Broken Submission

Kitten

Amelia tried to retreat into her passive, indifferent headspace on the drive to the Club. That cool, detached place where she protected herself. She would almost succeed—and then the car would jolt over a pothole or take a turn, and the plug would move inside her.

It was like Derek was inside her, constantly. The weight kept her in the present. She couldn't hide, couldn't lie while this part of him controlled her. Panic and frustration started to bubble as she thought about facing his friends and those women who had attacked her last time she had shown her face. She clenched her fists, nails digging deep.

Just stop caring. Let that coldness fill you. She tried taking her measured breaths. She buried her nails deep into her palm; she smoothed her face muscles into a serene mask. But none of it worked.

When Derek's hand touched her shoulder, she jerked, hands raised to defend herself. Eyes darting around, she realized that they were parked.

"Amelia."

She avoided his worried gaze. Something tickled her arm, and when she saw red, she hid her hands.

"Look at me."

She forced herself to meet Derek's eyes. The pain and concern there sucked her in, imprisoning her gaze.

"Sweetheart," he said. "Talk to me. We can go home in a second if that's what you need."

Her breaths continued to speed up, her head started to feel light. She tried to lock it down. She couldn't do this to him. He deserved someone who could walk into his Club without having a panic attack, someone who could befriend his friends, someone who wasn't broken—"

"Amelia, stop."

She blinked at him. He was holding her hands, trying to uncurl her fingers where she was digging her nails deeply through the skin.

"Stop," he said.

She relaxed her hands. Blood dropped from her palms, lining her nails.

"I'm sorry," she said numbly. Ah, so there it was, her distance.

"Sh." He pressed a napkin into each of her palms and closed her fingers around them.

That taken care of, he reached over and pinched her chin between his fingers. "Don't shut down on me. Please."

Exhaustion washed over her as she looked into his face. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "Don't be sorry. This is my fault; I pushed you too hard. You told me no, and I didn't—"

"Derek." She swallowed hard. "This—this isn't on you. I'm just—" she shrugged.

His hand slid from her chin to the side of her face. "Don't do that. There's nothing wrong with you. We'll figure this out, I promise. For now, let's just go home."

Unexpectedly, disappointment filled her. "I'm sor—" She cut off the words as he sent her a look. "Can we—can we please try?"

His shoulders slumped. "Amelia, I don't know..."

Of course. He wouldn't want her to make a scene with all his friends. Stupid stupid.

Derek couldn't stand the look of disappointment on her face. He had stumbled on something big, some kind of trigger, and they needed to talk about it. But if she still wanted to give this a try... He pushed his door open before he could overthink it. When he opened hers, she looked up at him with surprise and confusion.

"Come on, kitten," he smiled softly.

A film of tears appeared before she blinked them away. "Yes sir."