Page 50

I walked for minutes on end, refusing to call an Uber and just find a place nearby.

I didn't care if Monroe knew.

Or showed up.

Or even that my progress would be ruined again.

That's how down bad I was for getting absolutely shitfaced tonight.

Luckily, I'm downtown, so there are decent bar options.

Being in Pioneer Square wasn't my first pick, but whatever.

I could make this neighborhood work.

There was a really busy bar I approached—people were practically spilling out onto the sidewalk.

Good enough, right?

I slipped inside the bar, allowing the humid air to hit me—it was sweaty and packed with too many people.

Perfect.

A long counter stretched across the room, and the bartenders were moving like they were barely hanging on—trying to serve a dozen people at once.

There was karaoke too, some guy absolutely butchering a random Taylor Swift song.

The noise felt like it was rattling my ribs.

I loved it.

I needed it.

I pushed my way through the crowd, squeezing between people as I clutched my purse under my arm.

Maybe it was a little too busy.

I'm not sure I would even get a drink.

But I stopped myself at the bar anyway.

Waiting.

And waiting.

My eyes followed the bartenders as they checked IDs, made drinks, and shouted over the noise.

Then finally—

It was my turn.

I already had my ID ready, handing it over with my usual smile.

Except...

The bartender didn't hand me a menu.

She walked away from me entirely, disappearing to the back for a moment.

My stomach twisted a little.

What the fuck?

I stood there awkwardly—shoved between two groups of people who didn't even notice me, laughing and living their stupid fucking lives.

Okay, maybe I'm just bitter because it's not me right now.

I rocked on my heels, feeling more awkward by the second.

Finally, the bartender came back, with another woman trailing behind her.

She was older and looked more serious.

"I'm the manager," she said loudly, trying to be heard over the terrible karaoke as she handed my ID back, "We can't serve you tonight," she clarified, immediately making my brows furrow.

Until I realized there could only be one force behind this.

One person.

Monroe.

I don't even know how, but of course, she's steps ahead.

"On what basis?" I asked, growing irritated by this.

Now I would have to walk and find another bar.

"You're on a list," the manager said, like she actually felt bad for me. I think I feel bad for me, "Sorry."

I knew it wasn't her fault specifically.

Monroe did this.

But if this is the game she wants to play—we can play it.

She'll be the one cleaning up the mess.

"Hey!" the manager yelled when I reached over the counter, grabbing one of the liquor bottles.

Whiskey?

Fucking gross.

But I didn't care.

I ran as fast as I could out of the bar, clutching my small purse and the bottle as a bartender climbed over the counter to chase me.

But I barely made it past the door without crashing into someone—immediately knocking the wind out of me.

I was about to apologize until I felt hands on my waist, meeting her darkened blue eyes.

Monroe.

It wasn't surprising—she has my location and eyes on me at all times, as she mentioned.

Still, I didn't want to say a word to her.

Especially as she eyed the bottle in my hand.

I was no longer upset—now I was irritated.

There was this anger bursting inside of me, or maybe I was deflecting my emotions.

I didn't want to cry, so probably.

"Liberty," Monroe scolded the moment I attempted to drop the glass bottle.

She caught it before I could, making me even more irritated.

Can't she let me fuck up one thing tonight?

I walked past her, purposely hitting her shoulder as I walked out of the bar.

Behind me, I heard Monroe calmly handing the bottle off to someone—probably the same bartender who came running out after me.

The loudness of the bar was gone, replaced by the chilly night air and drunk mistakes that I never got to make.

I passed right by the waiting SUV, quickening my walking when I could feel her presence behind me.

Her heels clicked crisply against the pavement, her strides long to catch up with me.

I lurched forward the moment she grabbed my waist, shooting my arms out to grab nothing but air.

It didn't matter what I did.

I was lifted clean off the ground, whether I liked it or not, kicking and grunting against her.

Her body was warm against the back of mine, firmly holding my lower waist as she walked toward the SUV.

Monroe didn't say a word.

Almost like she knew my silent game.

The driver's lips were pursed, trying not to react to this mess in front of him, but I knew he was thinking a lot in his head.

"No-no, she's kidnapping me," I rushed out when he opened the door for Monroe, "I'm in danger—she's dangerous."

