Page 57 of Power and Possession

A woman walked into my room in few seconds later. Shewas probably in her fifties, and smiled at me gently as soon as she walked in. She looked professional in a lab coat, and her black hair, streaked with gray, was pulled into a tidy bun.

“Hi Ashlynn, I’m Dr. Porter,” she said kindly, sitting in the chair opposite the couch where I was currently cuddled up in a ball.

I ignored her, my eyes glued to the TV.

“I know you’ve been through a lot, but I want to make sure that we treat any medical issues that have come up from your situation. I promise to be discreet. Nothing that you tell me will get back to your father.”

I sat up, suddenly thinking about what this woman could potentially offer me.

“I’d like to examine you, if I could.”

“No.”

She sighed. “Ashlynn, if you’ve been–forced, you need to be tested for—”

“I wasn’t raped.” It was the first time I’d said it aloud, and the realization hit me. I wasn’t forced or coerced into being with Steele. I wanted him. All the things he did to me, I wanted him to do. With the exception of our last night.

“Well, that makes this a lot easier,” she said cheerfully, opening the bag she brought with her. “Do you have any injuries that need to be looked after?”

I squirmed, wondering if I should still ask to be tested for any STIs. Steele said he was clean, and I still believed him, so I cleared my throat and asked for something else.

“No, I was treated well,” I lied. My ankles were still crusty and healing, but after Steele’s ministrations, it felt too private to show her. “But I’d love a prescription for a sedative, or an antidepressant.”

She frowned, looking at me intently. “I can give you something to help you sleep, but I really think you should establish care with a psychiatrist before you start anything long-term.”

I nodded. I was having trouble sleeping without Steele’swarm body next to mine. Even under my father’s care, I was still scared. Too many things had happened to me over the past month, and sleeping next to Steele was the only thing that made me feel safe.

The doctor wrote out a prescription and left it on the coffee table. “If you need anything else before you head back to the states, just let your father know and he’ll get in contact with me.”

I nodded, dismissing her the second I had the prescription. I’d call down to the front desk and get someone to fill it for me.

She left the room, and I turned off the TV, deciding it was finally time to shower. Before I could get started, there was a knock on the door. I answered it, and a young woman, perhaps just a year or two older than me, greeted me.

“Hello, Ashlynn. Your father arranged for us to get you some clothes. Can I come in and take some measurements?”

“There’s no need,” I said, perturbed at my father’s interference. “I’m a US size 10. Pick whatever you want.”

“But—” she stammered.

“I don’t need anything fancy. Jeans and some shirts. A pair of boots.”

She clearly hadn’t ever dealt with someone who cared so little about what they were going to wear. At this point I just wanted to go home to New York, and try to pick up the pieces of my life. I didn’t care what I wore to do it.

She excused herself, and I finally showered. I stood under the hot water for a long time, watching the water flow down the drain. I couldn’t help but think of that first shower that Steele watched, the way his eyes darkened with lust as he looked at my body. A chill went down my spine, despite the heat of the water, and my internal muscles clenched. I would miss the way he made me feel.

I dried my hair, then wrapped a bathrobe around me. I went out into the main room of the suite and saw that several garment bags were on the table. My father wasn’t anywhere to befound, and I had no clue what business he was attending to.

I brought the clothes into my room, looking for a pair of pajamas. There was a silk nightgown, but it reminded me too much of Steele, so I tossed it aside. Instead, I dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and threw the flannel jacket that was there over my shoulders and laced up the boots.

I left the hotel room and rode the elevator down to the first floor. It was after nine o’clock, but I didn’t care. I marched outside and tried to get my bearings. I was probably a mile, maybe two, from Steele’s London townhouse. I didn’t know why, but I felt like I had to return there. I had to go back to the place where I’d first met him.

My feet took me past the sights of the city, and I ignored the noises of high density living—cars, sirens, chatter: I didn’t hear a single sound other than the beating of my heart and my feet on the pavement.

I got turned around a few times, but eventually I made it to his lane. I couldn’t get close since everything was gated and monitored. Part of me wanted to march right up to the wrought iron gate and bang my fists against it until his security team came, and implored them to tell me where he was. Would they force me to tell them what happened? Would they kill my father to rescue him?

Instead, I slinked around the fencing, thinking of the time when I escaped, only to be taken by even worse men. Steele had stopped at nothing to save me.

And here I was, not willing to lift a finger to save him.

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