Page 1 of A Different Form of Oxygen
Prologue
16 months before
Ben
"Don't you want to make me happy, sweet boy? Don't you want to be the sweet boy I know you can be? My sweet Benji. I know you don't enjoy making me angry. I just don't understand why you keep doing it."
Never did I think I could ever hate hearing my first name coming out of his mouth. I found it endearing the first time he said it; no one else called me that. It was our own special thing. How it used to linger sweetly from his mouth as he told me hello or goodnight over our long-distance phone calls.Sweet dreams, my Benji.He would whisper before hanging up the phone.
It no longer makes me smile. Now it's comparable to nails on a chalkboard, causing my jaw to clench tight as he said it through gritted teeth. "Did you hear what I said Benji? Are you not going to answer me now?"
I kneel to the ground, on the cold kitchen floor, my knees shaking. My whole body is on the verge of collapsing, but I know what will happen if I do. My shoulders ache, and sharp pains shoot up my spine. The words I'm sorry hang at the end of my raw throat, leaving a bad taste in my mouth. None of David's punishments were light and easy. David's hands always weighed heavy on my body, with each strike leaving behind tender, marked flesh. I always had to wear long sleeved shirts to cover up the bruises. Wearing winter clothes last summer in California earned me plenty of stares.
This wasn't how it was supposed to be. This isn't what I signed up for when I wandered into that BDSM chatroom a year ago.
Tears hang to the insides of my eyelids, threatening to break free. I squeeze my eyes shut, repressing them as much as possible. The weaker I appear, the worse the punishment. David continues to feed on my misery. He doesn't care for me. He never did.
I slowly nod my head and with a slight whisper I say, "Yes, David. I'm sorry. I promise not to come home late again. I don't want to make you angry."
His muscles tense beneath his dress shirt. Lifting my chin with his fingers, the green stone on the ring I got him digs into my skin, forcing my eyes to meet his darkening blue ones. Piercing my skin with his penetrating gaze. His black hair peppered with gray is slicked back perfectly on his head, not a single hair out of place. He is as striking now as the first day we met in person, except he no longer has me reaching for him. He no longer has my heart skipping a beat. Now he has it clenching with fear.
“That’s my good, sweet boy. I think you've learned your lesson for the day. Go get ready for bed now."
My shoulders drop and a breath of air releases from my lungs in relief. I wait until the sounds of his footsteps fully disappear before peeling my legs and hands off the hard-cold tile floor. I remember how excited I was when we were out picking tile and light fixtures for our brand new, professionally decorated condo in California. That excitement came to a halt months later. David no longer made my stomach flutter with butterflies. Now I have to constantly swallow hard to keep the bile from rising when he kisses me. Before, he was always sure to keep me on my toes with sweet surprises, but now he keeps me on my toes with bated breath, waiting for the moment he'll strike again.
I was blinded by loving words and his promises of giving me just what I needed during our online chats. He was older, successful, and he wanted me. He made wanting to take care of me sound like a dream come true—and it was for a while. Now I stand here, with a dislocated shoulder, blood dripping down my nose, and a body covered in bruises with the stale taste of metal in my mouth.
This isn't what I wanted; it wasn't supposed to be this way.
My legs wobble with each step I take to the bedroom. David's office door is shut. Once inside our shared bedroom, I am tempted to lock the door, but I don't. I don’t wait for the water temperature to heat up before wetting a washcloth and cleaning the blood off my skin. Even the softest towel compares to running sandpaper over my body. The last thing I want to do is get David’s eight hundred thread count sheets dirty. After drying off, my body is heavy as it sinks into the blankets, burying myself in their warmth. I press my face into the pillow, letting my tears fall. I need to leave. I've been telling myself this for weeks, but I need to make sure David isn’t home when I do it. Would he follow me to Texas? He never knew where my friends lived. I lived in the town over and was always the one who came to visit him. I close my heavy-lidded eyes, begging sleep to take me before David comes to bed. He never touches me when I was sleeping.
I wish he never touched me at all.
The next morning's sun shines harshly into my aching eyes. My body is crying out in pain with each move I make. He really went too far this time, or maybe I went too far.No, that's his way of getting in your head again.
He has a way of always making me believe it is my fault and I deserve every punishment he gives me. He keeps telling me, "You want to know what the Dom and sub life entails, and I'm here to show you." All he shows me is pain; pain that is never blanched with pleasure. Pain that is unwanted.
I search the other side of the bed for David, but the blanket is still tucked in with zero signs anyone's been in it. I guess he never made it to bed last night. Sometimes he doesn't and who knows where he went. I no longer questioned it or cared. I wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. The longer he was gone, the better. I walk outside my bedroom, holding onto the doorknob. With a trembling voice, I call for him. "David, are you home?"
I hold my breath as I wait for an answer, but the room remains still and silent. My arms wrap tightly over my shivering body as the cold December air seeps in from a half-opened window. I slide my feet gently against the carpet, searching around for any kind of movement. Each room I check is empty and free of David. The heavy weight in my chest is lifted at the realization.
I waste no time hurrying into the bedroom, pulling clothes from the oakwood dresser, emptying each of my drawers. My heart rate quickens with every minute that passes and my jittery hands slow me down. A brown bag sticks out on the top shelf of the large walk-in closet. I run my hand over the dusty soft fabric. David only used it for business trips, and he hadn't been on one since I moved in. The last time he used it was when we took a trip to Florida together when I still lived in Texas. I fill the suitcase until the clothes begin spilling from the sides. I shove it all back in, one handed. Sitting on it, I force the zipper closed.
My eyes never leave the bedroom door. I couldn't let him catch me trying to leave. I throw on some fitted jeans and a long sleeve shirt, stuffing my feet into my sneakers. My wallet and keys weigh down my pockets as I flee outside the front door, scanning my surroundings.
The driveway only holds my car; I make a beeline for it. I toss my bag into the trunk, staring at my phone, wondering if I should leave it behind. I can always tell my friends it broke, or I lost it. It wouldn't be the first time I lied because of David. I pull out of the driveway, heading far away from the gorgeous condo I couldn't wait to move into months ago. Now I couldn't wait to get away from the white stucco building surrounded by heavenly paradise.
A ray of sunshine enters through my windows and I'm loving the warmth on my face. I'm glad I have a full tank because I don't plan on stopping anytime soon. At a red light, a familiar ringtone has me looking at the phone screen blinking with David's number. A sound that once had my heart soaring now has my heart sinking into my stomach. My finger presses ignore before hitting the power button, shutting off the phone. Shutting David out of my life forever.
