Page 17 of Vows in Sin

S eraphina

I can’t believe what I did last night. Heat and endorphins linger in my memory, my limbs. I never should have gone to the club. I never should have let him inside me.

Sex.

We. Had. Sex.

And it was fantastic. He was powerful, dominating me, yet as he was touching me, I could feel a sense of protection over me, and the unsaid desire to fulfill my needs.

The orgasm that followed?

Tsunami material.

A secret smile creeps up with my shame.

I never thought I’d let him cross that line. It was a proper goodbye, though, and now I realize I need to let him go. To do that, I’ve got to get a handle on my emotions.

How do I do that? I think for a moment. The thing that sent me spiraling back to him was the call with my mom.

A little bit of my old Seraphina strength comes rushing back. I’m going to take hold of my life and stop looking to him to fix me. I’m going to have a do-over call with my mother.

I stare at my phone screen. Thumb hovering over the contact card labeled, Mom.

This time, I’m going to reign over the conversation as confidently as he rules me. And afterward? I’m going to wash the dishes that have gathered in the sink.

Not slip on pink high heels and run to my bearded daddy dom for an emergency re-set spanking.

I take a minute of calm to visualize. I set my intention. Too afraid I’ll chicken out later, I take a deep breath. And I make the call.

We do small talk. Her job is going well. I finally admit to someone that mine isn’t going so well. She tells me that I’m too talented to worry, and it feels good to hear it. Then, the conversation turns to Sissy.

This time, I can handle the wave of emotion that rises within me.

This time, I’m going to open up. We get through the first part okay, then I take a risk and say, “Sometimes I wonder if it would be better if I did tell my friends about my past, my family, about Sissi. Then they would understand my radio silence during those times when the pain gets too much.”

“Alessi is too precious to become a source of pity,” she murmurs.

Her words settle in my heart, expressing my fears. “Yeah. I know what you mean. I’m afraid they’ll do that thing people in our first town did. Give me those sad looks, constantly telling me how sorry they are.”

She gives a choked laugh of agreement. “That was the worst.”

We’re both quiet, thinking. Finally, I say, “And I don’t want to share her with anyone because I’m as protective of her in death as I was in life.”

“Thank you,” she says. “That’s how I feel, but I couldn’t put it into words.”

Mom stays quiet, giving me space to form thoughts. “She’s not something for people to feel sorry for me, give me sad looks over,” I tell her.

“Like we said, we’ve been through that before,” she agrees.

“I’m so glad you moved us out of that town.”

“Me too!” She laughs. “Bunch of busybodies. Don’t know why they were more worried about our lives than their own.”

“Was it before binge watching became a thing?”

I was twelve then, and all the kids were beginning middle school together in sixth grade, bused in from other elementary schools. It was a larger town, and plenty of kids had single parents.

“You met Tabitha at your new school. You two were peas in a pod! I was so happy when you found her. First day, right?”

“Yeah. I was so nervous I dropped my lunch tray.”

“First lunch at a new school is the hardest,” Mom says it with such knowledge that it makes me remember she was a military kid, moving around a lot, with a new school almost every year.

“There was a loud clank, and an explosion of green peas, water splashing over my new Nikes. Remember the ones I saved up all my babysitting money for?”

“Yes. You took care of those neighbor twins all summer. You did great. I was so proud of you.” There’s a smile in her voice. “Tell me the rest of the story.”

“I stood there. Frozen. And I waited for the laughter. But it never came.”

“The new kids had more to do in their town than just stand around making fun of people.”

I remember the moment so vividly. People stepped around me, chatting with their friends. I tell her the best bit. “One guy looked down at me and smiled. “Party foul!” he said. Then he winked. I don’t think I’d ever been winked at before.”

She laughs. Then stays quiet. Listening.

“I said, ‘Classic me,’ then bent down to clean up. Out of nowhere, a girl with green eyes and dark hair swooped down beside me.”

“Tabitha?” Mom guesses.

“Yeah.”

“Classic her.”

“Right.” I can still feel her long braid brush against my arm as she scooped up peas with the empty bowl. “She said, ‘I always hated vegetables.’”

We broke down into fits of giggles over nothing, and that was that.

Both only children of working single mothers, we had ample free time to hang out at each other’s empty houses after school. There was no need to dampen our blooming friendship with the darkness of my past.

“I owe all my happiness at school to Tabitha. She really helped me start that new life.” The thought slips out. “I never told her about Alessi.”

“Maybe you should tell Tabitha. And Cleo. They are both such wonderful friends. You can trust them.”

“Yeah Mom, maybe I will.”

“And Sara?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry. So, so sorry for what happened. I want you to know—I’m not that same person.”

The tears come before I can stop them.

We get off the phone, and I lie there on my bed, an easy calm coming over me.

Has the healing finally begun?

I need to call Tabitha. Tell her about Alessi. Thank her for being my friend. And I will. Just not right now.

Despite the progress I’ve made with Mom, the pain still lingers.

I want him.

I need him so badly.

I ache for him to make it go away, like only he can. It’s like he’s here right now, growling against me. You want Daddy’s belt again? I feel myself tremble, my hair brushing against his beard as I nod.

Yes.

I want everything you give me.

I can’t go back. I have to stop begging for unhealthy attention from a man twice my age. I need to find alternative ways to heal. Quiet walks. Long swims. Flower arrangements.

Baring my naked ass in the back of a dark room so he can punish away the pain is so over.

He said that was the last time. And I agreed.

But the thought of never seeing him again makes an empty ache claw at me from inside. Tears are coming and all I want is for him to kiss them away. Then wrap those big strong arms around me and block out the world.

A thought hits me like a Reign smack to the ass. “I’ll never stop going to him, will I?” I can not keep going like this. I bury my face in my hands. “Oh my God. I’m hopeless!”

Without work to distract me, being alone in this apartment, the temptation to run to him is too great.

I need to get out of this city. It’s time to come clean to my best friend.

I begin recording a voice text for Cleopatra, hoping she’ll receive it when she wakes up.

I start with, “Hey, beautiful bride! I got fired from the PalmVolt project. I tried to stalk Dame Bachman after you told me he’d be at Gotcha,” then my voice trails off.

Dame will be in Italy.

The thought alone should make me hang up.

I try to picture confronting Dame on the Estate. I get…nothing.

Could it be that I’m completely over my obsession? Made to get over Dame by the man whose name means ruler? Even if that is the case, I can no longer allow Reign to rule me.

He’ll surely ruin me.

I continue the voicemail. “Sorry for the long awkward pause but I’m back.

And, I may have accidentally gotten into some sexcapades with a much, much older man.

Anywhoo! Last we spoke, you were trying to use live goldfish as wedding favors.

If you could use my help a little early, I’d love to come, well, now. As ASAP as possible!”

I know that if this were a live phone call, Cleopatra would correct me in her teacher’s voice, telling me I don’t need to say ‘as possible,’ as ‘ASAP’ already includes it.

I cut myself off before I sound any more desperate. Hopefully she responds soon. I’ll start packing as soon as the dryer stops.

I pull up the brutally honest video I made the other day, staring at my face as I tell the truth to the world. There are far too many ums and ahs. The video needs editing.

But where’s the honesty in that?

I post it. As is. No edits. No filters. Putting it up on every single platform.

I put all my social media notifications on pause. I’ll reach out and reply to comments from my well-meaning friends, but not today.