Without A Trace: Inside The Lines Part 14

True Friends I've never spent much time being lonely. In part, because I got used to being alone. There aren't many choices when you walk out of the only home you've ever known and never look back. The last few weeks since I broke up with Fin have been my first real experience feeling the darkness of being lost. I'm so desolate, I don't recognize myself in the mirror.

I don clothing, put on makeup. Wear the flirtatious-or evil-smile and do my job. But inside, there's nothing left. I'm an empty husk. Noah and Ella have stopped asking about Kinked. They've stopped asking much of anything, really. And I hide in my room most days, to avoid crossing paths with them.

I don't know how many weeks it's been, but eventually, Ella knocks on my bedroom door. "Lux? It's me."

When I don't answer, she opens the door. "Lux?" When she sees me, her expression tells me just how bad I look. "Oh my G.o.d."

I lift up on one elbow and shove my hair out of my face. "The door was closed."

"I know." Apparently my unfriendly tone of voice intimidates her for a moment. "Can I come in?"

"You're already ain,'" I grumble, but then I relent and pat the bed. "Make yourself comfortable."

She sits on the bed, and when I don't bite, she lies down beside me. I fall back into my blanket nest, clutching a small pillow to my stomach. Ella brings with her the citrusy scent of her favorite perfume. Given that I haven't showered in two days, I'm trying not to sniff too hard in the direction of my armpits.

"You and Fin broke up."

"Yep."

"Why?"

I toy with an answer, then go with the truth. "Because he deserves someone who will treat him with respect and love, not f.u.c.k with his head and keep him on edge."

She turns on her side, resting her head against her arm. "True."

When she doesn't say anything more, I breathe a sigh of relief. "Thank you for not arguing."

She snorts. "When you're right, you're right."

I manage a small grin. "I have my moments."

"You deserve all those things, too."

I direct my gaze out the window, evaluating the sun and what time it might actually be. "Not when I can't give them in return."

"Right, but you could give them in return, Lux. You just gotta figure out what's stopping you." She pauses. "Have you thought about talking to someone?"

I turn my gaze to her. "Like a shrink?"

"Like a therapist or counselor, yes." Her tone turns wry and knowing. "They aren't as scary as you think they are."

"How would you know?"

She sits up, crossing her legs in a yoga pose. "Because when I was pregnant, I started having some anxiety issues. Nothing major, and I knew it wasn't rational. I'm married to the best man ever who has done nothing but rea.s.sure me that he's just as committed to our family as I am. But I was nearly catatonic with anxiety some days. So I got some professional help."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" I feel like the worst friend ever for not noticing.

"I didn't tell anyone. Not even Noah. I was embarra.s.sed. I have everything-a beautiful home, a wonderful husband, a roaringly successful business. Why on earth would I have any issues at all? But I did. And I worked through them." She reaches for my hand. "And I'd like to see you get past this. Maybe there's still hope for you and Fin."

I shake my head. "No, I ruined that. Completely. He needs someone who deserves him, without all the baggage. Someone his own age."

"He didn't seem to mind the age difference."

"No, he never did. He wasn't even thrown off by what I do for a living. Or that I was sleeping with clients." I say it casually, as though she knew it the whole time.

Her eyes widen. "You what?"

I dig my palms into my eyes to avoid looking at her, as though I'm having a sudden flare of allergies. When I can't stall any longer, I look at her, but can't quite meet her gaze. "I was having s.e.x with a few my clients. Not a bunch of them, but a couple. And I'm not proud of it. I'm embarra.s.sed, actually, because I'm not a prost.i.tute. If any of the other Doms found out, they'd destroy me publicly. And I'd deserve it. I broke all the rules that are in place for a reason."

She falls silent, turning her engagement and wedding rings around on her finger, over and over. "Are you still-"

"No." I clip off the word. "Not since I started dating Fin."

The faint hum of Noah using the copier downstairs is the only sound as we avoid looking at each other.

"You know I would never judge you for that. Please tell me you know that."

"I know." I examine my chipped nail polish. "But I judge me. And I'm not proud of it."

"You can get past this, Lux. And Kinked isn't over. I know it seems that way. But it's not."

I don't ask how she knows, but I'm pretty sure Noah's been opening some of my mail to make sure I don't miss a bill. Divine most likely sent a paper trail about their withdrawal. "For now, it is. It's not in me, and I'm not sure I really want that anyway."

