That Which Destroys Me (21 page)

Now, it’s just a theory, and I’m going to need a little more information before I pull out the big guns and test my theory.

I slowly slide Stell from my chest laying her down before easing from the bed. I pull on pajama pants and head to my office, bare feet padding soundlessly across the hardwood floor.

Once I’m in my office, I call Derrick. Hell no I don’t give a shit that it’s seven am on a Sunday. “Speak.”

“Derrick, I need something from you ASAP. No later than this evening. It’s not foot work, more like finger work, scouring the internet kinda shit.”

“I’d rather foot work. Whatcha got for me?”

“Check to see if you can come across any case studies focusing on the connections between reported sexually abused victims turning to the BDSM lifestyle once they reach middle to late young adulthood.”

“That’s it? You know you can just look Erickson up on Google, right? You sure you don’t want to save yourself ten k?”

“Derrick. Has money ever been an issue for me? No. Do what the fuck I pay you to do or I’ll go find someone that will without asking questions or tossing their two cents in.” I hang up and immediately dial Trina and Stell’s number. After a few rings, Trina picks up the phone and mumbles, “Hello?”

“Hey Trina, sorry I’m waking you, but we need to talk. Stell’s fine, or well, physically. I wouldn’t have called if I didn’t think this was important. You still with me?”

She yawns and a split second later starts shouting, “Fuck. Shit. Motherfucker!” The next thing I hear is the phone crashing into something.

“Trina? The hell, you okay?”

“Sorry! Sorry! I tripped over my Kindle cord, and no I didn’t enjoy my trip. It was painful. Okay, I’m all ears, what’s up?”

“On average, would you say Stell has nightmares weekly, every other week, or monthly?”

“Fuck. It happened didn’t it? She thought she’d, hell I don’t know, found the cure to her nightmares by staying with you.”

“I’m not willing to take that assumption off the table just yet. So, how often?”

“Before you? Like totally before you…I’d say weekly. After you, well, at first, probably every other week, but she hasn’t had one in over three months.”

Interesting.

“Has Stell ever mentioned why I was at Chained that night several months back?”

“Well, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist. Has she gone into detail? No. Other than you being her… ahh real first. And that she likes you. Whatever y’all do between the sheets she claims fixes her, the part of her that’s wired differently than everyone else.”

“Hmm… That’s what I’m trying to piece together. The scars on her outer thighs, how long has it been since she cut? Do you know?”

“Longer than I’ve known her. She doesn’t talk about it, Wes. And I don’t feel like I have a right to tell her to go back to therapy. I mean, shit, she’s been in therapy since she was seven. She stayed in therapy until she was in her twenties. If anyone would know whether or not therapy helps, it’s her, right?”

“Y’all have known each other longer than what? Five years?” I ask.

“Yeah, since Junior college.”

“Okay. Well, if I think of anything else I’ll call. Hey, Trina!”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Ahh… Do me a favor, don’t tell her I called asking all these questions. I promise you, I have her best interests at heart. And if I am her cure, then I need to know what I was doing to keep those fucking nightmares out of her head.”

“I won’t, Wes. But the first time you hurt her, I will remove your balls.
THAT
is the only promise you get from me. Period.”

I chuckle at her confidence that she could take me on long enough to get to my balls, until appreciation for Trina taking care of my angel for all these years floods through me. My chuckle dies in my throat. “Thank you, Trina. For everything.” I hang up the phone and look down at the damn file that’s been mocking me since coming into my possession.

After a while the words in the file start dancing as I try to reread them and pinpoint what I’m missing. It’s right in front of me. But I can’t see it. Dammit!

I turn the TV on for background noise, hoping it will keep me up. When I realize that it’s making shit worse, I stalk towards the kitchen to make a strong cup of coffee.

As I wait for it to brew, I go over the files in my mind again.

There is something I’m missing. And last night somewhere between Stell’s nightmare and me slipping from the bed, something inside me clicked.

