Then he carries me back to the bed and lays me down. My bed, my clean bed inside my clean apartment.
He had it cleaned while I was at his house. He had it decorated with a tree and all the ornaments I lusted over for months. He put out a plate of cookies and milk. Had a child'sglamping tent delivered so I could have a nice fort to live in while I write.
Who the fuck is this masked man?
He disappears off-screen.
When he comes back, he's holding clean clothes. My leggings. My sweatshirt.
Dressing me.
Pulling the leggings up my legs. Sliding the sweatshirt over my head. Positioning my arms through the sleeves.
He tucks me in. Pulls the blanket up to my chin. Smooths my hair back from my forehead. Then he leans down. Kisses the top of my head. His lips linger there for a moment. He says something. I can't hear it. The audio is muted or too quiet or?—
I rewind. Turn the volume all the way up. Still can't hear it.
He straightens. Walks to the kitchen. The camera follows him. He picks up the cookie from the plate. Takes a bite. Sets it back down.
Then he leaves.
The footage ends.
I'm staring at the black screen.
My face is wet.
I don't know when I started crying again.
The last file is not sex. I knew that since I just watched the masked man tuck me in. But I wasn't expecting it to behim. Still wearing the mask, but looking very happy underneath it. He's smiling I can tell.
The timestamp says December 25th, 9:23 AM. So just a few hours ago.
"Hi, Scarletta." His voice is soft. Not the commanding tone from the basement fuck fest. Just... him. "I'm guessing you'vewatched the other files by now. I'm guessing you're freaking out about the blackouts."
Yes.
"I need you to understand something. What happened to you—it's called subspace psychosis." He pauses. Holds up a hand. "Not actual psychosis. That's just what subs call it. It's not dangerous. It's not a medical emergency."
I lean closer to the screen.
"It's a condition where subs who are deep bonded to their dominants enter a particular kind of subspace that affects memory formation. The blackouts weren't breathing problems. They weren't from blood pressure drops. It was your mind resetting because of the intensity of the orgasms combined with your neurological response to submission."
No.
"I know you don't believe me." He shifts forward. "Look up Dr. Alicia Friedman's research on altered states in BDSM relationships. Published 2019 in the Journal of Sexual Medicine. Look up the Kinsey Institute's study on subspace amnesia from 2021. It's real, Scarletta. It's documented."
He's lying. He has to be lying.
But I'm already opening a new tab. Typing the first citation. The article loads. Real. Peer-reviewed. Published in an actual medical journal.
Fuck.
I go back to the video.
He's quiet for a moment. Then he takes a breath. "But that's not why I'm recording this." Something in his tone shifts. Colder. "Clearly, you're having doubts about me. About this. About what happened."
Yes.
