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“Good. Go back to your computer and finish it for me.”
“Okay,” she says with a crooked smile.
And with that, she turns and crawls back to the seat on the floor. Picking up her water bottle she takes a drink and opens up her laptop. As she gets back to work, I stand from my chair and zip myself back up. Then I retrieve my book from the floor where she threw it.
On my way back, I stroke her head, amazed at how something so hot could feel so normal. The tension between us has melted away and left us both at ease.
As I sit back in my chair, this time with a glass of Macallan, I don’t read my book, but I think about how this chemistry between us works so well. Why does Sadie like this so much? She wants to please me, and she acts out in order to get the punishment and praise she craves. Where did this behavior come from? Why does she lack so much confidence in herself that she fails to see her own potential?
The bigger question, the one that turns my stomach every time I think about it is, who will do this for her once I’m gone?
Twenty-One
Sadie
Everything is fine, and I’m feeling good.
Of course, it always starts out this way.
The music. The beat. The people.
It’s fun, and I’m happy.
But then the space gets too hot, and everyone is standing too close.
Familiar faces blink into the mass of people before they’re gone again.
“No.”
Someone holds my hand and pulls me through the horde. It’s Sage, and she’s smiling, squeezing my fingers until they hurt.
But then her grip slips, and she’s gone. They’re all getting too close again.
“No, no, no.”
I search the crowd for Luke, but he’s not here. A distant voice reminds me he will never be here. He doesn’t belong here. The comfort he brings, the security I feel with him, the warmth of his touch—none of that will find me here.
Someone touches my back, and I try to scream, but it comes out more like a wail.
Hands grip my arms, my legs, my hair.
They’re tearing me apart.
“Stop!”
“This is all your fault,” they say. Their voices echo in unison, over and over and over again.
I keep trying to scream, but nothing comes out.
Just wake up, Sadie. You just have to wake up, and they’ll stop.
When a hand slips up my thigh, my stomach turns, and I feel tears stream down my face. As I surrender to the masses, letting their hands take their fill of me, I call out for him.
His name comes out in a slur and more of a cry than a call.
“Luke, please.”
Rough hands shake me, and suddenly, through the darkness, he’s there.