When it clicked, the double helix of my DNA took a twist and it altered the very foundation of the man I always believed myself to be.

If I can’t protect Stella, every day for the rest of my life, I’ll go completely fucking insane. And I can’t make one hundred percent sure she’s protected if I’m not the only man in her life, forever.

‘The talk’ has just become null and void. What happens next? Hell if I know.

The only thing I do know is Ms. Stella Jolie Reese will forever be mine and mine alone. I just need her to answer one question correctly.

Chapter 24

Rust

When I wake up in Wes’ bed, the same smile I smile every morning curls the corners of my mouth. I reach my arms above my head before sticking my ass out and moaning through a wonderful full body, still in bed, ‘damn that feels good’ stretch.

I brace myself for the every morning pains that accompany the nights I spend under Wes’ demand, held at the precipice by nothing more than a thread causing my every muscle group to constrict, clenching determinedly to assure that thread remains intact until Wesley designates that it’s time to clip, snip, and break.

However, when my bottom is at the edge of the bed and I don’t feel the familiar dull sting from the previous night’s spanking or paddling, my smile slips from my face.

It’s when I stand and felt absolutely no pain or muscle aches that alarm bells resound through my blissfully ignorant mind… Right before the nightmare ricochets into my consciousness.

After I close and lock the bathroom door, I turn and look at myself in the mirror. “Fuuuuuuck! WHY?!?!” I ask my reflection.

All I see is my father’s eyes staring back at me. And that thought alone sends me on a collision course with the toilet, where the top of my head dunks. I’m thankfully able to rip the wet hair from my face before my gags and upchucking commence.

I brush my teeth prior to dragging myself into the hot spraying water of Wesley’s shower that deserves a spot in Forbes. The entire time I’m under the pounding jets, all I can do is relive the events of last night in slow motion. 

Why am I such a bitch? Every time someone is there when I wake from my ninth circle of hell, my defenses fly up and I’m a wretched bitch to whomever is there. Unless it’s Trina. With her, I just follow like a weak lamb.

Once I’ve finished my shower, I pull one of Wes’ LSU t-shirts on. Since it hits mid-thigh, I forgo a pair of his boxers. Besides, it’s Sunday, Myrta isn’t here.

I step from his room, but on my way to the kitchen, I hear a television at the other end of the hall and change direction heading towards the sound of Fox News Updates.

I’m thrown off guard when I find myself outside an open door leading to what looks like an office. I always assumed it was nothing but a locked closet. I step across the threshold glancing at the desk stacked with open files before my eyes move to the TV. “Wes? Baby?” I ask walking into the office. Once I’m a foot away from the desk, I resolve that he isn’t here. My eyes sweep across the files open on his desk, but my instinct not to pry and do what pleases Wesley wins out.

I quickly leave his office and make my way back towards the kitchen. When I walk in to find Wesley standing there with two cups of coffee in his hands and completely lost in thoughts that mar his handsome young features, it cuts off the flippant joyful ‘Good morning’ resting on the tip of my tongue.

I freeze at the kitchen entrance and watch as a myriad emotions play across his features. Uncertain if I should high tail it back to his room and fake asleep or proceed into the kitchen and act as if the tension surrounding him isn’t thick enough to choke me, I remain still and silent at the edge of the room.

I stand at the threshold indecisively for less than five seconds when his forest green eyes slam into mine, the intensity of his gaze steals my breath away.

He’s so goddamn beautiful, his facial features soften and instantly his eyes are smiling, as if my presence alone extinguished the agony that was wreaking havoc upon his mind. I smile back at him, whispering, “Hey,” before tiptoeing my way slowly to him.

Wes hands me a coffee mug, “Good morning, angel.”

I duck my head before gulping a mouthful of no Splenda added coffee. After I choke it down and cough, I look up at him in question. “What? We run out of Splenda, baby?” He shakes his head before he nods towards the Splenda canister on the opposite counter.

