Page 87 of Role Play
“A bad memory?” Ash held my arm on the short walk out of the bar to my car and he helped me settle into the passengerseat.
“A bitter-sweet memory,” he said. Reaching across my body, he clicked in the seatbelt for me. “My wife used to live in your building. Before… before she moved in with me. Before we got married. Before… shedied.”
I swallowed against the emotion clogging my throat. “I’msorry.”
He sighed heavily and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Where are yourglasses?”
I dug into my tote bag on the passenger side floor and popped out the contacts, putting my glasses back on. I felt human again. Like I didn’t want to claw my own eyeballs out. All the technology out there and they can’t design contacts that aren’titchy?
Ash smiled and tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “There she is,” he said quietly, and started my carup.
“You know…” I said, pretty sure this was the alcohol talking and not logical, rational Lucy. “It probably doesn’t feel like it, but at least you have those sweet memories to cling to. To balance out thebitter.”
“I do know that,” he said. “Even if it doesn’t seem like Ido.”
Even though we’d broken up, I’d kept my promise to him and refused to Google him, despite knowing all the answers I was craving were at my fingertips, a quick search away. He was quiet for another long moment, and I had to ask. I was so curious. “How did she die,Ash?”
He swallowed hard, his grip on my steering wheel tightening. He drew in a sharp breath before answering, “Suicide.”
We were driving down the freeway back toward West Hollywood. Andrea wouldn’t be home until after three a.m. at least. On a Friday night at LnS? She was earning her tips and then had to close up and clean the bar before cominghome.
I pressed my forehead to the window which was surprisingly cool against my clammy skin. I opened my eyes, watching the blur of headlights and street signs. “You had no right,” I said, my eyes still focused out the window rather than on his gorgeousface.
“You’re going to have to clarify,” Ash stated. “I do a lot of things I have no rightsto.”
I snorted. I knew he was trying to be cute, but I also had no doubts that it was an accurate statement. “Telling me to eat my dinner,” I said. “You know that’s my hard limit. You know that will trigger my shit. But you did itanyway.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s a trigger for me, too. Seeing unhealthy and destructivebehaviors.”
“I amnotdestructive.”
“Then what do you call getting drunk on an emptystomach?”
Yeah, okay. It was a little destructive. But lots of young women go out dancing and get drunk. I was with a friend who was taking care of me. I wasn’t planning to drive home. I wasn’t being unsafe. And it didn’t change the facts. “Destructive or not, my well-being and safety isn’t your concern.” Not anymore. Maybe it neverwas.
“That doesn’t mean I won’t worry about you. I can’t help it. It’s who Iam.”
I finally dared a glance to my left. His hands clutched the steering wheel. Knuckles white. Lips tight and pressed into a flesh-colored line. “Why?” I askedquietly.
He shrugged. “The lifestyle states that a Dominant’s sole job is to look out for the well-being of hissubmissive—”
“No,” I snapped. “Not the textbook answer. “Tell meyourwhy.”
He took a deep breath, waiting a long while to answer. Finally, he said. “Because if I had done my job better as a Dom, my wife might still bealive.”
I could feel his pain as sure as if it were my own. I winced at the crack of his voice. So… he felt responsible for his wife’s suicide… somehow because of his Dom relationship. It still didn’t make a lot of sense to me, but it was the most he’d opened up yet. And because of that, he was extra assertive over what he perceived to be my health and well-being.
Even without all the information, it made a whole lot more sense. Ash made a whole lot more sense. I still couldn’t quite equate how her suicide coincided with my eating habits,though.
“What about you? Your dad?” Ashasked.
“What abouthim?”
“Did he ever abuse you? Or was it just yourmom?”
I snorted, my eyes heavy as I stared out the window. “Just my mom,” I repeated. “Just. As if she wasn’tenough.”
“That’s not what I meant,Lucy.”
