50 Shades of Drake 1 and 2

50SOD II: Chapter Twenty

    "I think he's waking up." Carlos's voice.

    Aubrey jerked awake, his pulse racing and his heart pounding in his chest. Two faces hovered over him, two faces that he didn't recognize. Both male. They were wearing white uniforms. Carlos stood behind those two unfamiliar faces, looking very relieved. Disoriented, Aubrey struggled to move, but there was a warm, steadying hand on his chest. With his brows drawn together, his eyes traveled from the hand to a slender wrist, and from the wrist up a long, toned arm.

    Destiny was looking down at him with concern filling her eyes. She was cradling his head in her lap.

    He brought a hand up to his head. "What...what happened?"

    "You blacked out," she told him, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead.

    Ghosts of memories hovered in the corners of his mind. He lowered his hand, but continued to hold her gaze. If he could just find a way to talk to her and tell her everything she wanted to know, she would probably understand why it was so hard for him to trust a woman with his feelings, with his heart. There were two roadblocks keeping him from being able to do that.

    The first roadblock was that he hated to appear weak in front of her. She was very forgiving of his faults, which he appreciated, but that didn't change the fact that he was her Dominant. Even if he wasn't a Dominant, he was still her man. As a man, his role was to be strong. Formidable. Indestructible. Admitting that he'd allowed himself to be played by a woman that he thought he loved for an embarrassingly long period of time didn't give off the impression that he was strong. Confessing that he'd fallen down the dark hole of depression after that relationship was over, and that he'd cried over a woman who had used him, gave an impression the opposite of strength. It gave the impression of weakness. And he had been weak. He had been weak.

    The second roadblock made less sense than the first. He had an unreasonable fear that once Destiny knew the details, she would leave him. The fear was completely unfounded, baseless. The situation was in his past with no bearing on their future. She would have no reason to leave him. However, that fear remained. And it was so strong, that he didn't even want to chance it becoming a reality.

    Her eyes were teary and loving as she stared down at him. She bent down and kissed his forehead, massaging his chest.

    The uniformed men moved to action, wanting to check his vitals. Paramedics. Bless her, she'd called paramedics out of concern for him.

    She sat back and pulled her hand back from his chest to allow the EMT's room to do whatever they needed to do.

    They cleared him and stated that they could still take him to the hospital to get checked out, if he wanted. He hated hospitals and therefore declined. There was paperwork, and then the paramedics were gone. Destiny told Carlos to wait for her in the guest bedroom.

    Aubrey slowly sat up with a hand pressed to his forehead. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine coming on.

    "You called in for me, but maybe you should have called in for yourself, too," she commented softly, sitting back on her haunches.

    He smiled wryly at her. "I do need to call Bridgette. I don't remember where I left my phone."

    She jumped up. "I'll find it."

    His brows drew upward. "You don't have to, I feel fine."

    "I'll find it," she told him, emphasizing each word. She backed away from him before he could argue.

    He shook his head. In some ways, she was very submissive; in others, she was extremely strong-willed. The longer he knew her, the more he appreciated that about her. He stood up from the floor slowly, to reduce the chances of feeling dizziness. That method didn't work as well as he thought it would. There was definitely some dizziness, but it soon passed. He sat down on the couch and leaned his head back. Those memories had taken a severe toll on him. They always do, he thought as Destiny returned with his phone.

    She sat beside him on the couch and slid her arms around his waist, leaning into him. "I was so scared," she told him once he finished putting in the call to his secretary. "Has that ever happened before?"

    The last time I thought about that night, he thought. He stared straight ahead without responding. A moment later, he felt her soft lips on his bare upper arm. He tensed and closed his eyes.

    "If you can't talk to me, maybe you should speak to someone professional," she suggested. "Like a psychologist."

    His eyes snapped open and he frowned down at her. "I don't need a shrink."

    "I'm not saying you need one," she was quick to say.

    He looked away from her.

    "You need to talk to someone, is all I'm saying," she said. "Your past is eating away at you to the point of making you black out. And you don't feel like you can talk to me. Psychologists are discreet. Anything you tell them is confidential, right?"

    "I said that I don't need a shrink."

    Silence enveloped them. Her grip on him loosened and she pulled away from him.

    He missed her touch immediately, but didn't speak that sentiment out loud.

    "I'm going to get changed and hang out with Carlos, if you feel better. I'll stay out of your way today, since it seems like I'm adding to your stress." She stood up and started to walk away.

    He reached out and grabbed her by the wrist.

    Stunned, she stared down at her wrist, then turned and looked down at him.

    "Please don't," he said, his voice barely audible. He ducked his head down low so she couldn't see the emotion in his eyes. There was that unreasonable fear again, the fear that she would walk out of that door and never come back to him.

    "I want to help you, but I don't know how," she told him, sounding helpless.

    He knew that if he looked up at her, he wouldn't be able to say what he needed to say. Looking at her sometimes made him feel nervous. So he focused on some point on the floor, one of the rings in the hardwood. His throat started to constrict. The trials of expressing feelings, innermost desires. The tribulations of conveying emotions. "I want you to stay," he said, choosing his words carefully.

    "We've already talked about this. I only have to serve you Friday through Sunday."

    He closed his eyes. "I know that."

    "And Carlos is here. I don't want to leave him on his own."

    "I know," he said, his voice growing quieter.

    "I'll check on you a little later," she promised, pulling her wrist out of his grasp. She walked away from him.

    With each step she took, the distance between them seemed more and more monumental - to the point where he started panicking. His breathing became short. Was he hyperventilating? He was hyperventilating. Because she was walking away from him. He slid off of the couch and braced his palms on the floor. He couldn't seem weak, not to her. He continued to let her walk away while he struggled to breathe. One recurring thought flashed in his mind: She is your air. You're letting your air leave the room. "Destiny!" he managed to get out, on the verge of losing consciousness again.

    He waited for it, and then there the sound was. Returning footsteps. A small gasp, and then she was kneeling on the floor next to him. "Aubrey, what is it? What's wrong?"

    "Don't go," he said as he felt her arms circle around him. "Stay. Please. I need you to. Don't go. Don't leave me. Please."

    Her eyes were wide and frightened, but she nodded. "Okay," she said, her voice shaking. "Okay, Aubrey, I'll stay."