She doesn't argue. She lies back down and reaches for my hand. The simple comfort reaches into my brokenness; silent tears weave trails down my cheeks, wetting my neck and tank top.

Minutes...perhaps an hour pa.s.ses. "Would you think about going to see someone?"

The room seems to expand, grow larger and larger, and I feel like Alice getting smaller and smaller until I can't reach the doork.n.o.b to get out. Red pill, blue pill.

"I think so."

When I was eighteen, I got my tattoo. At the time, I believed that I was rebirthing myself in a way, as I lost myself in the BDSM subculture and tried to survive on my own. And in so many ways, I was right.

Somewhere along the way, I lost the idea of rebirth and instead started building walls around my heart, my thinking, and my ident.i.ty. I drew lines I refused to cross, and instead of liberating me and giving me control, they kept me tied down and afraid.

I guess we all do that at some point, right? When life gets too painful or too hard, we back into a corner and put up our defenses, in hopes of staving off the inevitable hurt.

I'm not sure when the shift happens, but after the first brutal few weeks of therapy where I keep swearing I won't return, things start to turn around. I begin to understand why I ruin relationships (fear of vulnerability), why I'm afraid to be open (afraid to trust the wrong person), and why I have a hard time being out of control (see previous). And as I start to piece together the ruins of my childhood and adolescence, I find an odd emotion surfacing amid the rage and bitterness.

Happiness. With an added dash of acceptance.

But I also discover that a lot of the things that I thought were just "shortcomings" of my personality are actually part of the walls I've built around myself. Sleeping with clients was a way to maintain that numb s.p.a.ce, rather than embrace the emotions that overwhelmed me.

I can be both dominant and submissive in a relationship, without betraying the core of who I am and what makes me a good Dom. I don't think I'm a true switch, as I can't see myself fully embracing the submissive role, but knowing that I can let go of the reins and enjoy someone else in control doesn't threaten who I am.

While all of this gives me hope, the reality of my mistakes are a painful blow. Some can be repaired, like the overdue apology to Noah and examining Kinked's future. Other things, though, no matter how much duct tape and glue you bring to the table, can't be rea.s.sembled.

Chapter 24.

A Spark of Life "Today is, regrettably, my last session with you, Mistress Hathaway."

I'm in my standard getup, modestly covered in my trench coat, perched on one of the chairs in the living room of the suite.

Charles's handsome face wears his emotions, and I admit to being surprised by his announcement. "I'm sorry to hear that, Charles."

He sits down across from me-carefully, as we had a pretty intense session involving a rubber whip-but he smiles easily. "I hope I'll be back in a few years, but I'm headed overseas for some work in the meantime." He lets a beat pa.s.s, then asks, "I've noticed you seem a bit sad, as of late. May I inquire as to why?"

While Charles and I haven't had any heart-to-hearts, he's been very forthcoming about his own struggles in meeting the right woman, and I feel disingenuous not responding in kind. "I've been working on some elements of my mental health recently."

"Good for you." His smile widens. "All of us can use a good tune-up on occasion."

"That's a good way to look at it," I say with a laugh. "I've realized that by not seeking help sooner, I missed out on some once-in-a-lifetime opportunities."

His dark eyes meet mine. "Surely they are not permanently out of the picture?"

I look down at my hands, the nails elegantly polished for the first time in months. "Some things are, unfortunately, permanent."

"I'm sorry to hear that." His smile turns compa.s.sionate. "There are other opportunities, though. You are young, beautiful, accomplished."

I aim for a smile, but I fall a bit short. "Yes, there are. I have some new business pursuits that will hopefully be successful."

"I'm intrigued. Will you share them with me?"

I nod, surprised by his interest but glad to be able to gush a bit. "I'm in the process of finalizing a business proposal that I'll be sending out to investors for a sleek, s.e.xy, and discrete dating service that caters to fetishes and alternative s.e.xual preferences. I just hired a graphic designer to do some mock-ups of the website design, and I've enlisted the help of some very business savvy friends to help me. I had an investor-a powerful one-but due to the lawsuit involving that dating service that the serial rapist used, they decided to hold off on moving forward." One corner of my mouth turns up. "Now, it's just a matter of seeing it through and hoping others will have the same vision that I do." Absently, I smooth the edge of my coat over my thigh. "I'm hopeful though. It's something that has been calling to me for a while." I manage half a smile.

