50 Shades of Drake 1 and 2

Chapter 6ixty-6ix

    It wasn't easy, feeling like a prisoner in your own home. It was stressful, feeling like you had to walk around on eggshells. What was perplexing is that while Destiny knew that she should be horrified that Aubrey would even think to take legal action against her for leaving, there was still that small part of her that was relieved he wouldn't let her go. Because that small part of her didn't want to let go of him either.

    She couldn't make sense of her own emotions. Looking at the situation in black and white, she should not want to be with him. She should want to run as far away from him as possible. Very few things in this world are black and white, though, she thought now as she stared out of her bedroom window. My feelings are about as gray area as you get. All she did know for sure was that the emotion that was at the forefront of all of the others was anger. She felt anger and frustration not only at him, but with herself.

    After all, she entered into this arrangement knowing he'd sleep with other women. She'd even known there would be a possibility that it would happen under the same roof. And thinking about the agreement that way, in those words, made her question her own sanity. Why would she knowingly agree to that? Did he have that deep of a hold on her that she would settle for anything he was willing to give her? A part of the motive had been that she'd felt like a horrible person for hurting Chad, but did she deserve this? Did she deserve to feel this way? Did she deserve having to open the door for the women that he brought into the condo, or having to clean up their mess once the women left? Is this a life she was truly sentencing herself to?

    A soft knock sounded on the door. "Lunch is on the dining room table," he said through the closed door.

    "Thank you, Sir," she returned automatically, without thinking. She covered her face with her hands and blinked back tears. She didn't feel like she was ready to see him or talk to him, not after their earlier conversation.

    She reluctantly stood up from the bed and stared down in disdain at the robe she was still wearing. She'd been so distraught, she still hadn't showered and half of the day was already long gone. She slid the robe off of her shoulders and walked over to the long mirror in the corner of the bedroom. The hem of the robe dragged behind her on the floor. She touched the black leather collar at her neck. She didn't know what to call it. It wasn't quite a piece of jewelry. It was like a brand. A visual, tangible reminder that she belonged to him - as he'd so kindly emphasized.

    She studied the shape of her body in the mirror and found herself comparing her curves to Bernice's. That hadn't been her intention, but it seemed that most women were genetically inclined to compare themselves to each other. Destiny's curves weren't as embellished as Bernice's, but her body had a great shape. She knew the reason why Aubrey had invited Bernice; he came right out and told her the reason and still she was looking for other reasons to feel bad about herself.

    She left her bedroom and entered his bedroom. He wasn't a fan of jeans; he'd implied as much. She didn't feel like putting on one of her new dresses, not without showering. She settled for a t-shirt and shorts, not really caring what he thought about it.

    With her nerves rattling, she dragged a brush through her curls to help herself look at least halfway presentable.

    She expected for him to eat lunch in his home office, but instead he sat at the head of the dining room table. Definition of awkward, she thought. This moment. This moment right here.

    "I made chicken Caesar salad," he announced just as his cell phone buzzed.

    "Thank you, Sir," she said softly, eyeing the plate he'd set out for her. He'd set the plate at his left. Not only was he going to eat at the same table as her, but he wanted her to sit close to him. She took a deep breath and sat down.

    He arched an eyebrow at her choice in clothes.

    "I haven't showered yet today, so I didn't want to put on one of my dresses," she explained. "I would have taken a shower, but I didn't want to keep you waiting."

    "You can shower after lunch," he told her.

    She lifted her fork.

    His phone buzzed again. This time, he checked it. He ran his fingers over the glossy screen on the gadget and cleared his throat. "Just so you have warning, Bernice is coming back tonight."

    When he spoke those words, Destiny forgot herself. She forgot her role in their relationship. She forgot about the contract she'd signed. In that moment, she was just a woman. A woman who had been scorned. "Excuse me?" she asked him.

    "Bernice is coming back over and she is spending the night," he repeated.

    She pushed her chair backwards and stood up.

    "Sit down, Destiny," he commanded softly.

    She glared down at him with fire burning in her eyes.

    He stared back at her. "I said, sit down," he repeated, his voice harder than it had been the first time.

    She gripped her fork in her hand so hard that it started to hurt. She slowly started to sit back down in her chair. She tore her gaze away from him and instead, stared down at her chicken Caesar salad.

    After a moment, he said, "Tell me what you're thinking."

    She didn't respond.

    "Destiny."

    "Permission to speak freely? Sir?" she asked, still staring down at the plate in front of her.

    "Granted," he allowed.

    She lifted her eyes. Tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes at him, trying to look past the casual, nonchalant expression he'd plastered on his face. She was trying to look past the dominant persona he'd assigned himself, past the bravado and the public notoriety to the man who was underneath. "I'm wondering how you came to be so broken."

    He drew back in his seat.

    "You come from a broken home," she told him. "And I understand that. I have friends who came from broken homes, family who came from broken homes. I understand that it's traumatizing. I do. But none of them, literally not one, is so afraid of falling in love they're willing to risk the only true love they've ever experienced. All just to save face. All because they're scared."

    "Destiny," he said, his tone warning.

    "No, Aubrey," she said, pounding her fist on the table and standing again. She leaned close to him and looked him up and down. "Do you know what I see when I look at you?"

    He stared back at her, and there were cracks visible in the picture perfect facade of composure that he was putting on.

    "Come on, Aubrey. Don't you want to know?" she taunted him, leaning even closer to him.

    He stared up at her wordlessly.

    "I see a frightened, scared little boy when I look at you," she shouted. "A little boy who is so fucking scared, he's willing to make me believe he is a monster. Because he'd rather me believe he's a monster than believe that he knows that love exists. Because he'd rather me believe he's a monster than believe that he's in love with me."

    "Shut your mouth," he said quietly, finally breaking eye contact.

    "I won't. Didn't you give me a free day? A day where I can say whatever I want because you... what was it...you understood my frustration?"

    "Destiny, I'm warning you." He closed his eyes.

    "I hear your warning, but what I don't hear is a denial of anything I've said," she yelled at him. "And do you know why? Because you know I'm right."

    He shoved his chair back so hard that it flew across the room and toppled on its side. He stood up, braced his hands on the table, and drew his face close to hers. His face was red with anger. He stared at her long and hard. Then, his eyes lowered to her lips. He dragged his eyes back up to hers and said, "If you don't shut your mouth as I've instructed, I'm going to shut it for you."