But if it was therapy, it might be working because suddenly dying was the last thought on her mind.
61
Lindsay woke to a scream and a hard kick in his shin as Shannon flailed about in her sleep. He rolled toward her, gripped her wrists, and held her tight.
“Wake up. Shannon, wake up! It's a dream.”
Her eyes shot open and she looked around, wild-eyed. “Lindsay?”
“Sir,” he corrected. He didn't plan on letting her get away with the casual first name basis thing she'd been trying to pull. Eventually she would be calling him master. At least that was what he intended. But he needed to be sure before he crossed that line with her. If he truly took responsibility for her, he had to take responsibility for her. After what had happened with her last master—to think nothing of the situation with Brian—taking her and discarding her would be worse then letting her remain unhappy and lonely in the house.
Hadn't he already made this mistake once? Bringing her here without taking responsibility?
“Sir,” she repeated, a wary expression on her face.
She scooted up and leaned against the headboard, pulling the blankets up around her, taking them half off him in the process. Her hair was the most adorable rumpled mess. He had to stop himself from ruffling it like a big idiot.
“Do you remember what you were dreaming?” he asked instead, lapsing into the comfortable therapist role.
“Yes.”
“And?”
Shannon rolled her eyes. “You know what I dreamed.”
“That day?”
“Yes.”
“How often do you have this nightmare?”
“A lot.”
He hadn't realized she was still having the Brian dreams so frequently. But how would he? He was the last person she would have confided in about such a thing. Most of their encounters for the last several years had been awkward exhanges in hallways with monosyllabic grunts or nonchalantly looking away until the other passed.
Lindsay glanced at the clock and sighed. It was already seven-thirty. He might as well get up and start the day. He was usually up well before this. It was pure dumb luck that his first patient in the city wasn't until eleven today.
“Would you like me to give you something?” he asked out of habit more than anything. Pills were the easy solution—and probably the wrong one in her case. And of course whatever he gave her, he'd have to strictly monitor to ensure she took it instead of stashing it for later. A lot of drugs could kill you if you took a giant handful at once. Not just sleeping pills.
“Y-you mean like a drug?”
“Yes, like a drug.”
She shook her head. “You can't fix me with a drug.”
He had ideas about how he could fix her. Ideas that had been forming in his head since that first pretty cane welt had bloomed out over her ass the night before. He wanted to run his fingers over those welts again. They would last a couple of days at least, maybe three. It depended on the individual. There was time. He watched her for several minutes, allowing the silence to build until it was too uncomfortable for either of them to exist in, then he finally got up and started to get ready.
“What are your plans for today?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I have to go to the city. I have patients. Are you going to be okay here by yourself?”
“I'm not by myself.”
They both knew that wasn't true. She might be in a house surrounded by people, but Shannon was always by herself. She'd been by herself until the night before when Lindsay had decided for better or worse to insert himself into her world again.
“Can I trust you here?” he asked.
Shannon looked offended, which was a massive improvement from the haunted expression she'd woken with.
“I won't do anything,” she said finally.
Still, he felt like he should make a list of sharp objects to lock up, or make sure someone watched her constantly in his absence.
“I'll be home by nine. I want you waiting for me here in my room.”
“Lindsay, what is this really? I don't understand.”
“Sir. Don't make me start the day with punishment. And yes you do. You know exactly what this is.” He got out of bed and went to the bathroom to turn on the shower.
He knew she wanted him to say it. But if he said it would she believe it? Would he? Twenty-four hours ago he'd been following a several years' pattern of avoidance where she was concerned. He'd even managed to stop fantasizing about her... to forget the things he'd wanted.
And now he'd never get her face out of his mind again. He shut his eyes against the shower spray, trying hard not to think about finding her nearly lifeless body in the spa the night before. But it was useless. It was the only thought that would form in his mind now that he was alone.
When he'd realized she'd taken pills and wasn't just sleeping, everything felt like it had stopped—just like that day when he'd found her in the dungeon after Brian had finished destroying her. After that day, he'd decided he had to stay away from her. But after last night he'd decided the opposite. He could never be away from her again.
A part of him wished she'd join him in the shower, but they were a long way from casual shower sharing. She still thought this was a game—that he didn't or couldn't want her.
He'd played his disinterest far too convincingly for far too long. Not only had he nearly convinced himself, but he'd convinced her as well.
The scars bothered him, but not for the reasons she might imagine. They bothered him because they were a glaring flashing neon sign of his incompetence. It was the condemning evidence that he'd ruined her life by bringing her here. She was still beautiful to him. Scars could never change that. But how could he convince her when she hadn't known he'd found her beautiful even before the damage Brian had done?
Whether it was the soothing warmth of the shower spray and steam or something else entirely, eventually Lindsay's thoughts moved to more recent events. The previous night.
Having her bound helpless on that table. Even as the guilt ate away at him, worrying he would break her even more, the crisp sharp snap of the cane against her flesh, the way the bamboo vibrated into his hand after the strike, the way she cried out, the tears. It had taken all his willpower not to just fuck her right there.
But he couldn't yet. He needed something more from her. He didn't want to be her consolation prize. He knew what she must be thinking, that he was her last chance. Even if she hated him, she might still... Lindsay had noticed the way the other trainers had become preoccupied with the newer girls—each fresh batch more enticing than the group before.
They'd become addicted to the novelty of it all. By that point, Shannon was no longer a novelty. It wasn't as much about the scars as she thought it was.
Lindsay shut off the shower, got out, and finished getting ready. He spent far too much time in his head. For as much as he psychoanalyzed everyone else around him, he analyzed himself even more. Always too much in his head.
When he re-entered the bedroom, he was disappointed to find Shannon had gone, but why would she stay? There were a lot of other girls' rooms on this floor. They would be getting up soon, and he had no doubt the last thing she wanted was for them to know she'd spent the night with the doctor.