I cringe as the tall red headed woman walks in front of him, her fingers scraping the side of his face as her high-heeled foot taps the floor.

  “Hand,” she says calmly. He places it in front of her, palm up. She tuts at him and kicks it away, a look of disdain levying her features. “You’re right handed, Blaine.” He smirks and lifts the other one, offering it instead, and within seconds she’s strapped it with a piece of leather. She does it over and over again, making me almost feel the welts that must be coming because of the force of them. Still he does nothing other than stare through her, watching me watch him. No flinch, no movement of his jaw to show concern. He just takes it. No fear. No remorse.

  “See what he does for you, Alana. He’ll remember that pain, use it to look after you. He’ll remember what you give him each day you stay and take more from him. He’ll love you for it, rather than misuse you because of it, never letting anyone else hurt you again.”

  A puff of air leaves me at that, my whole frame relaxing the fight it’s still trying for to get to Blaine and help. It’s his offering of contrition for his acts on my skin, isn’t it? His show of love, a reminder of his own force on me. Perhaps it’s his way of remembering Eloise and what he can do if he’s not contained. I don’t know, but the thought brings more tears to my eyes, filling me with a sense of admiration for his offer. I know how those hands feel on my skin, how that whip feels behind him, the one that’s being lined up again as we keep looking at each other.