The End

Chapter 11

            The light streaming through the window warmed my face as I slowly drifted into consciousness. Rolling over, I smiled. He stayed. Duke sat next to me in the bed, looking rested, yet weary. Everything from the night before came back and I understood why he wasn’t smiling; the game, the questions, the disappointment, taking the Sub-D. After that, it went dark, as it always does. I can only faintly remember telling Duke to leave, but he didn’t, and I couldn’t be more thankful.

            “Good morning,” he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.

            “Hi,” I whispered.

            “Are you okay?” he asked.

            “Yeah, and yourself?”

            “I couldn’t be better,” he said, smiling weakly.

            “Sorry about last night,” I whispered quietly.

            “What? Why are you apologizing?” he asked, knowing exactly why. “Those guys are idiots. I’m so sorry that went on,” he said sincerely, his eyes filled with pain. “But I’ve been thinking. You are so tiny. Maybe we should talk to Stephens about getting you to gain weight, and about all of the Sub-D he has been getting,” he suggested. At the mention of his name, I unintentionally tensed, memories coming back that I tried to avoid.

            “I don’t know, Duke,” I replied, doubting my ability to speak to Stephens and his willingness to speak to me.

            “Either way, I think we should talk to him.” Examining my expression, he quickly backtracked, trying to explain what he meant.

            “I mean—something is going on. Why would he be requesting so much if you’re not getting any of it?” He sighed. “I think he’s up to something.”

            I began to weigh my options. Do I agree with Duke and re-enter a world I desperately tried to escape? Or do I let it go; leaving Stephens to forge whatever destructive path he is on unopposed?

            “Fine,” I answered quietly, regretting it almost instantly.

            “Wait—you’ll talk to him?”

            “We’ll talk to him,” I responded.

            “When?”

            “I’ll email him right now—probably sometime this weekend.”

            “I know you really don’t want to do this, but we need to find out what he’s doing,” he said. “Florence, I’ll help you, okay? I’ll be here. That man needs to be stopped before he creates a monster.”

            He already has, I thought. He already has.