She watched him return to his date and hung around for another ten minutes, not wanting Jake to think he’d driven her out by his presence. But as soon as he and his boyfriend were once more engaged in happy, tactile conversation, Helen slipped out into the night.
Walking back to the flat, she reflected on her strange evening. She had gone to the bar seeking solace, but had found something else instead. She had the strange feeling that her life was changing forever,moving past her in a way that she could neither prevent nor control. Worse still was the fact that Jake’s happiness made her miserable. She pushed the thought away—it was so unpleasant to feel sad about someone else’s joy and yet there it was. Deny it though she might, the truth was that she had never felt so alone as she did tonight.
31
Blog post by firstpersonsingular
Wednesday, 9 December, 23.30
More bullshit today. Where do these people get off? With their half-arsed statements and brain-dead journalism. Why does everything have to end up being a fucking soap opera?
Know what I mean?!?[[Image]]
She could have written about anything. She could have written aboutit. But instead she wrote about them. Not many pictures of the fire and even those were blurred. It’s not hard, people...
Lots of pictures of the dad, though. And his poor ickle son. So brave. Both of them. Really. I mean it.
They may have suffered, but here’s the thing. At least someone cares. At least their painregisters.
You must know what I mean. And before you dismiss me as just another troll,think about it.
Because it’s not the pain that matters. It’s the context of that pain. Do you follow?
People give a shit. The dad. The son. Even the crispy sister. They’ve lost their mama, their anchor/rock/mainstay (delete as appropriate), but they’ve got each other. In a fucked-up way, they’re closer now than they ever were.
So before you expend all your sympathy on them,think. Do they need it? Do they want it? No, they have everything right there in their tight little family.
They are the lucky ones. I’ve been alone from the moment I was conceived.
32
“Nice to meet you, Eleanor. I don’t usually accept spur-of-the-moment clients, but just this once I’ll make an exception.”
It was said pleasantly enough, making it hard for Helen to tell whether there was innuendo lying beneath it or not.
“So, why don’t you tell me what I can do for you tonight?”
The final sentence was loaded with possibility. With Jake sex was never part of the deal—he was a dominator pure and simple—but she got the distinct impression that Max Paine was a very different animal. He was incredibly well built and seemed to take pride in displaying as much of his body as possible. Was that to impress or intimidate? Helen couldn’t tell.
“Let’s keep it simple to start with. I don’t want to be touched; I don’t want to be teased. I just want you to do what I ask and nothing more.”
“You’re in charge.”
“Exactly. A leather riding crop should do us fine. Twenty minutes max. My safe word is ‘release.’ If you hear tha—”
“Then everything stops. I have done this before, Eleanor.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.”
Helen stared at him, refusing to show that she was embarrassed or nervous. But she was both—unsure of her footing in this strange new environment. Jake’s room had had a bizarre coziness to it—which matched his personality. This place was something different—bigger, more elaborate. Helen wondered what secrets these walls could reveal.
“That’s pretty clear, so shall we get started?” Max continued, pointing Helen toward a small, curtained changing area. Helen obliged, removing her coat and scarf and stepping inside. She undressed quickly, but she fumbled over the buttons of her blouse, gripped by a sudden anxiety. Had she made a mistake coming here? She didn’t know who he was, hadn’t checked him out at all. She had been stupid and reckless. And yet the alternative—sitting at home trying to resist the temptation to hurt herself—seemed even worse.
Now in her underwear, she stepped out of the changing area. Max was waiting for her by the restraint wall, which was decorated with an assortment of chains, clasps and cuffs. Helen moved swiftly over to him, choosing a fairly normal-looking pair of restraints in the center of the wall. Max snapped her wrists into them, then bent down.
“Not the legs,” Helen said quickly.
“You’re the boss,” Max replied with a broad smile. “Ready?”
