by Ward, Deena
I shook my head. No, he hadn’t. And I hadn’t ever thought about that, neither at the time nor later.
“Then,” Gibson added, his voice gaining intensity as he listed Michael’s many wrongs, “finally, as if all the other things weren’t enough, he took you to the shower for what should have been much-needed and well-earned aftercare. But instead of caring for you, he disregarded your mental and physical state and raped you.”
That charge took me aback. “No, he didn’t rape me. He asked, and I told him he could do it.”
“You were in no condition to give consent. He took advantage. It was selfish and wrong, Nonnie. I can’t say this strongly enough. He basically raped you.”
I saw by his tense look, and the rising heat in his voice that there was little to be gained by arguing. I understood, and agreed with everything else he said Michael did wrong that night. However, the events in the shower, the power of the moment, then and later, that was different. Gibson didn’t understand, and I didn’t know how to explain it to him, wasn’t sure I understood it myself.
I thought it best to move past it. And anyway, I was still in the throes of the what-ifs.
“Okay,” I said, “that’s one reason. You said you had two.”
His face softened. “I did. I thought that if you knew what actually happened that night, from Michael’s point of view, that it might take away some of the pain of his betrayal.”
I furrowed my brows. Impossible.
“You told me that you thought you were a dupe that night, that by setting you up to be filmed, Michael ruined what you considered a proud moment, an accomplishment. You thought Michael was laughing at that accomplishment, belittling it.”
I nodded slowly.
“You were wrong about that,” he said. “Michael was impressed by what you did, so much so that he changed his plans, eventually tossed out his friends. You may have started the night as a dupe in his eyes, but I assure you, he didn’t see you that way for long.”
He stopped, not expecting a response from me, but giving me a moment to let his words sink in.
Michael saw me as an easy mark, and then he didn’t. Did it matter?
Gibson squeezed my hands lightly. “Michael did some bad things that night, but he didn’t ridicule your efforts or make a mockery of your suffering. I don’t think he ever would have created and released that film on his Web site if you hadn’t chosen to be with me, and if he hadn’t believed himself pushed into a corner.”
“If I haven’t been clear enough,” he continued, “I’ll re-word it. That night was special for you, and I’m certain it was special for him, too, or at least as special as anything can be for someone like Michael.”
I considered the idea. Was Gibson right? Did Michael take my actions seriously after all?
When Michael accosted me at my apartment on the terrible day when I learned about the videos, he said something about me astonishing him the night of my punishment. He said he’d done similar things before, with other submissives, and he thought I was like them, until he saw how far I could go.
At the time, I dismissed what he said, believing he was simply pulling his typical bullshit routine. But I might have been wrong; perhaps he was being honest for once.
If so, it was confirmation of what Gibson believed. It was possible he was right, that Michael hadn’t, in the moment, casually dismissed my suffering and my desire to appease him. At some point, Michael’s thoughts shifted, and he stopped seeing me as merely an easy lay and potential Web site profit.
I knew, deep down, that this was serious hair-splitting. Did it matter that Michael once respected what happened that night, when he later destroyed that respect by doctoring up and selling a recording of it, then using that recording to destroy me? I thought that it shouldn’t matter, but for some reason it did.
I still hated Michael, and after hearing Gibson’s explanations about what Michael did wrong, I thought I might hate Michael even more than before, if that were possible.
I’d been so focused that night on my own actions, on trying to be an obedient, good sub, that I failed to give any thought to Michael and his actions. The following day, when I saw the physical damage to my body, I was outraged, but it passed away quickly, due to the memory of what happened between us post-punishment. I thought of that time as extraordinary, a glimpse into the bliss of total surrender.
I had to admit to myself that knowing Michael hadn’t wanted an audience in the shower with us did make me feel less violated. It might have been strange, but I thought of that time as something approaching sacred, in a way. When I saw the video, I felt like Michael had desecrated it.
Now, in this different way of seeing what happened, I knew that he didn’t want anyone to watch us, or film us. He understood it was special. He didn’t defile it. Not then anyway. Not until he posted the video on the Internet, sorry fucker.
At least I knew, when we were still together, he hadn’t wanted anyone else there. It was bizarre, practically nitpicking the situation, but there was a certain consolation all the same. And even if it didn’t make me hate him any less, it did make me feel less a deluded fool.
I looked over at Gibson. “You’re right. That helps. It’s like the difference between a premeditated crime and a crime of passion, isn’t it? Both are crimes, both despicable, but premeditation is so cold that it’s on a different level of despicable. Michael lost control, didn’t he?”
“I think so, yes,” Gibson answered.
It shouldn’t make a difference, but it did.
Gibson gave my hands a final squeeze, then let them go. We walked on, our feet falling quietly on the smooth, stone path.
I didn’t have an ultimate conclusion about how this new information might affect me moving forward, but I definitely had some conclusions about Gibson.
I was blown away that he put himself in what had to be an extremely uncomfortable position in order to explain Michael’s actions. That Gibson not only told me the bad, but also what could be considered the good (in a way) in Michael, was impressive.