“You sure are acting odd this morning.” I pluck the spoon from his cup and before I can open the Splenda canister, much less add Splenda, Wes has me shoved over the black marble countertop so swiftly that I don’t have time to throw my hands in front of me to cushion the blow my cheek and hipbones absorb. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth and suddenly, I’m wrenched back as Wesley’s fingers capture my hair and closes into a fist. My face hovers above the countertop as he swipes appliances and canisters, clearing the entire surface with his forearm.

Canisters full off salt, baking soda, Splenda, and sugar crash to the floor sending grains and powder in every direction, settling in, on, and around the expensive appliances that crashed to the floor. 

I feel his rough hands between my legs before a growl emerges. A split second later, he jerks his t-shirt over my head then uses his overwhelming weight to shove me back over the counter. When my breasts hit the cold marble, I gasp. His warm calloused palms brutally knead the skin of my ass. Suddenly the rough abrading stops leaving me begging for a touch, any sensation he will offer.

Instinctively, I bow my back seeking the harsh, warm caress of his hand. My reward is as masochistic as it is fulfilling when finally his open hand connects, striking each globe of my ass in a manic and crazed rhythm, alternating from one side to the other, yet somehow never striking the same spot twice.

I somehow manage to remain silent throughout the barrage Wesley rains down upon my bottom.

After twenty unexplained blows, he releases my hands and cages my body beneath his.

I should probably point out that before this moment, words like ‘caged’ and ‘beneath’ catapulted me into a downward spiral of panic.

For the first time when these scary words flit through my mind, panic isn’t left in their wake.

It dawns on me, resonating its way through every molecular structure that these old fears are no longer fixations; they no longer yield the power they once used to keep me held prisoner.

Wesley’s desires leave me second guessing everything I have always believed about myself and my life. The limitations and boundaries of my ability to withstand, where I always thought my breaking point was, the line drawn in the sand of my sanity - Wes smashes through all of it, dragging me past my comfort zones.

These ties that bind me, he breaks and replaces with restraints of his own; but Wesley’s ties are not ones that bind, they’re what sets me free.

Wesley’s bare chest is flush with my back as he rests his scruffy cheek against mine. Both of his hands slide down my sides over my rib cage, my hips and then around the tops of my thighs, to stop between my legs, each hand cupping an inner thigh. “Angel, I’m going to ask you a question. And without thought, without hesitation, you’re going to answer as honestly as you can using only one word, yes or no. Is that understood?”

I don’t even think about my answer…there is no need to. “Yes.”

“Do you think your nightmare occurred last night because I tucked you in bed without fucking you straight?”

Wait—No, I mean yeah, maybe, but no that’s not why I have nightmares. Wesley doesn’t cause my nightmares he just usually makes them go away.

“Wes—“ His palm claps down over my mouth.

Against my ear he growls through his teeth, “I said YES or NO!” He removes the hand between my legs. A split second later, it slaps the already reddened skin of my ass.

I bite down on the hand covering my mouth causing him to jerk it away. “Wes, stop. Listen to me. I’m trying to explain...” Whack. His palm cracks across my flesh. The pain causes lights to flicker behind my eyes. Whack.

“Wes, please!” Whack. “I-I, Let me…“ Whack. “F-fucking.” Whack. “TALK!” Whack. I fill my lungs with as much air as I can struggle in and use it to shout, “RUST!” Closing my eyes as I feel tears flood them, I whimper against the cold black marble, “Rust.”.

Instantly, not an an inch of his skin touching mine. Before I can turn around he has his t-shirt back over my head and I’m slipping my arms through the armholes. He walks to the other side of the kitchen and starts the coffee maker.

“I’m sorry. I just needed to explain, Wesley, and you kept pushing. Your question isn’t a question that can be answered with just yes or no. It’s much more, so much more than just yes or no, baby.”