The door handle rattled, and a moment later, Caroline’s voice broke the silence.
“It didn’t work, by the way. He’ll be here Monday, so you’d better get used to the idea.”
Adam clenched his hands into tight fists. “But he won’t be staying, soyouneed be prepared for that. What makes you think he’ll fare any better than the previous applicants?”
“You don’t have to live here. We’ve talked about this.” Her voice was softer.
“No,you’vetalked about it—I’ve ignored you. Now just leave me alone.” He tensed, waiting for her next remark, her next attempt, but all he got was silence. He shuddered out another breath, his muscles relaxing.
Adam sat forward and stretched out his right hand to the side of his chair, his fingers coming into contact with the smooth cover of a paperback. He knew it was the top of a pile of books. Adam picked it up and opened it, his fingertips registering the change in texture, the graininess of the paper. It had the feel of an older book, and when he brought it to his nose and inhaled, there was a mustiness that confirmed this.
More than anything, Adam missed reading. He knew he could get audiobooks, but it wasn’t the same. He supposed sequestering himself in a room full of books was a form of torture, but the smell was a comfort to him. In his head he pictured his flat in London, with the shelves he’d built, full to bursting with books of all descriptions. Heaven knew where they were now: Caroline had seen to the packing up of his belongings when he’d moved back to the Isle of Wight, and Adam had no idea where all his stuff had gone.
Yet another thing to add to his sense of loss, not that having his own things around him would help him. He could no longer appreciate the beauty of the prints he’d collected through the years. The only place they existed for him now was in his head.
And as for his writing….
A large part of his personal identity was tied to his work and his lifestyle. His writing had filled so much of his life that without it, he was left with a yawning void of time, intellectual stimulation and social contact. At first when he’d been staying in the rehab manor house in Torquay, a couple of people had asked him what kind of work he did.
Yeah, that had had been really uncomfortable. What was worse, however, was later on when the question wasn’t asked at all. That was very telling, and all it did was to confirm to Adam that people didn’t expect a reply.
After all,he thought bitterly,what kind of work could a blind guy do?He wasn’t worried about finances—not yet, at any rate—but he knew he wasn’t about to rely on Caroline’s assistance.
He’d rather suffer torture than dothat.
That last thought brought him a fresh wave of mental anguish. He missed the club. He missed his fellow Doms—not that many of them had stayed in touch beyond the first month or so after he’d informed them of his loss of vision, the bastards. He supposed he couldn’t blame them. That part of his life was over.
Whoever had heard of a blind Dom, for fuck’s sake?
Seth still called, but Adam had ignored his messages of late. The one thing he was grateful for was that he had no idea what had become of all his BDSM paraphernalia. Heaven knew what Caroline had made of allthatwhen she saw to his packing, not that he cared. At least he was spared the possibility of coming across his leathers, floggers, whips, shackles and numerous other devices. Now thatwouldhave been torture.
To have been such a physical Dom and have it all taken away was perhaps one of the hardest things he had to face.
I was the one in control!Only now that control had slipped through his fingers, no longer in reach.
Adam drew his knees up onto the chair and wrapped his arms around them, gently rocking, unable to hold in the sobs that racked his body.Thiswas why he didn’t want Caroline, or whatever his name was, oranyfucking one, to be around him. The person he’d been was dissolving into a puddle of self-pity, and the person he’d become seemed powerless to prevent it.
Eventually he regained control of his emotions, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
So this one hadn’t been deterred.
Fine.
Adam would see how long he stayed when all he met was a wall of silence.
Chapter Three
Mark heldout his pint glass and both Sam and Paul clinked theirs against it. “Cheers. Here’s to your new job. May it bring you everything you wish for.”
Sam murmured in agreement. Around them was the usual noise of Wetherspoons on a Friday night. The pub was packed, everyone celebrating the start of the weekend with alcohol. The TV screens were silent, but a football game was playing on one, while another showed a news channel. It was a warm night, and the hinged windows at the front of the pub were open, letting in a slight breeze.
Paul leaned back against the padded bench with a sigh. “Nice thought, but I’m not gonna hold my breath. I can’t see this one lasting too long.”
Mark lifted his eyebrows. “Why not?” He gazed intently at Paul. “That doesn’t sound like you, mate.”
Paul stared into the dark contents of his glass. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “It’s just that I was feeling so good when she gave me the job and thenhemade me feel like shit, first when he flat out ignored me, and then when he locked that door.”
Sam laced his fingers through Mark’s on the table. Paul liked that they weren’t afraid to be affectionate in public, not thatthey’d have done much more than hold hands. The island was still behind the rest of the country when it came to acceptance of gay PDAs.