He only awkwardly looked away, having the nerve to side with her regardless of the lie I told.

I guess she's the one paying him.

I kicked even more, grunting as I tried to push against the top of the door.

Monroe lowered down, giving me nothing to push against as she slid into the backseat.

With me on her lap.

I immediately slid away from her, sitting further down in the seat by the window.

I leaned my entire body away from her, curling into the door as if she had truly kidnapped me.

Technically, she did.

But I probably would've come somehow—she always has that about her.

I thought I got my way, but Monroe seemed to prove me wrong in that department.

Unless she wanted me to have my way.

"I understand you're processing in your own way, Liberty," Monroe spoke through the silent air as I stared out of the tinted window, "But you can't keep resorting to alcohol every time you experience an inconvenience in your life."

I didn't say anything.

She couldn't force me to talk.

I heard Monroe sigh, clearly aware of my directed silence.

And oddly enough, she reflected my silence right back to me, leaving the topic alone.

Which somehow irritated me more than getting rejected at a bar.

But still, I refused to speak.

The drive was awkwardly silent.

But I managed to remain quiet, even as we pulled past the familiar gate, stopping in front of her house.

I immediately opened my door the moment the car halted, sliding out of my seat and walking toward the garage door slowly rolling open.

Monroe's heels clicked crisply on the pavement as she stepped out of the car, briefly saying something to the driver before following behind me.

The moment I stepped foot into her house...

She was at the front of my mind.

Maricel.

Suddenly, I was questioning everything.

"Did you fuck her on that table?" I finally spoke as Monroe pressed the button for the garage door, stepping into the house with me, "Or maybe the kitchen? I'm sure you fucked her there," I said as she shut the tall door behind her.

"Language," Monroe had the nerve to correct me, "I didn't touch her anywhere down here—everywhere she's been has been replaced, Liberty."

I laughed through my nose, "Oh, she was so important that you had to replace things?" I said, meeting her dark blue eyes as she calmly slid her jacket off.

Honestly, I felt better that everything was replaced.

And I knew it probably had something to do with Monroe's tendencies.

She seems like the type to replace an entire bed or redo certain things in her house.

"I can't make you secure, Liberty," Monroe determined, making my entire face burn, "I can give you the details—I can give you the reassurance. But this insecurity? Only you can handle that."

I was silent for a moment, hating that her words were annoyingly right.

I really hate that she's a therapist sometimes.

Maybe I am insecure.

I'm so fucking insecure.

I hate that anyone had her before me.

"Fine, then maybe I should work on that—away from you," I purposely said back, even if I didn't mean it.

I don't want to be away from her.

I just have no other fight here.

"I'd like to see you try leaving this house, Liberty," Monroe said as she slid her heels off, her words much more firm with me.

It was a test almost.

One that Monroe seemed confident she would win.

I quickly kicked my heels off without thinking—

Then I bolted, sprinting past the kitchen toward the hallway.

Monroe didn't move at first.

She just stood there, watching me.

Letting me run.

Until I suddenly heard her calm steps, and panic jolted through my body, making me run even faster toward the front door.

I wasn't sure what my plan was.

Where I was running to—how I would get past the gate.

My breaths were heavy as I fumbled with the front door, trying to unlock it.

But it didn't fucking budge.

I forgot about the smart lock—one that she controls through her phone.

Monroe's presence was verging closer.

Her calm walking made my heart beat just a little bit faster.

I quickly ran up the stairs, deciding to lock myself in one of the bedrooms or something.

My footsteps pounded against the marble floors, but hers stayed quieter.

She was closer.

Especially as I reached the top, lungs burning.

I lunged forward when her hands wrapped around my waist, but she smoothly yanked me back before I could run down the hall.

I inaudibly gasped when she pressed me back against the cold wall.

The coldness nipped at any of my exposed skin.

I instinctively pressed my hands against her stomach, attempting to shove her away.

But her lips already met mine, grabbing my neck to hold me in place.

I hit her shoulders harder, whining as she kissed me so deeply.

I refused to kiss her back.

"Jesus, Liberty," she sighed against my lips, "I never kissed her—it was purely physical."

I shook my head, trying to shove her away, "You're lying, you're trying to manipulate me," I breathed out, our faces barely centimeters apart.

