Ms. Domme

Chapter Fourteen

A pounding headache woke me from a deep, delirious slumber. I stumbled out of a bed I didn't even know and found a bathroom. My body hurt and I was very cold. Because you're half naked, dumb fuck. I splashed some water in my face not long before I realized I had no idea where I was. What the fuck?! I whipped around and saw clothes scattered about a loft I've never been in. My suit was wrinkled and tossed all over the room. Farther in, a girl with a mop of blonde hair shifted under the sheets. I cursed.

I gathered what clothes I could threw them on as fast as I could. My button-down, as well as my shoes, was all I could find. I patted my pockets and felt my phone and wallet. Thank God. I found the front door and left quickly.

Kyra, baby, I'm so sorry. So so sorry.

Thankfully, I was still in the city. So I hailed a cab and gave the driver her address. The entire time, I was shaking. I had to find her. I didn't mean to do this, but I could have sworn she left with that guy. So why do I feel so shitty? She can do as she pleases, and so could I. I felt the nakedness of my neck from where my collar usually resided.

Soon, the cabbie stopped and I paid. "She went back alone, by the way." He added. I looked at him, confused.

The hell? I ignored him and got out. Great, she wasn't home. I patted myself for my keys. Fuck! I left them inside last night. I sighed and sat down on the steps. I wasn't doing to risk breaking a window. That would more than likely get me in so much trouble.

More trouble than you already are in. The breeze hit me and I shivered. I huddled closer to the pillar of her front porch. It was significantly colder than I first thought. I leaned my head against the painted wood and sighed. I could feel tears well up but I did my best to keep them a bay. My mind raced back to last night seeing her tucked beneath my arm and laughing herself silly. Then to her back turned to me, all her attention on some young douchbag. Then to her leaving with him. And the blonde.

I kept checking my phone to see zero messages. It was already noon. After some time, the breeze rustling the trees lulled me to sleep.

The sound of a lock woke me up. I stretched and looked behind me. I caught a glimpse of her disheveled form before she closed the door behind her. She looked like she had a long night.

A long night of passionate love from that guy.

After a few moments, I picked myself up. I needed to face her and tell her that I was sorry. Sorry for what? Sleeping with somebody when she brought someone home?

I scuffled in and found a seat in the dining room. I could hear glass clanking in the kitchen. But I didn't have the guts to go in there. I glanced around, my head hung low in shame. I spotted her journal that was bookmarked. I picked up her small notepad, glancing over my shoulder to listen carefully to her busy form bustling in the kitchen. Silently, I read.

I think what I miss most of all is the late-night car rides going nowhere and the midnight phonecalls that kept me laughing hard enough to wake my parents. I miss the way it felt to be loved, not the person who made me feel that way. It's easy to make someone feel this way; as humans, we seek attenion in this society as a life-sustaining drug. Those who don't get enough ultimately end up hanging themselves in a high school bathroom, per say. And those who get too much? They morphe into some ghastly perfected form that oozes narcisism. We get so upset when relationships don't work, or when we realize it was all just a game being played; a ploy to subdue somone is just as deadly as a knife.

As stated before, it is easy to make people feel loved. It is also easy to care for those our personal selves wouldn't give more than two shits about. Usually, once one realizes they absolutely, truly, do not care, it is too late. The care-ee is too involed in this narcistic point of no return. Their attention levels are finally being met, and they will do anything to keep it that way. Feining suicidal thoughts, addictions, and even to the point of placing the caregiver in the mist of abstract, vivid— in many cases, obsessive and pleasure-based — fantasies. This includes sexual deviations and future-based thoughts that reoccure over the period of conversing with one another. The care-ee becomes, in a way, mildly obsessed. With those who have mental illnesses, obsession can increase very easily over a short amount of time.