I tried to put myself in Gibson’s position. He’d watched my videos, perhaps more than once, seeking information that might help me. I imagined how difficult that would have been, how it must have offended his pride and tested his composure. To see what Michael did. To see him doing it to a woman Gibson had been with. That would be hard.
He was a wonder to me.
And he had taken a gamble. I might not have listened, might have been angry that he told me all those things. I could have taken offense, in particular, when he implied that, if I had simply used my safe word, the night could have been an entirely different experience.
Gibson put himself on the line for me, in more ways than one. He took a risk for the chance to help me. He had already helped me in a manner I found astonishing. The way he handled the Web site, the videos, all of it was nothing short of superhuman.
And now, here he was again. But this time, he wasn’t just investing impersonal resources. This time, he invested his own feelings, set them aside in order to help me. And he did it all with a risk of failure, that it might have been for nothing.
He sacrificed so that I might receive some consolation. I was overwhelmed with gratitude and respect for what Gibson had done.
I looked at him in profile, admired his easy stride, the swing of his arms, the strong line of his jaw. He glanced over at me, and we locked gazes.
I said quietly, “Thank you.”
It was beyond inadequate, ridiculously insufficient. But it was all I had.
A quick nod was his reply, though I thought I saw a flash of relief cross his features.
The sun hung low in the sky now, and the light bounced through the gently swaying reeds, slanting onto the grass and pathway. I realized it was getting late.
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
“I could eat.”
“I make a pretty crappy omelet, if you’d care to join me.”
“Sounds terrible. I’
d love to.”
We shared small smiles. Then we turned and headed back to the cottage. We didn’t speak, just enjoyed the walk, and I continued to think over everything, all of the revelations which would take time to digest in full.
Once back at the house, I cooked, and we ate the omelets which fully delivered on my crappy promise.
Gibson helped me clean up and then he went home like the gentleman he was.
I returned to my closet, found the cat figurine Isabel had given me. I put it on my bedside table where I would see it every morning when I woke up, every night before I went to bed.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like something was missing in my life, that something unidentifiable was lacking, lost forever.
That something was hope. And I owed mine to Gibson Reeves.
Chapter 5
“Nonnie, dear girl, you have to reach back in there, reach all the way, or you’ll never get the job done right. And I’m assuming you want to do the job right,” Paulina said, crouching next to me.
I tried not to roll my eyes as I pushed my hand farther back into the shrubbery. “It’s not that I don’t want to do the job right, it’s just that I don’t see the point in picking off dead leaves that no one can see.”
“Tsk-tsk. Even if the guests won’t see it, we’ll know those dead leaves are there, won’t we?”
I stared at her blankly. She stared back. I finally gave in. “Yeah, we’d know. So?”
She sighed lightly. “So then we’d know we didn’t do our best,” she said with a tone that implied the answer was obvious.
“I hate to tell you this, Paulina, but I don’t have a whole lot of my self-worth invested in the removal of dead leaves. Call me crazy, I guess.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I’d call you cheeky, that’s what.” She flashed a quick grin, then added, “Now get to work. The guests are due in less than two hours.”
And just like that, she stood up and strode away across the lawn, her platinum, bobbed hair swinging and flashing in the morning sun. She appeared to be making a beeline for the workers casually arranging blankets on the grass. I sent out a little prayer for those poor, unsuspecting souls who didn’t realize the terror that would soon be loosed upon them.
I yanked off a few brown leaves, or what I thought were dead leaves since I couldn’t actually see them. I checked the haul. One brown, one bright green.
“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” I mumbled aloud.
“Just pretend you’re doing it. It’s the best way to handle her when she’s on a toot.”
I turned around and smiled. It was Lilly Smith, looking fresh and pretty, as always. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a simple ponytail, which only accentuated her pixie face and made her appear to be a teenager rather than the young woman in her early twenties she actually was.
“I don’t think I could pull that off,” I said. “She’d catch me and I shudder to think what she’d do if she found out I was slacking.”
Lilly plopped down onto the grass near me. “Her bark’s worse than her bite.”
I snorted. “Maybe to you because you’re like a daughter to her. For the rest of us, she’s a pit bull in a lace skirt.”
Lilly laughed. “I’ll have to tell Xavier that one. He’ll love it.”
I shoved my hand back into the shrubbery and pretended to search around for dead leaves. “How he ever tamed Paulina, I don’t know. Of course, that’s assuming he has. It kind of looks like he hasn’t, but —”
She held up her small hand and looked around us, obviously checking to see if we’d be overheard. Her voice was low when she spoke. “Don’t tell anyone, but I know for a fact that Paulina has only submitted to two people, ever. Obviously, Xavier is one. I don’t know who the other one is. I don’t even know if it’s a man.”
Interesting tidbit of info, that one. I happened to know the other person was a man, Gibson Reeves, to be exact, though it was many, many years ago. “Hmm, did Paulina tell you that?”
“Yeah. When I was going through some hard times and we talked a lot then, about the lifestyle, about being submissive. All that.”
