When Demons Are Redeemed: The Dominant's Muse

Forty-Eight - Out Alone

FORTY-EIGHT

Out Alone

The masters’ second sleep cycle of the weekend officially begins as scheduled, at 2 p.m. on Sunday, following another circus-themed show, another master-combo, and another mini-contest. The actual sleeping, however, does not begin as promptly.

During the combo, Catherine’s hair benefited from another contribution, which allowed Tristan to “style” the length of it. Since she was once again immediately preoccupied with the location of this gifting and its effect, she barely heard one of the visiting non-refundables lightly speak of a movie of some years ago.

“What was the name of that movie where the chick uses the guy’s come as hair gel -- by mistake of course -- and he’s looking at it all weird when they’re having dinner, and she’s just talking and laughing and has no clue?” She asked. “There was a girl’s name in the title, and men loved that movie. A lot of women weren’t so warm to it, though. Imagine how cold they’d be to all this idiotic so-called weekend play.”

“Shut your big old mouth,” the non-refundable’s master was quick to quiet her with, in a southern accent. Catherine had frowned at it, since the threat that she had no doubt was very real just did not sound as serious to her in its presentation.

“Take a stay-up pill,” Tristan now instructs her, before dropping himself onto the cot in a way that draws her eyes to him, to his body. The clean sheet that he himself made the small bed with, since Catherine might have smudged her art while doing so, creases here and there, around the edges of the unseen parts of it that now embrace him and bear his weight.

“It’s just so easy for a man to be perfectly fine with being completely selfish. And in bed is certainly no exception,” she recalls her would-be-writer friend saying, longing so very much to lie down herself, and to sleep as well. As in, literally selfish being in bed, in this case, Catherine muses.

Since her eyes refuse to leave Tristan and his newly found comfort, refuse to let go of what she is not allowed to experience -- sleeping that is – her mind must work harder at convincing her feet to take the few necessary steps towards the station’s table, where the stay-up medicine is.

I can’t sleep, so I can’t long for it, Catherine warns herself, as her hands penetrate the bag and seek the bottle.

“Don’t forget to keep drinking,” Tristan reminds her, as he slowly stretches this and that part of his body, relaxing.

Her eyes find the cooler containing ice and water bottles. It has become the kitbag’s companion, on the station’s table.

“I want to leave! You can’t keep me here!” A non-refundable’s loud voice soon intrudes upon the stations that surround the one that has housed her all weekend.

Catherine turns her face towards the sound just as she is swallowing what her hands have retrieved for her from the kit.