“I don’t regret that I acted out a dark fantasy,” she said. “And I’m glad it was with you.”
“What are you feeling?”
“Elated, but kinda sad—which makes no sense—and a little…I don’t know…ashamed or guilty. The guilt comes from liking what we did, because it’s dark.”
“You’ve had these fantasies for a long time,” he said. “Tonight, you made it happen. Big difference.”
“I’m not one to get caught up in my emotions,” she said. “It’s not like I don’t have them, but I don’t dwell on them. This feels different.”
“So, there’s this thing that can happen after a high like you had tonight.”
“A low?” she asked.
“Exactly,” he explained. “And it’s something to know for the future. You have a right to enjoy your fantasies. If you can sleep it off, do that. If you feel bad in the morning, I’ll come over.”
She smiled. He was going out of his way to make sure she was okay. “Thank you for being there for me.”
“You want me to come over now?”
“I’m okay.”
They ended the call. She turned out the light and fell asleep.
In the morning, she felt better. She liked what they’d done and accepted it at face value.
After going for a run, she typed out a text to Stryker. “I’m okay today. Thanks for a great evening and for walking me off the ledge after. Have fun with your fam.” She added a thumbs up and a heart emoji, removed the heart, then added it back. Before she changed her mind again, she sent it.
Dots appeared.
“Good morning, beautiful. I set up your club account.” He sent her the link and a temporary username and password. “Once you log in, you can change everything. I’ll miss you today.”
“I’ll miss you, too,” she texted back.
After breakfast, Emerson created an account at The Dungeon, named herself “Prisoner Girl” then went looking for Stryker’s online account. When she found his photo, her heart skipped a beat. He’d left his hair down, and had worn his black leather jacket and a simple black mask.
I’ve got it so bad for him.
She read his profile. He identified as a male who liked women. He was into role play and edging. Penetration was optional and he didn’t do oral.But he does with me.
When she skimmed his club name, she stilled. He called himself Justice. “No way. There’s no way he’smyJustice.”
As she went upstairs, she couldn’t shake the thought that they were the same man.Both men lost their moms. Stryker is Heather’s nephew and she started the survivor group.
In the bathroom, she applied smoky eyeshadow, black eyeliner and lots of mascara. She covered her cheekbones in dark rouge, then coated her lips in black lipstick. She found the long, brown wig she’d used for Halloween and pulled that on. With her black mask in place, she snapped a selfie. With her account set up, she changed it to “private”, removed the wig and washed her face.
As she headed to her parents’, she wondered if Stryker was her late-night friend from the survivor group.
Only one way to find out.It’s time for coffee with Justice.
* * *
Stryker walked into his aunt and uncle’s home and was barraged with children. Screaming, happy children all running in his direction. Sundays were insane and he loved the mayhem. His close friend, Dakota, had married his cousin, Providence. They had two children, Sammy and Graham. His sister Trudy and her husband, Mark, had three kids of their own.
He hugged the oldest three, then grabbed the two youngest, tucking one under each arm like packages. The squealing and giggling was just shy of deafening.
“Uncle Syker Tooman!” Aaron yelled. “Tickle monster.”
Dakota and Providence’s eighteen-month-old son, Graham, started giggling.
