Running (gxg)

Chapter Three

WARNING in this chapter, there will be happening a assault. if youre not ready to read that please skip this part. WARNING 

Me: "Hey, sorry babe, unfortunately I can't make it."

After work, I got home, but I just wasn't in the right mindset to go to the club. That's why I texted Dani to let her know I couldn't make it either. I think Dani understands that if you're not in the right mindset, you shouldn't go, especially to these kinds of clubs.

You need to ask for consent and be clear in your head. If something goes wrong in a scene, it's okay, but you need to be fully present when you're with your sub.

As a Dom, I need to ensure that the sub is safe and that I don't push past her limits. If I do, I need to be clear-minded enough to stop if she uses her safeword. Dani knows that I can sometimes get in my head. She fully understands me. Many people who meet us together always assume we're a couple because of how close we are.

But we're both Doms. We tried dating once, but it didn't work out. We both wanted to be in control, so we stopped, grabbed some drinks, and talked the whole night. Since then, I consider Dani one of my closest friends.

After work, I had a flashback to when I used to live at home. Until I was 18, I lived in California, but that was a tough time for me. I lived with my mother and father, but I haven't seen them in a very, very long time. I'm 25 now.

I noticed my fridge was almost empty, so I made a mental note to go grocery shopping after my classes tomorrow. Luckily, I still had leftovers from yesterday. I put my spaghetti in the microwave.

While it was heating, I went to my room, took off my clothes, and changed into sweatpants and an oversized shirt. Most of my clothes are oversized but still stylish. I like to wear oversized dress pants with a loose shirt or a sweater. This is my usual look, except when I'm teaching my dance class or going to the club.

I went back to the kitchen, ate my food, and went straight to bed. I had to wake up at 5 a.m. for my morning run.

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"OLIVE!!!!!" my father screamed. I already knew where this was going. As I went downstairs, I hoped he just wanted to ask something, but that was never the case.

"OLIVE, WHY THE FUCK IS NOTHING CLEANED? I ASKED YOU THIS MORNING TO CLEAN EVERYTHING BECAUSE WE HAVE GUESTS COMING TOMORROW!!!"

I wanted to talk back and tell him that I did clean everything, but he had just gotten drunk again and messed everything up. I sighed and said, "I'm sorry, okay?"

But my father couldn't let it go. He grabbed me by my hair and dragged me outside. He pushed me into the garage. Before he left, he slapped me in the face and stood on my left arm with his full weight. I could hear it crack, but I said nothing as I lay there on the floor.
After he left, he locked the door, just like he did many times before.

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I woke up from that memory, shaken. That was the night I broke my left arm and had to wait three days before he unlocked the garage door and let me out. Fortunately, I had stored water and some crackers in the garage because I knew this was something he often did—locking me in a room for days.

That same day, I went to the hospital to get my arm fixed. It had to stay in a cast for six months. That memory is one of the worst in my life. I was only 14. I promised myself I would work hard in school and get a job to escape that situation.

I went to my attached bathroom. When I looked in the mirror, I saw how tired I looked. I sighed, brushed my teeth, put my hair in a ponytail, and went back to my room to get my running gear. After getting dressed, I left my apartment and went for a run.

After my run, I showered and got dressed. As usual, I wore oversized white dress pants and a cream wool hoodie.

I paired them with black loafers that had a cream-white wool design on the top. I let my hair down and did my usual makeup, including winged eyeliner. I checked the time on my gold watch—it was already 8:00.

I wanted to be early, so I put on my rings and grabbed my bag. When I got to the university, I had 15 minutes to spare, but I liked to just sit in the classroom and wait for the lecture to start.

About five minutes before class, William walked in with our professor behind him. He took the seat next to me and asked the same question he always does whenever he sees me at the university.

"Olive, why aren't you in fashion?" he said. I always replied with, "That's just not me. William, why do you ask me the same question every time? You know the answer by now." He just looked at me. Before he could answer, our professor started the class.

Fifty minutes in, I just couldn't focus. It wasn't that I didn't like what she was teaching, but I hadn't slept well. As I lay my head on the table, I started to doze off. But that only lasted five minutes.

"Ms. Wells!!" the professor called out.