What Doesn't Kill You

Chapter 4

Black was gone when I woke up.

Or at least that was what the nurse told me later that evening. Apparently, he'd left very detailed instructions for my care. At first, I had been sceptical. Black would never leave me unsupervised so easily. He had to be sure of my every move. I assumed it was to make sure I didn't return to a life of crime.

But the nurse had shown me the booklet. (There were just too many pages for it to be anything else.)

I snickered as I read the content. It was very meticulous. Covering my food preferences and where I liked to sit as I worked. How I responded to my pain and when it was time to force me to take a break. It was unlike Black to show this much concern over my day-to-day. My eyes fell on the note on the last page.

"Do not let Todd out of the house for any reason."

I felt a cold hand slide over my spine. So that was it. It was his plan to imprison me in my own home. He wanted to come and go as he pleased yet keep me caged like an exhibit at the zoo. I was fuming, but I couldn't let the nurse see. I gathered myself and took deep meditative breaths and counted to ten—twice. The ritual was starting to lose its power.

"Thank you for informing me," I said giving her a perfunctory smile.

I walked to my office as quickly as my healing body would let me, slamming the door behind me. That's what I did every day for the next few weeks. The occasional interruption from my nurse provided the only distractions. She walked into my office as I flipped through yet another revision of a business proposal and cleared her throat to get my attention.

"Master Todd, it is time for your physiotherapy appointment."

I sighed and stood up to follow her. The distraction was welcome for once. Black had been gone almost an entire month. It took more willpower than I had not to think of him. I missed him. I hadn't been able to focus on anything but the memory of him.

I was running myself ragged in the hopes of a good night's sleep where he didn't invade my dreams. Keeping myself busy so I wouldn't be assaulted by the memories of the last night we spent together. I obsessed over his touch and the way he'd set my world on fire—then left me to burn.

"You've been working too hard recently, Master," the nurse said tearing me from my wandering thoughts, "I worry that you will not heal properly at this rate."

I bit my lip, glad her back was turned to me. To be honest, my levels of productivity had increased so drastically, I wasn't sure I was entirely upset about Black's absence. But she was right. I was trying too hard. My body bore the brunt of it.

We walked into the spare room where the physiotherapist was already set up. The heavy-set, middle-aged woman stood beside the portable massage table and waited without speaking. I undressed, remaining in my underwear and lay on the table, ready for her specialized form of torture.

I gritted my teeth as she worked my muscles. Kneading, twisting and stretching them. Easing the stiffness that always accumulated from my inability to move freely. She worked systematically from my legs, up my back, over my shoulders and down my arms.

She was skilled enough to know what was giving me trouble and when she paid careful attention to certain tender points my eyes burned from the pain. This was one of the few times I allowed my thoughts to drift to Black. One pain, a useful balm against another.

There was no point for the nurse to insist I rest afterwards. My body already knew it had to. She still walked me to my room and tucked me in under the covers after my shower like I was a five-year-old child—or an invalid. I didn't fight it. My mind was still filled with thoughts of Black.

The physiotherapist's massage and his touch got mixed up in my head. Physical pain and healing pleasure. Physical pleasure and emotional pain. It was in this bed that he had changed me. I turned and shut my eyes like I could block out the memory if I couldn't see. The ghost of him remained—tormenting me.

I could almost feel his hands drifting over my body. The same way they had the night before he left. I folded into myself, scrunching my eyes as tight as I could but I couldn't shake him. With an exasperated sigh, I turned towards the empty space I couldn't bring myself to occupy.

I let his phantom touch wash over me and I followed suit with my own hand. This time I wouldn't deny him. Even if he wasn't with me, I wouldn't hold back. If he wanted me, he could have me. I would give him full control. I was already his, body and soul.

I followed the phantom hand as it drifted over my stomach. Only to have it stop at the elastic band of my boxer briefs. My breath grew short and shallow. I begged the phantom to continue with his gentle assault. He wouldn't. I screamed silently, pleading with him. I needed him.

"Please need me too," I heard myself speak into the darkness.

The phantom didn't respond, no matter how much I willed him to.

If he wouldn't help me, I would help him help me. My hand drifted lower, unbothered by the clothing in its way. I tried to replicate the way Black stroked me. Slow and gentle. Unrelenting in his focus.

"What are you doing?" A familiar voice called out.

Black?

I sat up straight, my heart pounding from the combined shock and shame. He was back...

"What are you doing here?" I demanded, my voice shaky and rough.

"I thought I'd check in on you."

His face gave nothing away. But I could hear the amusement in his voice. Amusement at my expense.