Page 53 of Fallen Petal

Chapter 26

J

I don’t know what to make of her behavior, or how to react to it.

There’s something mesmerizing in the way she moves, in the way she follows an instinct that must be as confusing as it is enticing.

I pull the pasta from the stove and make sure to turn it off before I approach her from behind. She’s down on her knees, testing the strength of the leash and the collar around her neck as she leans forward, her fingers barely touching the armrest of one of the sofas. Even with her back turned to me, I can tell that her eyes are closed.

She’s doing it again. She’s doing the same thing she did when she first woke up.

She’s trying to remember.

But this time, her efforts may not be as futile as they were then, because I know this room must trigger her like nothing else ever has. I provided her with little glimpses, a dish that she loves, because it reminds her of a home, not her own, but one that made her welcome. A white rose, because I know it to be her favorite flower. A familiar face, a familiar name.

She picked up on every single thing, and each time, she couldn’t help but chase the images those artifacts evoked in her.

This room must be the strongest yet, filled with memories that must have left an imprint on her as much as they did on me.

I knew she would go through this struggle, and the scientist and doctor in me is fascinated by the intensity of the effect. She has been my biggest project yet, the most valuable and most strenuous client. I want to observe her, to study her. There’s so much I—society in general—could learn from the way her mind is working through this.

But there’s another part in me, the Dominant, the lover, the man who worries about his girl’s sanity.

She gasps, yanking at the leash when her body jerks up as if she’s been hit with something. And she probably is, but not physically.

I step closer, careful not to bump against the leash as I close in on her, leaving about two feet of distance between us when I come to a halt.

I know I will have to wake her at some point, and it will be my job to decide when that time has come. I can’t wait too long, but I also need to give her enough time to grasp whatever it is that’s materializing before her closed eyes right now.

I startle when she lets out a sudden chuckle. It’s not genuine laughter, but a suppressed and somewhat artificial sounding cackle. It doesn’t speak of happiness, but more of a quick and sudden elation that tickles her senses.

Still, it is a good thing. It’s a memory, a lively memory.

Her breathing turns erratic before she lets out a deep and hearty sigh. If it weren’t for the leash, she’d fall over now, as her body relaxes, enjoying something that took a lot of effort to find.

I wish I could see what she’s seeing right now. I wish I could be there with her, but I know I can’t. No one ever can. It’s hers entirely, and it will only last for a few moments, just like it did when the incident that this memory is based on happened.

I know she’s back there, drinking gin with me, giving voice to her dreams, and about to take something she’s wanted for herself for longer than I knew at the time.

It wasn’t until four years later that I learned about the full extent of her desires, and about the black void she suffered from by not having them fulfilled.

I wonder if I had acted any differently back then, if I had known. I wonder if it would have made a difference.

It probably would have.

She croaks, her entire body tensing and her shoulders rising up to her ears when something shifts inside her head.

The moment has passed. Even without her saying a word I know that she’s not merely seeing a single image, but following a story as it unfolds before her eyes. There’s more to it than laughter, and she learns that now as she continues to follow the trail that her darkened mind lays out for her.

She falters, then slowly shakes her head. I can see her fingers twitching, lifting up from the sofa for a split second before she puts them back. The memory that unfolds now is sending an entirely different message, providing her with a new set of emotions that have nothing in common with the elation she felt before.

It pains her, and that little lift of her hands shows just how much she wants to run from it.

But she doesn’t. She forces herself to bear those images as she indulged on the positive ones.

The shaking of her head grows stronger, more violent, and her body begins to tremble. Her fingers curl in agony, but still hold on to the leather, despite the anguish she’s experiencing.

My protective instincts take over, and before I know it, I take a step forward, then another. She doesn’t react to my presence, ignoring the fact that I’m going down on my knees right next to her.

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