"I don't lie, I have no reason to," Monroe immediately shut me down, her blue eyes not wavering from mine, "If I kissed her, I would say that, Liberty."

I sighed deeply, hating that her words got to me so easily.

"I want to kiss you, Liberty," she softly whispered, resting her nose against mine.

I didn't say anything.

I only stared into her eyes, determined not to let her get to me.

I shouldn't give in.

I always give in.

"My sweet girl," she whispered so softly, her eyes sinking so deeply into mine, "You get me."

Tears burned in my eyes, whether I liked it or not, the three words hitting me deeper.

I unconsciously ran my arms around her waist, breaking down pathetically.

I hated this so much.

"I know, sweetheart," she whispered as I cried harder, burying my face in her chest, "This is hard."

"Maybe we should end this," I whispered brokenly, hating that I was admitting defeat after seeing Maricel.

I didn't want to end it, but—

"I'm more attached than you, and I really can't help it," I forced out, sniffling as I clung to her tighter, "I don't care about Maricel—maybe some, but I care about the fact that I'll be her one day."

Silence.

That's all there was, making me cry even harder.

I knew that probably meant this was it.

That she would determine this is too deep.

"We're not done," Monroe suddenly spoke, pulling away to meet my stare.

Her eyes felt dark, seeping so deeply into mine.

She felt concerningly distant—buried in her own head as she stared down at me.

It was silent, a deeper tension burning around us.

I unconsciously held my breath, unsure of what to say to her now.

Her touch felt rigid against me, cold almost.

I unconsciously glanced down at the floor, unable to hold her blank stare.

I'm not even sure if she's blinked these last few moments.

"Monroe," I whispered, staring at the shiny marble floors, "Maybe this is the best decis—"

"I'm not letting you go."

Her words were darkened, weighed down by something deeper.

It made me meet her stare again, almost flinching under the precision of her blue eyes.

Her blank expression made me draw in a deeper breath, wondering how this shift happened so fast.

She has these moments when she feels checked out, detached from reality.

"But you'll let me go eventually," I whispered hesitantly, already dreading the moment it happens.

I think she just doesn't want me to let go first.

I remember her telling me she always ended her past arrangements.

It's probably a control factor to her.

She doesn't want me to end this because she wouldn't be in control, I would be.

Will I ever get away first?

"Nothing is ever promised, Liberty," she said, her voice suddenly softening with me.

Her hands curled around my waist.

The warmth in her face was back.

She was here with me again.

"Even with more stereotypical relationships, it's never guaranteed that it won't end. Divorces exist beyond marriage," she spoke again, blinking a few times as her eyes openly trailed my face.

I let out a conflicted sigh, hating the valid point she proved.

But somehow it still wasn't the same.

"We're still counting down to when this will end, Monroe. We're fully aware it has to happen, there's no future," I pointed out as she caressed her fingers up my back, holding me so presently.

She felt so soft again.

"Do you assume that's what I wake up every day and think about, Liberty? Ending this with you?" she asked, her words serious and lowered between us, "I think actively about the future, darling. Like what you might want for breakfast, or planning my weekends around you."

I shook my head, "It's not the same, and you know it," I said, hating how she was twisting her words so unfairly.

She knows what she's doing.

I think I'm starting to realize that, too.

"We don't have a real future, Monroe, and maybe that bothers me," I sighed, deciding to put all my thoughts and feelings out in the open.

"We do, so long as we're on the same page," Monroe corrected me, gently squeezing my waist, "It's this dynamic or nothing, darling."

Basically, that translates to—no romantic relationship.

She's not my girlfriend, and I'm not hers, and that's how it'll always be.

But there's also a future if we continue our current dynamic.

I think?

"I apologize for Maricel. I wasn't aware she would show up tonight," she spoke again when I was silent, "She's always been too unpredictable. It's why I had to cut the arrangement."

"So she was an arrangement, too?" I whispered, trying not to let her words affect me.

But it felt like something physically crumbled inside of me.

I mean, based on everything that just happened, I knew Maricel was a past arrangement.

It just felt different now that Monroe fully acknowledged it.

It was like a confirmation of my worst thoughts.

"She was," Monroe said, making me draw in an unconscious breath as I nodded a few times.

"Was she uh, the longest one?" I asked breathlessly, even if I knew I probably shouldn't.

