Page 58 of The Game

Teddy’s apartment is right around the corner, opposite of the way we usually walk, which is why I didn’t recognize it. The cool air is biting against my tear-stained cheeks, and I can’t help but to keep sniffling, clutching Teddy’s jacket around my shoulders. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t touch me. I suppose the ball is in my court, but the only thing I can comprehend is this need to get home and shower, to strip myself bare and allow the pain to wash forth.

Up the stairs we go, my knees wobbling the entire way. The moment he unlocks his door and allows me inside first, I freeze. I suddenly don’t know what I want, why I am here, if I want his comfort or to be left alone, or if I want Tristan to hold me against his chest and trail his fingers over me, or if I want Jameson to drape his body over mine and protect me from all the monsters in the world and in my head.

The door closes softly, and Teddy clears his throat. Chewing my lip as tears pool, I turn and peek up at him from under my lashes. His eyes are guarded, his face stoic but serene, in control.

“You don’t know what you want, but I can help you decide,” he says, his voice low and rumbling. Feeling my chin wobble, I know I am slipping, but it’s…different. An entirely new headspace, one where I feel as tiny as a bug and just as defenseless. A sudden strike of clarity hits me, and I realize I want him to just tell me what to do, and so I nod.

His shoulders instantly relax, his face softening as he slowly reaches for my hand. My eyes swish to his open palm and back up to those depthless pools of teal, and I slip my hand into his. His movements are slow, controlled, as he pulls me after him and to the bathroom. When he releases me to start the faucet and plug the tub, I fiddle nervously with my hands, my mind slowly going blank, replaced by this need to be taken care of in a more extreme sense.

The aroma of lavender bubble bath fills my senses and further calms me, and he stands tall, turning back around to stare deeply into my eyes.

“Take your time. I have your last present for when you get out.”

I nod as he leaves quietly, robotically stripping myself and kicking my costume to the corner. Adorning the edges of the tub are a few flickering candles, makeup remover, a bath bomb, and a bottle of water. He must have planted all this before we even left, and that notion has me sinking to my knees and choking on a sob.

I miss them so much it physically hurts. I will always regret those things I said about them, the things I saidtothem. But I am selfish enough to want them back. My home is in their arms, and I’m fucking homesick. So I take my bath and sob and weep for all the things I’ve lost, all the things that will never be the same.

I cry for the fact that I’ve used my body in pleasurable ways with another man. I cry knowing another man—a man truly related to me—has defiled my body and made a mockery of their love for me. I cry for Teddy, for his mother, for his childhood, for how long he’s been stuck in this very same hell just looking for a way out. Maybe that’s why I have to be here—so he can be free if we’re brave enough to obtain it.

I cry for Aria risking her safety to come and find me, a shitty fucking friend that was always more concerned about herself. I never once stopped to ask Aria how she was doing at home because I knew the answer would make me sad. How fucking selfish am I?

I cry for Ellie. God, I weep for her and all she’s endured and will continue to fight through to heal. I want to see her but I also don’t, and that makes me cry, too.

By the end, I am crying softly for my step-father, my aunt, and then my own mother. She was always the one to keep me safe, to find a way out of the worst situations. We protected one another, were best friends, and I’ve missed out on some of the most important moments in my life with her and will continue to do so. Getting my scholarships and getting accepted to college, graduating high school, my prom dress that matched Ellie’s, and eventually, my wedding, my children—everything.

Everything’s been robbed from me, and as the water turns tepid around my broken, bruised, and aching body, my fury begins to grow.

* * *

The towel wrapped around my chest and tucked under my arms is soft and fluffy and somehow warm against my skin. I spent a good amount of time showering and scrubbing myself clean after my bath, and now I think I’m ready to face Teddy and…I’m not sure. At the very least, I do want to be close to him and find that closure I need for the night.

When I open the bathroom door, his room is washed in the golden glow of more heavenly scented candles, a silver tray settled on his pristine black bedding. Padding closer, my heart clenches and a smile forms on my lips despite my attempting to bite it away; it feels weird to smile right now, but his gesture takes away all the bad, allows me to sink into bliss and peace in knowing the tough stuff is behind me. For now, I’ll enjoy my birthday, because come tomorrow, I have a feeling everything will be changing.

First on the tray is one of the leftover black cupcakes with a little piece of paper in front of it, the elegant scrawl saying “Eat Me.” Next in line is one of his favorites, a large cup filled to the brim with ice water and the familiar lemony scent of a Liquid IV, the notecard demanding “Drink Me.” Snorting softly, my fingers delicately brush against the one thing that excites me, a freshly rolled blunt with a sign that says “Smoke Me.” How very Teddy of him. A little box of matches is displayed next to it, but then I see the last item on the tray, a bottle of warming massage oil.

There’s no notecard with this one, leaving the demand open-ended, but I think I know what it is he’s offering; a much more tame and sensual round. With a sigh, I obey the other cards, eating my cupcake, the sugars helping to balance out my levels, before I chug the water, not realizing how thirsty everything made me. Pinching the blunt between my fingers, I pluck a match from the tray and make my way to the door. I’d rather smoke with him, and I’m still so new to it that I begrudgingly need his help lighting it and getting it started. The other day I tried on my own and freaked, blowing out and effectively spewing bud all over his bathroom. He’d laughed his ass off, of course, but a stray ember had left a mark on his bathroom rug.

So when I find him perched on the couch, shirtless, hair wet, face devoid of makeup, I attempt to bring a real smile to my exhausted, puffy face. His head whips to mine, his depthless teal eyes wide and expectant and holding a hint of worry; I understand it, though. What we did was intense, and deep down, he has the most caring heart I’ve ever met. His concern is plain to see and it warms me, so I broaden my smile and hold out the joint.

“Wanna help me?”

That little smirk settles back onto his face, the tension oozing, and it seems everything is right in the world once again. He pats his knee, and though we usually don’t smoke anywhere but the bathroom, he doesn’t seem to care right now. Settling my weight onto him, he takes it from me and sets it aside before wrapping me up in a tight hug.

“You okay?” he asks, voice husky, holding that edge of apprehension still. I nod, leaning into him, my mind blank as a canvas now. I’ve mourned so much, and now I finally feel this clarity, this urge to wake up refreshed tomorrow and move forward and do whatever we can to get us all out of the circus, this fucked up game.

Swallowing hard, I nod again before I speak. “You’re a good dom.”

He snorts softly, resting his chin on my shoulder.

“It’s natural, I suppose.”

My brows furrow as I stare at the blank television screen.

“You’re used to taking care of someone, someone…I guess sort of dependent on you.”

He’s quiet for a beat, but the words hang in the air; we’re both fucked up, me with my daddy issues, him with…whatever the fuck you call what he went through. It’s woven intrinsically into our souls now, forever a part of us, trauma that has bonded us.

“Yes. I feel…fulfilled when I am able to take care of someone’s needs.”

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