Finally, I release him, resting my head against his chest for a few moments, listening to the strong beat of his heart.
It’s okay. Everything is okay.
And with his comfort nearby, my head finally accepts the statement as true.
“You want something to eat?” I ask, already moving to the fridge, examining the contents, pulling out the last of the ready meals because my residual shaking makes it hard to pull something together from scratch.
“Yeah. That’ll be good.” He checks his watch. “You’re still not working at the club?”
“No.” I program the time into the microwave, leaning against the bench while the meals heat. “Robyn hung up on me the last time I called.”
I bite my lip, wondering if I should tell him about Maddox’s request and the Venmo he sent to cover my share of the rent. But we’ve never talked about stuff like that, and I don’t know how to start.
Once the microwave pings, I serve up the food. While eating, I pull out my phone, bringing up the picture I took of my bloodstained throat.
Anyone else might think me mad for finding the entire scenario romantic but it really spoke to me. There’s a resonance with Maddox I’ve never experienced with anyone outside my family.
In the past week, attending school has made me feel my age again. Not just a hamster on a wheel, endlessly spinning, but someone who could have a future. Who might be able to find a career one day instead of just a job. Like all those years where I was tossed from home to home, accepted only for the government paycheque that accompanied me, never staying long enough to find friends, sometimes not allowed to go to school at all, is erased. A blip with no long-lasting effects. A few learning packets to catch me up to speed and it could all be behind me. Nobody ever knowing how different I am unless I go to the trouble of telling them.
Back to normal.
All of that is thanks to Maddox, not just for outfitting me and dragging me along to class but for keeping me steady when I would have bolted, for his patience as he helps me study, most of it easy to understand but sometimes hitting against large chasms in my knowledge.
Even with his friends, when they’re chatting and laughing, he includes me in conversations and explains their private jokes.
A notification pings from myPrivate Sessionsaccount. A new request. Something I could do in five minutes and, even though I only have a couple hundred followers, it might earn a few hundred on general release.
Instead of accepting, I click into settings and begin the deactivation process on my account. It’s uncomfortable to turn away money, but it seems like cheating to agree not to strip, then upload photographs just as revealing.
I can’t wear his collar, but I can do this. Even if Maddox never knows, I will, and the gesture instantly makes me happier.
MADDOX
Wilder sends me an invitation to a ‘River Rave,’ enthusing about all the people who’ll be there. Dahlia is presumably not one of them considering how many other girls are on his list.
I say I’ll get back to him, then go onto an adult retailer website, hunting for a toy that might work with Evie. After today’s success, I want to press ahead while the moment’s ripe with promise.
While conducting my impromptu crash-course on the extensive variety of discreet vibrators available, I get an alert on my phone. A notice I set up for any changes to Evie’s page sends me to the site, cueing a moment of panic when I think she’s blocked me, then a glow of joy as I see it’s not just me she’s blocked. It’s the entire world.
A wave of pleasure rolls across me and I close my eyes, savouring the sensation, then they startle open at a text alert.
Evie
Thought you might like this before it’s washed away.
The attachment is a selfie with her painted collar still intact. I pinch it larger, not staring at the bloodstain, though Iwill, but at her expression.
She might have sent the image to me but I’m not the reason she took it. Evie snapped the photo to have the memory for herself.
Another pinch of satisfaction hits me at the thought my spontaneous gesture, which means so much to me, means a lot to her, too.
You’re not tattooing it in place? We could get matching collars.
You must love needles a lot more than I do.
I roll onto my stomach, smiling, wondering how tightly she’d crush my hand if I were to whisk her along to the tattoo parlour in town that I use. Suddenly, the desire to see her again, despite only having dropped her at her door an hour ago, grows to overwhelming.
Do you want to come to a party tonight?
