“So?”
“Why him?”
“Are you jealous, Muscle Boy?”
“Of course not.” My nostrils flared. “You could have any guy you want. There were guys with more money. With better looks. More class. But you chose him.”
“Because I knew he’d hurt me,” she blurted out. The words cut through us like an axe, weighing us down. Hazel bit her lip, and her fingers wiggled in her lap. “I knew he’d hurt me,” she repeated. “There’s a type of guy that’s not afraid to hit a woman, and won’t call me a freak if I ask for it. Won’t try to save me with furry floggers and fluffy canes.” There were tears in her eyes, angry tears, pissed that I would make her admit this. I almost regretted asking. “But I know what I need. And right now, I need pain.”
She drew up her knees up to her stomach, a fetal position sitting in the chair, closing herself off. Though I didn’t often play at Club Hades or any of the Afterglow events, I knew what she was saying. She was a masochist. A physical masochist. Willing to feel pain,desiring it, in order to feel complete. Her body expanded, sucking in large gulps of air, calming herself down. It was over. She had said it.
My muscles tightened at the thought. I knew what it was like to be on the other side, to give a submissive pain. To make her feel powerless under an overwhelming sensation, strong enough to render her speechless. And unable to fight me, or her desire.
“If you want someone to hurt you, ask me,” I said. She blinked her eyes, then scrutinized me, the look on her face convinced that I was mocking her. “Then you don’t have to put up with that crap.” I gestured at the bar, referencing the man. “You can go back to your bedroom and sleep it off.”
“Wait. What?” she asked. “You’re saying you’ll hurt me?”
“I’m offering to be your sadist. If that’s what you need.”
She turned towards our apartment across the street. Her jaw tensed, her eyes glazed over, thinking. “I need a shower,” she said, her voice airy. “And sleep.”
I stood and offered her a hand up, but without taking it or looking at me, she slung her purse over her shoulder and strode across the street. I followed, and the two of us went up to the fortieth floor in silence.
Up the stairs to the second floor, down the walkway to her room, she kept her chin straight, as if she knew exactly what she was doing. The door to her room was left wide open, and soon, the patter of the rain showerhead trickled down to the first floor, to where I was standing in the living room. The click of the shower stall opening and closing.
I sank into the large sofa, rubbing my forehead. How the hell were we going to get through this? Yes, I wanted to help Hazel. I wanted to protect her, to shield her from the terrors of the world, the reasons she had met people like me.
But Hazel was in a world of her own. She didn’t want anyone’s help, and yet I owed it to Zaid to do this for him. I owed it to Hazel too. I could have let her go that first night that I removed her from the cells, but I didn’t. I could have protected her then, helped her find safety, but instead, I chose to keep her in isolation.
I needed to teach Hazel to protect herself. Not with erratic jabs while the driver was distracted. Not by slamming clipboards into a person’s face in the middle of a clinic. Real self-defense. It was likely that this wouldn’t be the last time she put herself in this kind of situation.
When you didn’t know how to protect yourself, you ended up in screwed up situations, like Mom did. I sighed. That was over now, but time couldn’t erase the permanent damage it had caused her.
The water shut off. The stall opened and closed. The sound of a bed rustling as a person adjusted for comfort in a bed.
After grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge, I went up the stairs and peeked into Hazel’s room. She was lying on the bed, a towel covering her, her eyes closed, her arms and legs sprawled so far that it seemed like she was trying (and failing) to reach each side of the king-sized bed. Her skin had a pink tint to it from the scalding water, and her hair was damp. The smell of clean, floral scents, and a hint of coconut wafted to me. An open wrapper of sour candy rested on the nightstand. Soundlessly, I put a bottle of water next to it.
I waited in the doorway, watching the rise and fall of her chest, comforted by it for a moment. She was beautiful like that. Her face clean, completely spent, her mouth open, her soft lips with a hush of breath falling through them. She must have been so exhausted that she immediately passed out. I didn’t blame her. She had been through more than what any normal person could handle.
What was I thinking? Hearing her say that she wanted pain had awoken the sadistic urge inside of me, and now my thoughts were bordering on admiration. I couldn’t be with Hazel. She was erratic. A volatile nightmare. A strong-willed pain in the ass. But she was also vulnerable. Getting involved, more than I already was, would only make things worse for her. She needed to be independent; that was my goal.Ourgoal. So she wouldn’t end up in a situation like Mom.
Once our deal was done, I would be gone, off to my next duty.
I closed the door and went to my room to shower and sleep too.