Maybe it would be easier not to know.

"No," she answered, her blue eyes trailing my face for a moment, "Do you really want to do this, Liberty?"

I remained silent as I stared into her eyes, unsure how to answer her direct question.

Because I wasn't sure if I wanted to do this.

If I wanted to verge deeper into her past.

I thought I did.

But as soon as I looked her past in the face tonight, all I could do was run.

Maricel wasn't even her longest arrangement, and she's acting like this over Monroe.

It's concerning.

"I said I would tell you anything you wanted to know, NDA's aside," Monroe spoke again through the silence, "But not like this. Not when you can barely breathe properly at the topic of her."

I let out a deep sigh, glancing away from her stare.

"I want to know, I really need it," I whispered, blinking a few times, "I just... can we go slow?"

"Of course, Liberty," she didn't hesitate to assure me, running her hands past my waist to hug me closer to her.

I relaxed against her, softly exhaling as I wrapped my arms around her torso and hugged her back.

I don't know how I got sucked back in so easily.

I'm aware, but I can't stop.

Why can't I stop?

"Let's get ready for bed, and then we can discuss it all," Monroe suddenly suggested, pressing a soft kiss to my temple before pulling away fully, "I want you to be as comfortable as possible, darling."

I nodded wordlessly, "Yeah, okay," I whispered, leaning away from the wall to follow her down the hallway.

It felt hard to breathe as we walked to her bedroom, veering over to her bathroom.

Monroe prepared cotton rounds with makeup remover for me first—then she ventured off to her closet.

I focused on carefully removing my makeup, glancing over when Monroe walked into the bathroom with one of her white t-shirts.

I took it from her extended hand, briefly stripping out of my dress to pull the t-shirt on.

Monroe grabbed one of the hair ties she kept here specifically for my hair, gently pulling my curls away from my face, into an effortlessly messy bun.

"Beautiful," she softly whispered.

The word fell so quietly from her lips, almost like she was thinking out loud for once.

It made my face burn up as I stared at her through the mirror, watching as she openly eyed my face.

"I'll meet you in bed, darling," Monroe suddenly told me, her blue eyes meeting mine through the mirror, "I need to shower and change."

I nodded immediately, "Right, okay," I said, stepping back from the sink.

Monroe followed me out of the bathroom toward her closet, grabbing her necessary clothes as I walked over to her bed.

I decided I would distract myself with TikTok until she came back.

It was better than sitting alone with my thoughts right now.

I scrolled endlessly—even sending a few in my group chat with Zion and Sarai.

I subtly listened to the echo of the shower from the bathroom, patiently waiting for the moment it would turn off.

But somehow when it did, I felt more nervous.

It's like I was ready for this conversation, but only because I had to be.

Otherwise, I would willingly be left in the dark, and I don't think that's good for anyone.

I waited intently for her to finally be done, trying my hardest to focus on my phone instead of anticipating when that door would open.

I had switched over to Pinterest to calm my nerves a little bit.

But once the bathroom door opened, I was suddenly hyper aware of her presence.

I didn't look up from my phone as she walked over to the bed, carefully setting her phone on the nightstand.

"Liberty," she said, sliding into the bed next to me.

I hummed, glancing up from my phone at her.

My eyes unconsciously diverted down, taking in the silky navy tank top and pants she wore.

It made her eyes pop so perfectly.

My stare shifted to her face, noticing Monroe's lips twitch up as she eyed me.

"Can I have your phone, darling?" she asked, her voice soft with me.

I nodded, handing my phone to her so we could have this serious conversation.

Monroe set my phone on the nightstand next to hers.

Then she motioned me over.

I wasn't sure how to sit, so I just slid closer to her.

"Come here," Monroe said, appearing displeased by my actions.

Even if our bodies were touching.

I wasn't sure what she wanted.

Until she guided me to straddle her lap, running her arms around my waist, where they rested.

She held me closer to her body, our faces barely inches apart.

"Maricel was my most recent arrangement," she went on to speak, her blue eyes holding mine, "It lasted a little over a year, but she grew to be too impulsive for my liking. I ended it roughly six months ago."

"Am I too impulsive?" I unconsciously whispered, realizing I had made a lot of decisions without thinking them through.

Am I a wild card too?

