Black Light: Brave Page 10

  He was just being kind. Guys like him did that sort of thing.

  What they didn’t do, however, was attach themselves to messed up people like her.

  Not that it mattered. In the long run, this whole thing was destined to fall apart no matter what she did. Because in the end it all came down to the same inevitable thing: Pony couldn’t wait to go back to Ethen. When that happened, she wouldn’t be going alone. They were the only two left out of his menagerie of four. Of all the things she’d learned over the past year, the only thing that mattered was they were both all the other had.

  Someone had to protect Pony from the full brunt of Ethen’s cruelty, and Puppy had always been his favorite whipping post.

  Taking it was the only thing she’d really ever been good at.

  Chapter 8

  True to his word, when Puppy awoke the next morning, there under her pillow where she’d hidden it the night before, her cellphone was flashing a little blue light in homage of the text message she’d received from Carlson. Although she was braced for him to back out of everything, whatever he’d thought about over the course of the night had not induced him to change his mind.

  With the window shade drawn to block the morning light, the room was just dark enough to make out Pony’s quilt-covered lump on her cot by the closet. It was impossible to tell with Pony, but she looked to be asleep. Pulling her blanket up over her head to hide the telltale light, she curled onto her side around her phone and checked her messages.

  I’ve sent you an email, the simple text read. Enjoy your day!

  Puppy almost panicked. How could she check that without anyone knowing? Her mother would let her use her laptop if she asked, but she’d stand right there and watch the entire time she was online. Anything Carlson had sent her, her mother would read. She needed to wait, she decided, phone cradled in her hands. She could go to the library print it out and read it in the—wait…

  She stared at the cell phone in her hands, its soft lit screen dimming in a prelude to winking back off into standby. She tapped back out of messages and looked at the internet symbol. Ethan’s control over her life had been so utter and so complete. Nothing had belonged to her while she’d been with him. Not her clothes, not her phone, not even the things she’d bought herself long before she became his property and his pet.

  The day she moved into his house, he’d taken her phone and given her another. One that he could access on his computer. One that he monitored daily, checking it religiously to see where she was going and what she was doing. Access to social media had been a punishable offense in Ethen’s house. If she was not at work, her time was strictly occupied by his carefully policed routines that kept her attention on him, not Facebook. To her, phones were not a link to friends and family or a source of entertainment. Literally, it was a piece of the enemy that she kept forever attached to her body so that he could monitor her every minute of every day. Even now, having been free of him for over a year, she barely used it.

  Hiding under the blankets in her bed so Pony wouldn’t see the light, for the first time, Puppy set up her phone so she could access her Yahoo mail account. Her heart racing, trying not to feel like she was doing something awful and wrong, she read what he had sent her. It was a list of rules.

  #1 You will message me every morning first thing when you wake up and again at night right before you go to sleep. I want to know how you are feeling and that you are okay.

  #2 You will take photos of what you are eating. Once before you start, and again after you are done so I can see how much you’re eating and that you are taking care of yourself.

  #3 You will have a breakfast, a lunch, and a dinner, at minimum. You will not skip meals.

  #4 You will meet me at Black Light at least once each week. If you cannot make it for whatever reason, you will let me know ahead of time so we can discuss it.

  #5 When you get the negotiation contract, print it out and go over it thoroughly. Answer every question. Be honest.

  #6 Today is a new day. Have a good one.

  And that was it.

  As she read and reread that list of instructions, she waited for that old familiar sense of dread that Ethen’s lists had always inspired, but it never came. This list was softer. It felt gentle, caring. For just a moment, it was like she was standing in the bathroom at Old Ebbitt Grill with Carlson’s arms folded around her. She could practically feel the softness of his shirt against her cheek as he tucked her head under his chin, stroked her hair and rubbed her back, until all she felt was safe.

  A tiny pulse of heat came throbbing to life between her legs, and she was so tempted to reach down and touch. To hold that warm pulse inside her and savor this first exquisite thump of arousal that had absolutely nothing to do with Ethen.

  “Are you awake?” Pony whispered.

  Caught. Her heart stumbled.

  Hiding her phone amongst her blankets, Puppy reluctantly uncovered her head. “Yes.”

  “I think I’m bleeding.”

  And so her day began.

  Pony’s movements were slow and weak as she helped her out of bed and walked her into the bathroom. Apart from the dark circles around her eyes, she seemed even paler than usual. Puppy helped her out of her harness and because her legs wobbled when Pony stepped into the tub, she got in the shower with her.

  The harness had rubbed her raw in the night. Old scabs on her ribs and around her breasts had fallen off. New ones had appeared over her shoulders, across the back of her neck and down her spine. Puppy washed and dressed them as best she could.

  “Please don’t put the harness back on,” she begged, but Pony only broke down and cried.

  “I miss him so much.”

  And back on the corset went anyway.

