She worked with me to get through what she called thetraumaof being kidnapped. I started seeing her, not because of thetrauma,a word she included in almost every sentence of our sessions, but to understand why Ienjoyed all the things Atlas did to me and why I missed him.
When I explained these unwanted feelings to her, she tried to tell me it was some bullshit Stockholm syndrome I was feeling. I gladly would have accepted that if it had been true, but that wasn't the case.
I even tried to tell myself that it was his conditioning and, because I had to rely on him for my survival, that I enjoyed the things he put me through, but that explanation didn’t satisfy my psyche because I knew it was a blatant lie.
I discarded the whole Stockholm syndrome idea. I reiterated my feelings to my shrink, telling her I enjoyed spending time with him after a few weeks. It was the truth; it no longer mattered whether I understood the reasoning behind it.
Now that it was over between us, I could finally admit that I enjoyed his company. My counselor disagreed with my theory, but her opinion no longer mattered.
I continued to see her only to get all my feelings out in the open and hopefully move on with my life. I needed to purge these emotions from my body to forget about the man who lingers around in my head like the plague. His piercing grey eyes haunt me in my dreams.
Thoughts of him skate through my mind multiple times a day. I just couldn't shake the guy from my damn brain. About two weeks after I was released, I found a thick wad of cash in the secret compartment of my gym bag, courtesy of Atlas.He left a small note next to the money.
A little help to get back on your feet, pet.
The gesture was nice, but I felt too ashamed to accept it. I still had an active savings and checking account with a reasonable sum available.
About a week after settling into a routine, I dove into work. I kept the cash hidden in the bag and made a mental note to return it to him someday.
For some reason, it made me feel like a hooker being paid for the use of my body, even though henevermade me feel that way. It was howIfelt, and I couldn't shake the thought from my mind.
My life picked up right where it left off. I was lucky to work as a freelance designer and signed multiple new contracts with several big-name companies.
I was always fortunate to work from home, which afforded me some time to heal from my ordeal with Atlas.
Becca stayed with me every night for the first week until I felt safe that Atlas wouldn't come back to snatch me away. I didn't fear the spankings, the BDSM play, or even the humiliation. I had grown to enjoy all those activities with him.
My biggest fear was that he would take me away again, and I would not be allowed to make my own choices. I was especially terrified that if he changed his mind and brought me out to his island in the middle of nowhere, he would sterilize me, and I would never have children.
Those were the only two things I feared as far as he was concerned. I wasn't afraid of him,per se. Well, maybe his temper scared me a bit, but I was confident that although he was a killer, I would not end up on his termination list.
Per our agreement, I hadn't gone out dancing since I was home, but after four months of him being out of my life, that promise got old. Since my release, I haven't heard from him.
I guess I was indeed just a sex toy for his pleasure. I doubt he even thinks about me anymore. Unfortunately, all I do is think about him. Maybe I am obsessed like he used to be with me. Who knows?
I was getting bored and wanted to go out and have fun for a change. I needed to cleanse the man from my thoughts. Sometimes, I felt like he possessed me, as if he cast a spell and his soul took up residence inside my body. It was hard to explain, but I felt I still belonged to him.
Then my mind would play tricks, and I’d think it wouldn't be so bad to have stayed with him. I could get used to his dominance, and did Ireallyneed to bring children into this sick world? Once the rational part of my brain took over again, I knew that was impossible.
Even if I had decided not to have kids, that would have to bemychoice, not somemanwhochosefor me. I was sick of thinking about him, so I decided togo out tonight with Becca. We were going to hit a club in Providence that opened earlier than most places in the area. We would have dinner there and turn it into an entire night out.
The place also closed at 3 AM, which was great. I wanted to stay until last call and forget about my life for a few hours. I needed a goddamn break from all the confused feelings fluttering through my head.
I haven't been with anyone since Atlas, and let's face it, I am still in my prime. A girl has needs, plus I wanted to push him out of my thoughts for good. I didn'tlikethinking about him. I didn'tenjoyfantasizing about his punishments while he played my pussy like a fine-tuned violin.
I hated that the memories weren't fading. Instead, they dominated me, and my mind was exhausted thinking about him. Summer was long gone, and winter had taken its place. It was about thirty-two degrees outside. A light frost covered the ground, and all the trees were bare.
I put on a pair of skinny jeans, which left nothing to the imagination, a skin-tight, low-cut black top that hugged my big boobs, and a pair of over-the-knee black leather boots. I accessorized my outfit with big gold hoops, a gold choker, and a watch. For this chick, no rings or bracelets were needed. Less is more sometimes.
I was apprehensive about going against his wishes, but I hadn’t seen or heard from him in many months, so why not? I was being ridiculous. It was evident that I was long forgotten by now; besides, how would he know anyway? I wanted to go out and just let loose.
This wouldn't be a weekly occurrence, just occasionally. What harm would it do? I didn't want to think aboutanything.Maybe I will get totally inebriated tonight. If Beck and I end up completely stupefied, I will call an Uber. I have always been a responsible drunk and never drove if I had been drinking. I deserved a good buzz after the shit I’ve been through.
I pulled the sides of my dark hair up in a clip, pulling the wisps of my bangs down to frame my face, allowing the rest to hang loosely down my back.
I put on a smudge of red lipstick and a touch of blush to add some color to my cheeks.
I grabbed my coat, stood before the full-length mirror on the back of my closet door, and gave myself a once-over. Satisfied with my come fuck me look, I hugged Tuna, stuffed the gun in my handbag, and headed to the club to meet up with Becca.
