Desired and Dominated (43 page)

One Month Later

The first few days after my discussion with Sofia, she seemed more like herself again. She was the perfect submissive, doing everything I asked of her without question, speaking only when spoken to, and always referring to me as her Master. The problem hasn’t been her willingness to obey me, but rather my own reluctance to let her in.

It’s been over a month since we last made love. I’ve continued to act as her Master, punishing her when necessary, but never excessively. I give her pleasure, because I can’t deny her, but it’s infrequent, and I still can’t bring myself to have sex with her. If I don’t find a way to move past this soon, we may never find our way back to each other. Ever since that night at Andromeda, I haven’t been able to connect with her in any sort of meaningful way. I know she needs that intense bond between Dom and sub, but I don’t know how to recapture it. Every time I look at her, I see her restrained in Marco’s playroom. I see how broken she was, and how badly I failed her. How broken I feel, and I can’t fix it.

Slowly, I can see her closing herself off from me again, becoming more and more introverted; protecting herself; her emotions all but switched off completely.

She’s completely lost without ballet. She won’t even listen to music anymore. She’s withdrawn from everything she’s ever loved, including me. She refuses to leave the house, she won’t let her parents or her brother come to visit. She’s becoming a shadow of the woman I fell in love with, and slipping further from my grasp with every day that passes. She’s not my Sofia. She’s lost inside the shell of a beautiful woman, whose smile used to light up my soul.

Without ballet to help her cope, she needs the Master/sub dynamic now more than ever, to help her deal with her emotions. She needs the intimacy that comes from entrusting her pleasure to me, and I want that too, but I feel helpless, because I just can’t give it to her right now.

Sofia is a walking oxymoron – a dominant submissive. Being a submissive is a power play for her. She has absolute control over what a man can and can’t do to her – what
I
can and can’t do to her. She sees BDSM for what it really is, or at least she used to. The Dominant may only exercise complete control over his submissive, within her parameters. She creates a framework which allows her to give herself over to me in safety. She will do whatever I ask of her, but only after setting the boundaries.

This is the way it should be for all submissives, and I have always tried to teach the women I’ve trained, that submission to another human being, is the ultimate act of strength.

There was a time that Sofia understood that in its entirety, but she’s lost her way, and I’m to blame for that. She’s my responsibility, and in the time that she’s been mine, she’s become an addict, lost her career, tried to commit suicide, and then turned to another Master for help.

If it was anyone else, I would walk away and let her find a Dominant that could help her find herself again, but I know, that if I abandon her now, despite my failure, it could push her over the edge. I need to help her reconnect with her life, I owe her that. I want that for her, and at my core, I’m a selfish man. I can’t give her up. I need her so much it hurts, even though I can’t seem to get over what she did, and it’s tearing me apart.

I am being crushed from the inside out by the guilt of how badly I’ve handled all of this. I should have seen it. I should have been with her. I’m supposed to know her better than anyone, but at the moment, I feel like I don’t know her at all, and yet I still crave her. She still calls to something deep inside of me.

I go in search of her, because I just need to be near her, and as I walk down the hallway and into our bedroom, I can hear crying coming from the bathroom. I run to the door and turn the knob, but it’s locked.

“Baby, open the door.”

“I can’t.” Her voice goes stone cold. “Go away, Nate. You can’t help me.” A chill runs through me. She doesn’t sound like herself, and it terrifies me.

“If you don’t open the door, I’m going to break it down.”

Silence.

“Please, Nyx.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not a goddess of any kind. I’m broken. I can’t be fixed.” I can tell from her voice, that she’s at the other end of the bathroom, so I take a step back and kick the door in. I can’t take this distance between us anymore.

I stop dead in my tracks; the door broken and smashed, just like my heart.

I find her sitting on the floor with a pair of sharp, metal tweezers, scratching a deep line into the skin on her thigh. Her flawless olive skin now marred by three perfectly parallel deep red lines, each one around four inches long. She’s staring at the floor as she carries out the repetitive motion, scratching her skin over and over again until it bleeds.

I drop to the floor in front of her. Grabbing the tweezers out of her hand and scooping her up into my lap.

“What are you doing to yourself? Baby, this isn’t the answer. Hurting yourself isn’t the answer.”

Her body is rigid in my arms.

“I’m bad, Nate. Bad things happen to bad people. I’m…he knew. He knew I was bad. I can’t dance anymore, its God’s punishment. You don’t want me anymore because you know, you know I’m right. I’m damaged, and bad, and you hate me now, just like I hate myself. That’s why you can’t look at me.”

Her tone is so cold and yet her speech is frantic. I’m losing her. I stand up, still cradling her, and walk out into our bedroom. I lie her down on the bed, and hold her face in my hands, forcing her to make eye contact with me, but she shuts them tight.