"No, darling, you're perfect," Monroe didn't hesitate to say, reaching up to gently cup my cheek in her hand, "My perfect girl."

I let out a deep sigh as I stared silently into her eyes, relaxing as she caressed her thumb against my cheek.

I didn't know what to say.

Or ask.

Monroe laid out a lot of it.

"She said something about logging her days?" I suddenly mentioned.

I think that's a good first question.

"Yes, I gifted her a journal to write out her days. We would read it in the evenings," Monroe briefly explained, and suddenly I could feel this weird pressure on my chest.

I felt inadequate compared to her.

"Should I be doing that for you?" I asked, reaching up to run my arms around her neck.

"You are perfect, Liberty," Monroe emphasized her previous words, staring so deeply into my eyes, "You aren't her, and I never wanted you to be."

Her words made me smile slightly, even if it was weak.

But her honesty made me feel better.

It made me feel like I was doing this right.

"Okay," I sighed softly, nodding a few times as I tried to focus more on her reassurance, "Was she uh..." I trailed off, briefly pursing my lips together, "Was she your patient too?"

It was one of my harder questions, but I hated the idea of wondering about it.

I needed to know.

"No," Monroe said, gently tucking my stray baby hairs away from my face, "I met her through connections. My family acquires art through hers."

I nodded, suddenly feeling this huge relief from her answer alone, "Yes, she um told me about their art business," I murmured, blinking a few times, "I assumed she had an old money background when she mentioned a trust fund."

Monroe nodded, "Yes, her family is decently wealthy," she explained, running her hand down from my face to lightly caress my neck, "They live in LA, so I never met Maricel until she settled in Seattle."

Well, Stanford suddenly made sense.

And I assume the legacy photo she mentioned her dad wanting meant there was alumni in her family.

The way Monroe describes wealth almost concerned me.

Maricel has a trust fund—her family's business surely dates back.

But all that meant to Monroe was that they were "decently" wealthy.

What kind of wealth is Monroe's family sitting on?

"So," I suddenly breathed out, snapping out of my thoughts, "Did you ever do an arrangement with another patient?"

It was further off from the Maricel topic.

But right now was the perfect opportunity to ask these kinds of questions.

It felt like Monroe was the most open at this moment.

I needed to take as much advantage as I could.

But my question alone made Monroe glance away from my stare.

That's a bad sign.

I could hear alarm bells blaring in my head, especially when she retracted her hand from my neck.

Her other arm around my waist had grown limp, a sudden shift burning in the air.

I didn't say anything else.

I just watched her for once, noticing how she retreated into her head away from me.

She was calculating what she wanted to say next and how she wanted to say it.

"I did," Monroe finally spoke.

But it was odd.

Her voice was... almost inaudible, weighed down by a raspiness that made her firmly clear her throat.

"She was my first arrangement. My longest one," she murmured, staring past me almost as if she were zoned out, "It was too unstable, the imbalance was heavy. I never blurred the lines with a patient again until—"

"Me," I softly cut her short, suddenly realizing why she was so against doing anything with me.

Obsessive tendencies, sure, but she had a past experience with this dynamic.

And judging from the way she just zoned out like that, it didn't seem good.

I assume if I hadn't been a patient, she would've gone for it a little earlier.

I probably wouldn't have had to beg as I did.

"Okay, so moving on," I suddenly whispered, cupping her face in my hands.

For some reason, I wasn't that affected by the idea of her first arrangement being a patient.

It was so many years ago.

She had three arrangements in between, even.

I think it would be different if they had all been patients, or if her recent was.

I would just feel weird, I don't know.

But I could see how her first arrangement turned out like that.

"How did you meet the others?" I curiously asked her, leaning to the left slightly to capture her attention again.

Monroe blinked a few times when her eyes met mine, "Right," she whispered, holding my stare now, "My second arrangement I met through an exclusive club."

I raised a brow, "Oh, you went to clubs?" I asked with a growing smile.

Monroe's lips twitched up, "No darling. Not that kind of club," she whispered, eyeing my face in amusement, "It was more of a BDSM club."

I had to physically prevent myself from reacting, briefly pursing my lips together as I awkwardly nodded.

"Oh okay, cool," I whispered, blinking a few times, "Do you like going to those?"