  Her mother made toaster waffles for breakfast, and the three women sat down to eat in strained, heavy silence. It was a strange feeling, being surrounded by people she didn’t want to notice while she fumbled with her phone’s camera to take a discrete picture.

  She didn’t know how to use the camera any more than she knew how to use her phone. The flash she didn’t realize was on lit up the entire table.

  “Did you just take a picture of your waffle?” her mother asked. “Is… is that for Facebook or… or Twitter? I didn’t realize you were posting again.”

  Pony stared at her from across the table. She said nothing, but Puppy could feel the weight of her silent accusation boring into her.

  “I’m supposed to keep a log of how much I’m eating.”

  Surprised, her mother brightened. “Is this something your therapist suggested? I didn’t know you were still seeing him.”

  She wasn’t, and she hadn’t for six months. But Pony was still staring at her, making her face burn and the snakes in her stomach coil and writhe. “He wants to make sure I’m eating enough.”

  It wasn’t a complete lie and Pony wasn’t fooled, but the explanation satisfied her mother. “Whoever you’re seeing, keep them. He sounds good for you.”

  “He sounds like a Dom,” Pony said flatly. The clatter as she dropped her fork on her plate gave all the voice to her displeasure that she kept locked behind her tightly pressed lips as she shoved her chair back and left the table.

  Waiting until after Pony left for work—impeccably dressed for her secretarial job with a real estate mogul downtown—Puppy snuck her coat from the closet, grabbed her backpack, and walked a mile and a half to catch a bus to take her to the Deanwood Neighborhood Library. Climbing the stone steps outside, she was almost to the entrance doors before she saw the tiny square of paper taped to the glass. It read: Part-Time Help Wanted. Pausing at the door, Puppy re-read the limited information. Her past working experience made her more than qualified to work in a library, but in order to apply, she would first have to ask for an application.

  Her anxiety ratcheted straight through her. She squeezed the strap of her backpack, hugging it over her shoulder, her palms already starting to sweat. She wasn’t good at talking to
people anymore, and yet if she was ever going to regain her freedom and independence, then she had to get a job. She had to get herself back to what she was before Ethen.

  She wanted to walk inside, but her legs stepped backwards instead. Turning, head down, she dodged another library patron on his way inside and fled back down the steps. Darting around the side of the building, she found the unofficial smoking area on a nearby bench. For forty minutes, she sat there, quietly hyperventilating with her head in her hands, her leg jiggling wildly up and down, and all the rest of her shaking.

  She could do this. She hadn’t always been this afraid. She didn’t even have to pick up an application today at all. She’d just go inside, print out Carlson’s contract, and leave. She’d come back for the application later, after she’d had a chance to work herself up to the ordeal of actually talking to someone. It was ridiculous that she was falling apart like this. Nobody was going to care when she walked inside. No one would look at her twice if she asked for an application. They’d just hand it to her and get on with their day. She could do this.

  Rubbing her sweaty palms against her thighs, Puppy made herself go inside. She avoided the front desk, making her way to the bank of public computers where she collapsed into the first empty chair that she found. Hiding her face in her hands, she got her shaking back under control. She was never going to get a job this way. Which was appropriate, since she was just as sure she’d never be able to work one without freaking out either.

  She was useless.

  Depressed, she logged in with her library card long enough to access her email and that started nightmare number two as she tried to figure out how to print out two copies (just in case she made a mistake) of the seven-page contract negotiation that Carlson had sent. She still had no idea where she was going to hide it until she met up with him again. But now she also had to figure out where and how to pick up all those pages without someone else here seeing them.

  It cost her a dollar seventy-five and she had to get help from one of the attendants before she could make the printer work. That was a combination panic attack that physically hurt inside her too-tight chest as she tried to be normal, tried to deal with people, and tried so very hard to snatch each page as fast as the printer spat them out so the attendant wouldn’t accidentally read any one of the keywords that kept jumping out at her. Words like contract negotiation, BDSM, spanking, bondage, and hard and soft limits.

  Retreating with that contract hugged tight to her chest, she found a mostly private table apart from the other patrons. It took a good half hour before she could calm enough to stop shaking. Drawing a deep breath, one question at a time, she filled the contract out.

  How did she identify? Submissive.

  Did she have any real-life experience? Three years.

  A full page was dedicated to three columns of every kind of fetish and activities, listed in tiny font where she could check one of three options: Like, Don’t Like, Am Interested in Trying. Trembling hand pressed to her forehead, she stared at that page, fighting hard to blink back tears. Be honest, he had said. But the last time she’d been honest on one of these things, her Master had used her likes against her.

  Carlson wasn’t Ethen, but before she could tackle any of that, she put a giant X through everything associated with Pet Play, gang bangs, and group scenes, and then she quietly gathered her things and went into the bathroom, where she hid in a small stall, crying into a wad of cheap toilet paper so no one coming in or out would hear her.

