Page 18 of Choke

Atlas yanks at the tie around my neck, and I tumble to my knees. “I like you like this, Callum. A fuckin’ bitch who knows his rightful place. How many more years do I need to do this? How much longer do I have to wait for you to realize I’ll do anything for you?”

His words are sharp with their precision. To an outsider, his words might seem cruel, but the reality is that we give each other what we need. Through our relationship, we have found solace—a balm to heal the brutality of the marks inflicted upon us. The complicated and confusing parts that no one has seen. The fragmented parts of ourselves that no one knew about until we found each other. Through these games, we remain level—as level as two disturbed people with fragmented minds can be.

Right now, Atlas needs control. He needs to know he’s not slipping. That I still need him. Love him. Want him. I could tell him with words, but when you’ve lived your life being told you’re worthless like he has, words do little to provide comfort and reassurance.

So I do the only thing I can. I let him use my body to soothe his mind.

I submit.

“You’re going to blow up our lives, Callum. You’re going to destroy what we’ve built if you don’t get yourself under control.”

I look up at Atlas, my eyes conveying an unspoken message, a silent submission to his desires.

He presses my face against the smooth mahogany floor with his foot. The scent of polished wood assaults my nostrils. “You want her to recognize you? You want her to discover who you are so she’ll end your self-imposed misery.”

Searing pain laced with pleasure shoots through my neck as Atlas increases the pressure, making it hard for me to breathe. Something about breath play has always attracted me, but it’s usually my hands wrapped around Atlas’s throat, helping him to heal. This is the first time he’s done this to me. His rage is palpable, a tornado spinning out of control.

“Get your ass up, slut.”

I can predict what’s coming next. It’s the anger, pain, and rejection. The blanket of sadness and the loss of the lie shrouded in hope.

Lifting my hips, I unfasten my pants and pull down the zipper, offering Atlas what he desperately craves. I jerk from the sting of his hand.

“You’re out of fucking line, Callum. You know what happens when you’re out of line, don’t you?”

It’s not me out of line. It’s him. Atlas is spinning. He needs something to ground him, so I offer him my body as an anchor. A safe harbor.

What comes next is Atlas’s rage. Rage that burns so hot I don’t think I’ll ever be able to extinguish the flames. I do the only thing I can. I allow him to abuse my body to soothe the pain inflicted by his father. Pain I eventually added to. Pain I’m now desperate to heal.

Atlas doesn’t speak. Instead of words, he uses the lash. I grit my teeth and brace myself for the brisk impact of the leather biting into my bare flesh. I take the lashing without a sound. It’s the least I can do.

“I hate what you’ve turned me into, Callum. I hate what loving you has forced me to become. I hate that I can’t want you without consequences.”

My heart burns and yearns for this man, but even with the love we have for each other, we’re not enough. Atlas is better at suppressing his desire for her. Unlike me, he has control. I’m the one who keeps forcing him to confront the emotions he’s running from. And I think that makes him despise me a little.

I close my eyes, transported back to the moment I divulged an earth-shattering truth to the man I loved. The moment I told him he was no longer enough.

My hands shook as I put my gun on the kitchen table. “They’ve brought in more girls.”

I couldn’t do it anymore. Nine years of working for Marcus Meyer had finally taken its toll. After everything, I’d finally seen enough.

It disgusted me. I’d done this for so long. Shame coursed through me for not realizing how wrong I was to serve that man mindlessly for so many years. Maybe I’d never realized how bad it was because most of the women Marcus brought into his fucked-up organization were willing. So many gazed at him with starry eyes as if he were the answer to all their prayers.

But this time, with those girls, it felt wrong. These girls didn’t want to be there, and I didn’t want to hold them in place.

The way their eyes held mine with silent questions would haunt me for the rest of my days. Their gaze was weary and heavy, a look of utter exhaustion.

I slouched in a leather chair and held my head in my hands. A wave of sadness washed over me, and I wished I could cry. I didn’t know why I couldn’t. Why couldn’t I shed a fucking tear? One more thing that life, time, and circumstance had stolen from me.

“Some days, I think it’d be better if I used that gun to blow my fucking brains out.”

Atlas said nothing at first. He allowed the heavy weight of my words to linger in the silence between us like suffocating smoke.

Thinking about killing myself wasn’t a new concept. It was something that had been stirring in my mind since a very young age. The unbearable grief of life holding me down and never allowing me any air. Perhaps that was what drew me to Atlas that day when I saw the same pain and suffering in his blue irises that I held in my heart. Neither of us knew what joy was until we found each other. Both of us wanted to let go but held steadfast for the other.

We started as friends, and one thing led to another and within the horror of our lives. We found a speck of happiness in each other—a happiness that could be easily extinguished at any moment by those around us. Happiness that I would kill to maintain, even if it were fleeting.

A nervous cough escaped Atlas’s lips before he whispered, “Why are we still here, Callum?”

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