The walls match the colors of the bedding, grey and white, and have intricate designs, adding that much more luxury in the fine details. The floor is covered with thick, soft white carpet and the matching furniture is chic and contemporary, with a large loveseat at the foot of the bed and an oversized chair near the granite fireplace.
Then there are the toys.
A delicate glass china cabinet sits on the left side of the room, filled with whips, riding crops, and other devices. Nearby, there is a grey rack with white shackles.
And above me is the Saint Andrew's Cross that chained me to the wall. Plus, Danny.
His gaze holds nothing but disappointment. I look back at him, unable to control the anxiety I feel along with the pain. Although I’m naked, bared before him, he’s dressed in grey dress pants and a white dress shirt that’s unbuttoned at the chest, his dark blond hair adorned by his cold piercing hazel eyes. “What’s wrong?” I dare ask, my voice sounding like a small, scared child’s. And I truly am scared. I don’t know what to think anymore.
“You,” he says simply. “You’re not behaving. You’re making this harder than it has to be.”
“Sir, I-”
“I only want to help you. I know you need this. You aren’t well, Arianna.”
“I- I-,” I protest, trying to put some strength in my words, but failing. He's right. I’m not okay, but I just don’t know if this is the answer.
“You don’t trust me as a Master. I’ve done so much for you.” I feel tears form in my eyes at his words. “Danny please, it’s not like that. It’s just…”
Danny leans forward, putting his face close to mine. The hurt in his expression is nothing compared to the anger in his blazing eyes. “It’s just what?” he asks.
Tell him. He needs to know.
A lump forms in my throat, but I manage to mumble, “I feel like this isn’t working anymore and it hurts, but there’s no… there’s nothing but pain. I didn’t tell you because I don’t want to upset you.”
“It’s only because you aren’t trusting me.” His voice is full of conviction. “Don’t you remember how freeing it is? Why are you hurting yourself?”
After a moment, he takes a step back and stands up straight. “This has been coming for a long time now.” His words are terrible. Not because they're angry, but because they’re so quiet and fill me with overwhelming anxiety.
“What do you mean-”
Danny walks forward and unbuckles the thick leather collar from around my neck.
“Danny, what are you doing?” I cry in panic. I reach up to try to stop him, but he swats my hand away as easily as one would swat a fly, and pulls the collar free from my neck, leaving cold air to replace its warmth. He steps back with it clenched tightly in his hand, scowling at me with a coldness I’ve never seen from him before. Unconsciously my hands fly to my neck. It feels so strange, running my fingers along the bare skin there. It feels... empty. Like he’s abandoning me.
“I told you so long as you didn’t give up on yourself, I wouldn’t give up on you.” His words are carried with pain. He’s given up on me.
My heart feels like it’s been pierced by a jagged spear.
His next words turn my blood to ice. “You’re going up for auction.”
My jaw goes slack as what he says registers, my heart skipping several beats as I’m shocked into silence.
“You need to learn to trust me,” Danny says. “And I think handing you over to another Master is the best thing for you right now.”
I stare at him in disbelief, hardly believing what he’s saying.
“I want you to know what it’s like to miss me,” he says. “To realize how good you had it.”
But it’s been so bad, I want to tell him, so bad that I want to leave you.
For weeks I’ve thought about ending this, but the fear of losing him and having no one that truly knows me kept me from doing it. To me, being with someone who doesn’t know my history is terrifying.
“You can come back to me after you’ve learned your lesson,” Danny says. “Maybe then you’ll truly appreciate me.”
“Danny-” I try to say.
He waves me silent. “I’m done. Prepare yourself for your auction.”
With that said, he walks out, closing the door behind him.
I sit there on the floor, my skin prickling as a torrent of emotions goes through me. Anxiety. Anger. Sadness.
I don’t know what to do. I’m so used to leaning on Danny for support to conquer my demons that I don’t know if I can survive without him.
Chapter 5
Zander
The chill of the wind whips across my face, the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention. The thick wool overcoat I have on shields everything but my neck and cheeks. I don’t move to cover them though. The crisp morning air seems fitting as I stare down at my mother’s gravesite. I was only ten when she died. I wonder what kind of man I’d be if she’d never left.
My heart beats slower as another gust of wind comes, harsher this time. Again, I don’t move. I stand still, my hands shoved into my coat pockets.
I have her tombstone memorized, but my eyes still flicker over the engraved message.
Marie Payne
1958 - 1994
Loving wife, doting mother.
She will be missed.
I do miss her, as odd as it may be. I hardly knew her, but I miss what could have been. She’s the one who taught me to smile behind the pain. She never stopped, until the last few weeks of her life. It all crumbled around her, the affair that tore them apart. People were always watching. Always judging. It was too much for her.
I clear my throat as I straighten my stance and take in a deep breath. When I come here, the smile that’s perpetually on my face is nowhere to be found. I can’t do it; I can’t bring myself to smile when I’m around her.
Maybe that’s why I come here so much.
I don’t know much about her, if I’m honest with myself. There’s plenty online, so I suppose I know as much about her as a stranger would who wanted to look her up. She had no family but us. She married into wealth and gave the Payne heir a baby boy. And then she had miscarriage after miscarriage.
Her name means misery. Marie. I remember she told me that once, and I didn’t understand what she meant at the time. It’s the Latin meaning. The sadness in her pale eyes is something that haunts me even till this day. How could my father not see it?
He’ll never admit it, but I know she killed herself. He wouldn’t let her leave. I remember the fights, the screams. That’s what I remember most, even if I always had my eyes closed tight and my small hands over my ears. I’ll never forget the way they’d raise their voices until I knew it must have hurt them.
I’d hide in the closet of my room whenever it happened. I stare at the small crack in the marble slab of her tombstone.
I never understood why they hated each other so much. Why they enjoyed hurting each other with their words. They must’ve; fighting was all they ever did.
My eyes settle onto the line, “doting mother.”
I think children have to love their mother. It’s something in them that’s biological. It must be so, because I know I love her. Even without a single memory of her gentle touch or soothing words. I haven’t a single one. The nannies were there for me when I was young. But they came and went like a merry-go-round. They got too attached.