Page 14 of Axe Marks the Spot

6

Lindsey

SOMEONE IS CHOPPING WOOD in my head. That’s the only explanation for why my skull feels the way it does right now. I groan and bury my face in my pillow to hide from the horrible sunlight attempting to blind me.

When the cobwebs of sleep and alcohol clear from my brain a bit, I sit up. A wave of vertigo and nausea hits me like a twenty-foot wave. I clasp my hand over my mouth and breathe slowly through my nose.

After another minute of collecting myself, I check the time, and my eyes bug out of my head. It’s nearing ten in the morning. I never sleep this late and wouldn’t have if Kas wasn’t at her friends’, then being picked up by Nathan later to spend the night at their place while I work—something he insisted on before the trio dropped me off last night.

Pushing back another bout of nausea, I get out of bed only to discover I’m naked.

What the fuck did I do last night when I got home?

I ignore my headache and stomach roiling obnoxiously, walking to the bathroom that’s thankfully connected to my room. I turn on the faucet, cupping my hand under the water and bringing it to my lips. I would have never drunk from a sink in the city when we lived there, but the water here is from a well and tastes crisp on my tongue.

Feeling a little more like myself already, I splash water on my face then brace myself enough to look in the mirror. I’m happy to see that before I passed out, I at least took my makeup off.

My haggard reflection glares back at me. My hair is a mess and knotted, a bit of mascara I missed smudged under my eyes.

I ignore looking at my naked body, knowing that I’ll focus on the way my apple-shaped stomach got rounder in the last couple of years while my boobs stayed small. And how my C-section scar didn’t fade the way I hoped—the scar under my belly near my bikini line is jagged and pink.

I once loved my body, felt confident in it, but not so much anymore. It’s why I avoid looking at it most of the time.

My gaze falls away from my reflection, and I open the medicine cabinet mirror, taking out a couple of painkillers. I down them with another gulp of sink water, then make my way to the bathtub.

While the A-frame cabin I bought upon moving to Starlight Haven was built in the eighties and needs renovations, one of the reasons I fell in love with it was the large tub with jets the last owners put in. It’s the most lavish thing about the house, besides the stunning view it gives of the woods and the lake beyond with a private dock.

When I saw this tub, I didn’t care about the rest of the house or the fact that it needed a shitload of work done to it. I wanted this tub, this bathroom. It felt like a little oasis for me and my broken heart. The sad part is that the tub I thought I’d live in, I never use.

I glance at the frosted shower stall then at the tub. I should have a shower and take advantage of another child-free afternoon to get stuff done around the house before work, but the bath looks so inviting. What the heck, I can take a little time this morning to have a soak, especially since I cleaned yesterday.

I find the Epsom salts and bubble bath I bought last year along with some tea candles. Running the water, I dump the salts and bubble bath in the tub before setting the candles around the edge and lighting them.

Satisfied with the vibes I’ve created, I grab a towel and my phone once the tub is filled. I ease in. The water is near-scalding, but that’s exactly how I like it. I sink all the way down, turn on the jets, and let out a moan into the white-tiled bathroom as the water pounds against my aching muscles.

The thrum of the jets lulls my eyes closed in no time, and I fully relax into the moment. I’m nearly asleep when the notification of a new email resounds loudly through the bathroom, startling me. I blink and wipe my bubble-covered hand on the washcloth before picking up my phone. My still-sensitive stomach drops as I read the notification.

DomInTheWoods

Re: Questions (This is WhyAmIHere33)

Hi, Lindsey, I’m glad you chose to email me…

I sit up in the tub, water dripping from the tips of my hair as what happened last night when I got home rushes back to me.

I drank some wine I found—a totally dumb idea—stripped, lay in bed, and started scrolling through DomInTheWoods’s Loopr profile. One video after another played, starting with his very first ones. The more I scrolled and watched, the more interested and turned on I became.

I don’t click on the notification. Instead, I go to the app I was looking at last night and tap the notifications section before reading through them. I started asking him questions on his old videos, and he responded.

I read over our last interaction.

@DomInTheWoods: Take your time to decide, but I wonder: Don’t you want to find out why you’re here, replying to me in the early hours of the morning when you should be getting rest?

@WhyAmIHere33: Yes, I do.

I check in with the drunk version of myself that thought it was a great idea to online-stalk a Pro Dom. The version of myself who chose the very sad username of “WhyAmIHere” plus my age, and the one who apparently sent him an email. An email I don’t remember the contents of completely.

Good god.