“Open your eyes, Nyx. Now.” I know she’ll respond to her submissive name; she craves my control. “You are
not
bad. There isn’t a bad bone in your body.” She tries to pull away. “Nyx. Look. At. Me.” She obeys, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You…are the most amazing woman I have ever met. I knew the moment I saw you, that you were special. That you were too good for me.” Her tears spill over and down her cheeks. “I have loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you, and the moment that I first tasted you, I knew that I would never recover, that I had tasted heaven. You need to hear me when I say this – God is
not
punishing you. Something terrible happened to you. Something that no little girl should ever have to deal with. You got through it, and grew up into this strong, confident woman. You became the most gifted dancer I’ve ever seen, and because it meant everything to you, you pushed through the pain. I can understand that. It’s awful and so wrong that you had to give up what you love, but you have to keep living. You can’t give up on yourself. You have so much to give. You are so much more to me than just a dancer. I don’t love you any less because you’re not a ballerina anymore. I know you’re going to find another passion. Something that you love, and that brings joy back into your life.”

Her sobs become uncontrollable, and I question if this is helping her, but I persevere. I finally tell her about my dream of becoming a musician, the deal, my mom, the anger I felt for such a long time. I explain to her how I found a way to still be a part of the industry I love, and how I’ve made peace with it. I know it’s horrible that her career has been cut short, but she got the chance to live her dream for years, touring the world and performing with the best ballet company there is. Not everyone gets that opportunity.

“You can’t keep shutting it all out, Sof. You need to
feel
. You need to feel all of the hurt, pain and loss, and to grieve. Then, you find a way to let it go and move on with your life. You don’t need to do it alone. I’m here for you every step of the way. Don’t say that you’re bad or that you’re being punished, ever again. You are mine. You are worthy of love, and success. After everything that you’ve overcome and achieved in the face of adversity, you deserve the best that life has to offer, and if you’ll let me in, I want to be the person to share all of that with you. I love you. You will always be mine. I’m sorry I haven’t shown you that lately, but that’s my issue, not yours. Please, Nyx. Please, don’t hurt yourself.”

I lie down on the bed beside her and pull her into my chest. Her tiny body shaking as she cries, strangled, anguished pleas for the pain to go away. It’s heart-breaking to witness, but there is nowhere else I could ever be.

There are so many unanswered questions going round in my head, and I have to ask the most important one and I cradle her in my arms. “How long have you been hurting yourself, Sof?”

Her words are a whispered confession. “Since the night you found me in Marco’s playroom. Never hard enough to draw blood before.”

I pull her tighter. “Fuck. This is my fault. If I had been paying closer attention to you, I would have seen it, but instead I was pushing you away.”

She lifts her head, her eyes finding mine. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Why, Sof? Why would you hurt yourself? I don’t understand.”

It’s a few minutes before she replies. “I feel like everything is boiling up inside of me all the time, and it’s so overwhelming, and so painful. I have no way to let it out. But, there’s something about that moment when I scratch into my skin; it’s like releasing a valve. The pressure I feel inside dissipates, if only for a little while. I can switch it all off. Focus on that small patch of skin, that small, but intense amount of pain. Excruciating, but euphoric. It’s not the same as the pain of a punishment.
I
control it. But, the elation is short-lived. Within minutes, I look at the mark that’s left behind, reminding me of my weakness, and it’s like an anvil slamming back down onto my chest. Does that make any sense?”

I’ve been holding my breath. Listening so intently to every word that she chooses to share with me.

“I don’t know what to do with it, Nate. With all the pain, all the emotion, and all the grief.” She starts sobbing uncontrollably, and all I can do is hold her. I feel so impotent.

“Shhh. It’s going to be okay. I’m here. I’m going to help you. We’ll figure it out…together.”

She cries herself to sleep in my arms, whispering words of how dancing was her life, her soul, her everything. I lie with her for hours, cradling her, watching the rise and fall of her chest, trying to figure out a way to help her.

I stare at her leg, the lines of dried blood ripping into my soul. It kills me to see how much she’s hurting; to hear how she sees herself. I wish I could let her see herself through my eyes, even for a moment. She’d know how amazing she is, how loved and cherished she is; how her smile makes my pulse race, even when I’ve been keeping her at arm’s length.

I slowly extricate myself from her embrace, careful not to wake her, going in search of my first aid kit. I’m sure there’s one in here somewhere. When I find what I need, I quietly make my way back to our room, and cautiously tend to her wounds. She moves around a little when I put some antiseptic cream over the cuts, but she doesn’t wake. I place a small gauze pad over all three marks and tape it in place, before grabbing a blanket from the closet and covering her to let her rest.

That’s when I realize…I know what I have to do.

“Nate? Where are you?”

I look at my watch. She’s been asleep for almost four hours, and I’ve been in here most of that time, preparing. I quickly finish up and head out to find her. She sees me closing the door to my playroom.

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

She looks sheepish. Her hand moving over the small bandage on her leg. “I’m feeling a little better. Thank you for taking care of me. I know it’s not easy.”

I can’t stand not being able to touch her, so I close the distance between us, wrapping my arms around her small frame. “It’s my job to take care of you. Loving you is as effortless as breathing.” I kiss the top of her head. “Do you trust me?”

She holds me tighter. “Yes.”

“Then come with me.” I lead her back to the playroom, opening the door to let her see what I’ve been doing.

The room is empty.

She turns, confusion etched on her flawless features. “What? Why? Don’t you want to be my Master anymore?”

“No, no, no, baby. You’ve got it all wrong. I will always be your Master, and the playroom will be returned to its former glory. But, I need you to do something for me first, and that required the room to be cleared, and the mirrors to be rearranged along the back wall.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m going to ask you again. Do you trust me?”