"Are you offering to go, Liberty?" Monroe asked me, her smile growing when my brows unconsciously raised.

I felt a little caught off guard.

Maybe I would be open to it for her.

"I mean, if that's what you want, um..." I trailed off, unsure how to navigate this.

"Relax, darling," Monroe softly whispered, her small smile still prominent, "I hate even the idea of you in one of those clubs. I would lose what's left of my mind."

I unconsciously smiled, "Yeah? Are you sure?" I asked, wanting to ensure she wasn't just saying that due to my awkwardness.

"I'm positive, Liberty," she didn't hesitate to say, her words entirely genuine, "The club was precisely why I had to end it with that arrangement. I operate more exclusively, and she missed going there."

I nodded as I processed her words.

I'm assuming a BDSM club makes it hard to be exclusive.

Is it like one of those sex clubs?

I could see why Monroe wouldn't want me there.

"What about your third arrangement?" I decided to ask, wondering how that one came to be.

"She was an intern," Monroe said, running her hands up my back, "I used to supervise clinical internships through the university."

I nodded, suddenly sensing a theme.

From what I could tell, these women sounded like they might've been younger than her.

Aside from the one she met at a BDSM club, or the woman who was a patient of hers.

"Were they all younger?" I decided to ask, smiling wider, "Because it sounds like you have a type, Ro Ro."

Monroe immediately smiled at me, leaning in to briefly kiss my lips.

"Thank god Ro Ro is back," she murmured against my lips, making my smile grow.

"Well, Ro isn't making a comeback after she called you that," I said against her lips.

"No one will ever say it like you do, darling," Monroe softly whispered, her breath warm against my lips, "I would recognize your voice in a crowd. That's your power, Liberty."

I hummed as she briefly sucked down on my bottom lip, "Your sweet talk needs to be studied," I joked, knowing that her mouth was lethal.

In numerous ways.

"Only if you volunteer for the research," Monroe smoothly countered my words.

I pulled away from her lips, smiling as I met her stare, "For Dino nuggets, I will," I negotiated, suddenly remembering I hadn't eaten dinner yet.

"Are you hungry, Liberty?" she asked me, her tone teasing as she lightly squeezed my waist.

I laughed, lightly pushing her ticklish touch away, "I am—but only if you eat with me," I decided to add to my negotiation, easily amusing Monroe further.

"This is a very specific request, darling," she murmured, her blue eyes trailing my face, "But if that's what you want. I'll make it right now."

"Really?" I asked, my smile growing wider.

"Really, my sweet girl," she said, her voice so soft with me, "Do you feel better?"

I quickly nodded, "Much better," I determined, impatiently rolling off her lap, and earning a chuckle from her, "Chase me downstairs?" I said over my shoulder, subtly winking at her.

Monroe laughed again, "Liberty—"

"Catch me if you can Ro Ro," I called out, running out of her bedroom as she quickly slipped out of bed.

I laughed so hard as I ran down the hallway, noticing her actually running after me instead of walking.

I nearly wheezed laughing, gasping when she almost reached me.

"Liberty," Monroe said when I hopped down three steps in a row, "Don't hurt yourself, darling."

I only ran past the stairs and down the hallway, "Whatever it takes to win," I breathed out, rushing into the kitchen.

Monroe crossed the threshold seconds later, firmly grabbing my waist and tugging me back into her.

I laughed breathlessly when she began peppering kisses all down my neck, making me squirm against her.

"Ro," I giggled, attempting to lean away, "No-no, Ro Ro," I said, laughing harder when she chuckled so softly.

"You're something else," she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to my neck before pulling away from me, "What am I going to do with you, Liberty?"

"For starters, making me crispy Dino nuggets and tater tots," I said, placing a sassy hand on my hip.

Monroe's stare diverted down, shaking her head at my fake attitude, "Throw a please in and it's yours," she said, gently grabbing my hand from my hip to hold in hers.

"Pretty please," I didn't hesitate to say, leaning in to briefly kiss her lips.

"Good girl," she softly murmured, pressing a soft kiss to my lips before she pulled away to preheat the oven.

Even with the turn that tonight took, and all the hard information I uncovered—I somehow felt good.

I feel content.

Monroe is all for me so long as it's this dynamic—

Or nothing.