"Sounds wonderful. What is your timeline for it?"

Since he seems sincere in his curiosity, I lay it out for him with details. He listens, attentive and thoughtful.

"You've really thought this through." He steeples his fingers, eyeing me as though seeing me for the first time. Then he nods. "I agree-the current trends in online dating for fetishists and BDSM pract.i.tioners range from unimpressive to bizarre. You have a forward-thinking plan and a good mind." He nods. "I look forward to hearing more about this." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card. "I leave next week, but I'll let my a.s.sistant know to forward your emails to my personal account."

His invitation takes me off-guard, and after a moment, I reach for his card. "I hope you didn't think I told you these things in an effort to asell' you on my idea."

"Of course not." He shakes his head. "I can see your excitement and pa.s.sion. And what you are designing could be of help to me, personally, so I have a vested interest, you could say. I'm very intrigued by this."

"Thank you." I don't know what else to say.

We walk to the door, and he takes my hands. "Mistress Hathaway, I would like to ask you a personal favor."

Curious, I narrow my eyes at him with a smile. "What is it?"

"You mentioned that you lost a rare opportunity, and I have my own suspicions as to what you refer." He glances down at our joined hands before meeting my gaze again, and I am reminded that he must be near sixty, though with his spirit and personality, he has always seemed like a much younger man to me. "Life, as they say, is short. And while you may think that all hope is lost, often, when given a strong wind, it takes flight when we least expect it. Perhaps you might rethink giving up on that alost opportunity.'"

I don't say anything, in large part because a lump has formed in the back of my throat. My eyes threaten to well with tears, but I ignore them, focus instead on Charles's tie. After a moment the emotion pa.s.ses, and I look up at him. "I will consider your request."

He squeezes my fingers with a small nod of his head. "Thank you for my punishment, Mistress Hathaway. I will endeavor to be less naughty for you."

"Take care of yourself, Charles. That's a command. I look forward to hearing from you upon your return."

As I walk away, the wave of emotion returns with a vengeance, and I'm thankful for the privacy of the elevator, where I can let my tears fall without witness.

Chapter 25.

Best Laid Plans "Call him." Ella holds out my phone.

"I can't. This isn't a phone call sort of thing." Mia lies asleep in my arms, her belly full and her chubby cheeks relaxed. Every now and then, I swipe a finger over her cheek, just to see the reflexive smile she offers in response. Which only serves to remind me of someone else who smiles in his sleep.

I sigh. "I have to do this, don't I?"

"Yes, you do," Noah answers, rejoining us in the living room with a wine bottle and two gla.s.ses. We're at Ella and Ian's house, supposedly having a night of movies and drinking, except that Ian ended up staying late at the office, and, well, there is a four-month-old in the room. That limits the drinking. And the movie watching.

He pours the wine, handing me a gla.s.s and taking one himself. Ella refuses to drink anything until Mia's weaned, and I can't say I blame her. Trying to time drinks while nursing sounds like a feat worthy of Archimedes. So we partake for her, and we're starting on our second bottle.

Noah sits beside me, pulling me back against him, his arm loosely around my shoulder. "Or you could just sleep with me. You know you want to."

"G.o.d, you are drunk."

Ella and I say it almost at the same time, and I cheer her with my gla.s.s. "Soul sisters."

He rolls his eyes. "Well, just for that, I will deliver a low blow: I might be off the market."

We both stare at him in disbelief.

"Say it ain't so, little bro," she teases.

"It may be. I'm not certain, but I might have met the right woman to cure me of my lascivious ways." He winks.

I'm not sure how seriously to take his claim, so I lean back against him and close my eyes. He's warm, I'm drunk, and I have a sleeping baby in my arms. What gets better than that?

My alcohol-sodden brain is not beyond debating Ella's insistence that I call Fin, though. I want to. G.o.d, I really want to. But if I'm going to seek him out one last time, see if there's any hope left, I have to do it in person. I can't apologize without doing at least that. The thought of actually doing it makes me sick to my stomach. Not a good thing when you've had this much alcohol.

I fall asleep listening to the playful, quiet banter of Noah and Ella talking about a problem client, thankful that I have friends with whom I can know what family feels like.

Ella offered her car, probably so she could insist on coming with me. "You can't go out there alone. You can drive, since you don't trust my abilities. I'll stay in the car. It will be like I'm not even there."