  It took a long time, but she got through it. One question, one breakdown, and one crying jag at a time. She did her best to be honest, although as vague as humanly possible in some places. The hardest part was her likes and dislikes. Admitting to what she liked was mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausting. It took hours, with panic, anxiety, and a whole slew of dreadful what-ifs plaguing her every step of the way. For everything else, she simply checked the box marked Am Interested. She had no idea what Carlson liked or didn’t. He deserved someone willing to do whatever he enjoyed. Whether she liked it or not, she wanted to leave that option open.

  Finally, she was done. It took hiding in the bathroom to finish it, but she’d filled out every page completely and she’d even been honest. Or at least, more honest than she’d have thought herself capable of, considering the content.

  As relieved as she was that it was over, in retrospect it hadn’t been that bad. Draining, yes. But not difficult, not really. And now she could get out of here.

  Contract hugged to her, she made her way back through the library, but the closer she got to the door, the more she found herself thinking about that application. She ought to get it now. She was here, after all. She eyed the front desk and, in specific, the college-aged redhead working at the computer there. Maybe the applications were just sitting out in the open. She could just take one and then get out of here without talking to anyone.

  With every step reverberating through her on waves of apprehension, she approached the desk as unobtrusively as possible. The applications were not just sitting out in the open. She actually had to ask for them. Her face burning hot the whole time, she took two (just in case) and quickly walked outside. Back around the corner she went, back to the smoking section where she immediately collapsed on the bench, sucking hard for air.

  She was so stupid. And now she was hyperventilating again, unable to draw breath enough even to laugh at herself over how scared, anxious, and now relieved she was. And she thought she could handle a job? Seriously?

  It was just too much.

  Holding her head in both hands, she struggled to slow her breathing.

  Her phone beeped.

  Digging it out of her pocket, she looked at the screen where one unread text from Carlson sat waiting for her. It read: Where’s your lunch post?

  It was almost 3:30. She’d spent way more time here than she thought she had.

  She wilted.

  I forgot to eat, she confessed.

  His response was almost instant. Do you want to take care of your punishment for that tonight, or do you want to wait until we get together later this week?

  She went still and cold, staring at that text for the longest time. Maybe too long, because before she could figure out a response, he called her. She answered on the second ring, slowly bringing the phone up to her ear.

  “Hello,” she whispered.

  “Do you want to do it tonight, or do you want to do it at Black Light later this week?” he asked flatly.

  “I didn’t mean to forget,” she said. “I was filling out the papers.”

  “I’m glad you took that part seriously. But I also need you to take it seriously when I say you’re going to eat three meals a day, you’re going to take a picture of it before and after, and you won’t miss meals. So, last time. Do you want to take care of it tonight or do you want to wait until we get to Black Light?”

  Her chest cramped in hard around her wildly beating heart. There was no way she could handle feeling like this for more than one day. The longer she waited, the worse it would get. “Tonight please, Sir.”

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “Deanwood.”

  “The library?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Please be waiting outside on the front steps so I don’t have to find parking.”

  Hanging up the call, that should have been the point that she hyperventilated yet again, but she didn’t. Her legs were rubbery; her head hurt. Carlson wasn’t Ethen, she reminded herself yet again. And maybe, just maybe after her punishment was over, he would hug her in that way that made all her bad feelings go away. Then she could feel safe again.

  Two days in a row.

  She didn’t hold out a whole lot of hope. Her luck didn’t usually run in comforting directions.

  * * *

  Carlson found her sitting on the steps exactly as he’d requested when he pulled up in front of the library. Construction caused him
to be later than what he’d told her. It was now fifteen after four and all he kept thinking about was she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Which annoyed him, but only half as much as it annoyed him that she looked so damned waiflike when she came walking up to his car. She slipped into the passenger seat wearing jeans, pink and white sneakers, and peeking out from under the thin jacket she wore, a pink t-shirt with a cartoon teddy bear hugging a cartoon unicorn under a rainbow.

  Admittedly, she was an adult. She could wear whatever she wanted to. Also, he could think of no other situation in his life when he’d ever given two shits what anyone else chose to wear. But in his time at Black Light, he’d seen his share of Littles. Apart from her clothing, there wasn’t one thing about her personality that screamed ‘Little’ to him. She didn’t have the talk. More importantly, she didn’t have the attitude. All those clothes did, in his mind, were make her look even thinner and smaller than she really was.

  So did the way she sat beside him, slightly hunched as she hugged a small backpack purse in her lap, now and then shooting him a nervous side-eyed look while she waited to find out exactly what he was going to do next.

  “Seatbelt,” he admonished, signaling but not merging back into traffic until he heard the familiar click of the two halves connecting.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to disobey.”

  “If I thought for a second that you did,” he replied, deliberately keeping his tone light, “this would be an entirely different conversation. What concerns me, however, is that this is our third food-related issue within two days. That tells me the correction you received last night did not do its job, and that something more than just a hand spanking is going to be needed now.”

  She turned to the window, as if trying to hide her face. But there was no hiding the quickening rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.