Page 82 of Violent Delights

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I just thought this would be more suitable for…”

She bites her lip and lowers her eyes. I know that this is harder for her than she wants to let on.

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her. “I think you’re right. And you look lovely no matter what.”

“I will change back into the dress you gave me, once we’re… done,” she promises.

I get up from the couch, placing my hands on her shoulders.

“Look at me, my pet,” I command her.

She raises her eyes up to mine, sadness reflected in their gray-blue depths.

“Don’t ever apologize for yourself,” I say. “Especially for something like this.”

She nods. “Yes, Master.”

Our lips meet for a slow and soft kiss, comforting in ways that words could never be. My hand rests below her ear, while my thumb caresses her cheek as our breaths mingle. I don’t break our kiss until I know I can no longer resist the urge to want more. We have things to attend to.

“Are you ready?” I ask her, and she nods, a sad smile fleeting across her face.

The drive to the cemetery is long and filled with pensive silence. Liana is sitting next to me with a white French daisy bouquet resting in her lap, as she stares out the window. She takes a deep breath when we pull up to the cemetery and I park the car.

“Do you want to be by yourself?” I ask her, before she opens the door.

She looks at me, her face already lined with a sorrow I cannot take away from her.

“No,” she says after a moment. “Please come with me.”

“Alright.”

I walk next to her while we follow the directions she’s been given to find his grave. She’s gripping my hand tightly, while pressing the flowers against her chest with the other.

“I’ve never had to say goodbye to someone,” she says in barely more than a whisper. “Not like this.”

“It’s the hardest thing we as people have to endure, if you ask me,” I say. “It’s bad enough to be aware of our own mortality, but to be faced with it when we have to say goodbye to others is even worse.”

I can feel her eyes on me from the side, but am not ready to return the look.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I forgot that you’ve had a much harder parting in your life.”

I shake my head.

“It was hard,” I say. “But it’s true what they say about time. It’s the only thing that really can heal all wounds. Even the ones that run as deep as mine.”

She squeezes my hand in lieu of a reply. We walk a few more steps in silence, not encountering another person, which is probably because of the murky weather. It’s foggy and cold, providing a perfectly gloomy atmosphere in this deserted cemetery.

“This is it,” she says, as she stops in front of a newer-looking tombstone.

She freezes in front of it, her lips parted as she lets go of my hand.

“Professor Miller,” she whispers, and as soon as she says the name, a tear rolls down her pale cheek.

I want to touch her, hug her, take the pain of grief away from her, but I know I can’t. This is something she will have to overcome herself, and I know she will.

There are many things I can do for her, though. And I vow to do every single one of them.

I’m relieved to see her smiling as she goes down on her knees to place the bouquet on the grave.

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