I also don’t know if I’ll ever be the type of woman who can let you take control. It scares me too much… and I don’t like to be scared. You take care of me, Connor. That’s what you do. I want to do that for you, too.
“You do, Haven. Just by being you.”
I wish I could believe that.
I’ll try. But I’ve been thinking…
Oh, jeez.
I set the pen down. “I want to be your doll.”
Connor blinks. “Excuse me?”
“If I can’t… I mean, if you want to and I’m sleeping…” I shake my head. “Sometimes I need help to sleep.” I need to be sedated. “When that happens, if you want to… you know. You can.”
My husband sucks in a breath. “Are you telling me that, if I want to take you while you’re unconscious, I can?”
I nod.
You have my permission. Iwantyou to. I want to be your new doll.
“But you’re mywife?—”
“Both,” I grit out. “Let me be both, Connor.”
I need this. I don’t know why, but Ido,and whether it’s because it Christmas or because it’sforever, Connor reluctantly agrees.
Why wouldn’t he?
He gives me everything.
TWENTY-FIVE
LOVE
HAVEN
If someone had told me nine months ago that there would come a day where I felt normal—when I was happy—again, I would've thrown something at them. Maybe laughed hollowly if I could make a sound. Definitely cried now that I had tears again.
Winter’s captivity stole so much from me. My voice. My pride. The illusion that no one could hurt me if I didn’t let them… but Connor? My husband gave me those things back one piece at a time, never asking me to heal faster than I can.
I’m trying. Sometimes I feel like I’m my old self again—and then the panic closes over me, I can’t breathe, all I can do is lock myself in my sanctuary until the worst of it is over.
Things are different now. I’m still struggling, but it was a shock to me that the last panic attack I had? It wasn’t because of Winter. It wasn’t because I had nightmares that I was back in the warehouse where no one would ever find me.
No.
It was because Connor had left me alone in the house, and I didn’t know how long he would be gone.
Adrian and Dallas needed him. Bas had been halfway across the state on his motorcycle, which meant Connor was the only one available. He'd knelt in front of me before leaving, kissed my forehead, promised he'd be back before dinner.
I believed him. For almost two hours, I sat and waited for him. I got some fresh air on the balcony. Tried to read my latest murder mystery. I tried not to worry that something could be happening to him… that he might be talking to another woman… that she might find it easy to talk tohim… and all I did was work myself up.
I couldn’t reach him. He doesn’t have a landline, and I still didn’t have a cellphone of my own then. He went out and got me one the next morning after I lost my fucking mind, but until he came home and found me rocking and whimpering inside of the panic room, I had convinced myself he'd finally realized what everyone else eventually did—that I was too much work. Too broken. Too damaged. That rescuing me had been one thing, but living with me…
I destroyed the basement first. Torn between anger and fear, I’d thrown a lamp. Smashed too plates. Sent one of the chairs where we eat crashing to the floor. I threw my book after tearing pages out of it. Only then did I lock myself in the sanctuary, shaking so hard I couldn't breathe.
Connor had come home an hour later.