I glanced her direction quickly, then looked back at the shrub. She’d been gazing off into the distance when she mentioned “hard times.” I could only presume she was speaking of her past dealings with Michael Weston. I wasn’t his first victim, not by far.
I tried to sound casual and lighthearted. “I’m sure she had plenty of advice to give you.”
“Yeah, Paulina never runs out of advice.” Her face became more serious. “But she’s a smart woman, and she helped me a lot.”
I nodded, fussed around with the leaves, flicked a ladybug off my knee.
Lilly’s voice was barely audible when she asked, “Has she been able to help you?”
I turned to her. I hadn’t realized she knew about me and Michael, about the videos. From her question, it was clear she had heard something of it, but how much, I couldn’t know. “I haven’t talked a lot with Paulina, about it. Mostly, I’ve talked with Xavier.”
“Well, that’s good, too. I love Xavier.”
“Me too.”
Silence fell between us. I was at a loss, unsure if I should ask her if she was okay now, or if I should simply say nothing.
She solved the problem herself. “Oh, Nonnie. I’ve been wanting to tell you but I’m a big coward and so I didn’t. I want to say I’m sorry. I should have warned you about him. About Michael. I should have. I’m sorry.”
I was taken aback, appalled that the girl should think she needed to apologize to me. “No, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I did,” she said. “The night we met. I should have told you then. But I ran off and I was afraid of him. I don’t know how I didn’t do anything to stop it.”
“Lilly, no.” I squeezed her hand. “You don’t have any responsibility in this. You were a victim yourself. No one could blame you for it.”
She blinked at me, her blue eyes wide. “You don’t blame me?”
“Of course not.”
“You’re sure? Not even a little?”
“I’m sure. Not even for a split second. You’re not to blame. No one is. No one but Michael.”
She nodded slowly. “Michael.”
“Yeah, Michael.”
She looked down, toyed with her shoe. “Thanks for not hating me.”
“Who could hate you? No one.”
“Michael hates me.”
“No he doesn’t.”
“He does. Because I told the Martins and Gibson what he did to me. He’ll always hate me for that.”
I wanted to raise my hand, wave it in the air to get Paulina’s attention and yell at her to get her ass over there and take care of Lilly. I didn’t feel qualified to do it myself. Hell.
“Does it matter how he feels about you? Isn’t it more important how you feel about him?” I asked.
“You’d think so, but I loved him.” She raised her head, met my eyes. “Did you love him?”
“No. I thought I might, but I didn’t.”
“I loved him more than anything. And I guess he never loved me at all. That’s the worst part of it, because I thought he loved me.”
I nodded.
“It made me feel so stupid,” she said, “for doing everything I did for him, you know? I mean, he was just using me and I thought we were in love.”
“I know that feeling, maybe not the love part, but the idiot part.”
“Paulina told me that Michael’s damaged, that he isn’t capable of loving anyone. Do you think that’s true?”
I considered the question. “I don’t know. Possibly. Maybe he’s too in love with himself to love anyone else.”
She gave me a small smile. “He did think he was pretty hot shit.”
“He did. He does.”
“What did we ever see in him?”
I grinned. “I have no idea.”
“Me
either.”
We began to gather up the leaves I had piled near my legs, and we shoved them into the bag Paulina had left for the purpose.
“If I can help,” Lilly said, “with anything, I’d be happy to. Say, the videos. I know what that’s like. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, though.”
“Thank you. It’s kind of you to offer. I’m doing okay. Really.”
She smiled. I smiled. I hoped this would be the end of the conversation.
It was.
We cleared out the dead leaves and Lilly stood, taking the bag with her. “I’m on bagging duty, so I guess I’d better make my rounds.”
“Definitely. Don’t want to push your luck with Mistress Pit Bull.”
She laughed. “You’d better make sure she never hears you say that.”
I pretended a half-swoon. “Don’t even joke about it.”
Lilly grinned. “I’ll see you around, Nonnie.”
“You’re coming to the picnic, right?”
“No. I’m only here to help out. It’s just going to be the Martins’ old friends, and if I know them, they’ll be up to some stuff and I don’t want to see it. I’m cutting out before they get here.”
This time, I laughed. “Stuff? What kind of stuff? Should I be worried?”
She shrugged. “Probably. One time, I had to see an old man who had to have been like a hundred and fifty years old wearing assless chaps. I can’t talk about it. Scarred me for life.”
I laughed again. “I could do without that sight myself.”
“Then you’d better come up with a good excuse because she’s counting on you being there. See ya!”
And then she was gone, smiling and acting as if we hadn’t just had a very serious conversation about a very bad man.
I was turning back to my chore when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I glanced in that direction and saw Gibson standing not too far away, holding a rake. His expression was thoughtful, and soft somehow. He simply nodded at me. I returned the nod.
Had he heard what Lilly and I were saying?
I returned to my de-leafing and shoved my hand into the dense foliage, checked my watch on my other wrist. Still lots of time before the picnic started. Then I thought of what a hundred-and-fifty-year-old pair of naked ass cheeks might look like.
