It’s early in the morning, barely dawn. The break of the new day has settled something inside of me. Last night was for crying and being comforted. Today…I feel a strange sort of peace. I get the coffee pot going and fix myself a small mug. I open up the window and take the mug out with me onto the fire escape, where I settle down, sitting against the cold metal rungs.
Red fingers of morning dawn streak across the skyline. I watch it, sipping the warm coffee from my mug.
My toxic trait is that I want Phantom to be out here, waiting for me.
His toxic trait is that he is.
“How long have you been there?” I ask.
Those brown eyes look up at me from between the slats in the ladder. “Too long.”
“Come up. Before the neighbors call the cops.”
He takes the invitation. There’s very little space on the fire escape—barely enough room for one. Still, he folds into himself and sits down across from me. Even with our feet pulled up, our legs still touch, and my body becomes very aware of the closeness of his.
His eyes meet mine. “How are you feeling?” he asks. Like we’ve just undergone a long, intense scene and now we’re in aftercare.
I lick the coffee from my lips. “Last night, I was ready to bite your head off.”
“And now?”
I shake my head. “I feel exhausted. Sad.”
He gives a small nod, understanding.
I hold his gaze. There’s a strange comfort here. That aftercare feeling—it lingers. Or maybe it’s just Phantom; his body language and his calm demeanor instinctively build a safe space for me. I feel like I can say or do anything here, so I ask, simply, “Do you think we bring out the worst in each other?”
The question isn’t meant to provoke him. I’mgenuinelyasking. After last night…I’m not so sure I have the answer.
His mouth thins at the question. “I think you’re the only place I feel at peace.”
I let that sit. I glance at the city below, watching it slowly wake up. I gather the strength to be honest with him. “You’re my anchor,” I tell him. “I like that about you. I like that you’restrong. Capable. Calm. But I can’t be the only one whogives. I need you to be vulnerable too.”
He hesitates. He rubs his hand over his wrist, as though conjuring up the nerve to continue. “A long time ago,” he says, “I made a deal with myself to stop feeling. Stop feeling, and you’ll never have to feel out of control again. And it worked. For a long time. But then you came in and you made me feel everything. Good and the bad. I felt love. Warmth. Loneliness when you weren’t around. Longing. Incredible, ugly jealousy when Brody came into your life. Not because he was fucking you. But because you envisioned a future with him…and I wanted you to envision that future with me.” He’s saying it. He’sadmittingit. My throat goes tight, relieved to hear the things I suspected but never heard out loud. He holds my eyes the whole time, never once looking away or giving himself an out. “I should’ve just told you,” he continues. “Instead, I fell on old habits. Closed up. Swallowed my feelings. I lied to you. I betrayed you. I hurt you. I’m sorry.”
It’s the first time he saysI’m sorryand I feel it in my bones. I let the moment linger. It feels like something that’s been missing finally locks into place.
“Last night,” I begin, “with Trinity…” His expression tightens at her name. “I know I have no right to ask this. But did you…I mean…when you and I were together, did the two of you ever…?”
I trail off. I’m having a hard time even finishing the sentence.
“No,” he answers firmly. “Trinity was before your time. And never again.”
“Okay. I’m sorry for asking.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize for your feelings. Don’t ever. I’m glad you asked.”
“It’s just…when she was telling me about the two of you…I don’t know. It made me feel like I’m just another submissive in a line of submissives.”
He gives a slow nod, and I see him calculating his reply. “There are things that were similar with the two of you, because I’m the same person. I like what I like and I’ve gotten very good at communicating that to my submissives over the years. I like training. I like conditioning. But you are not the same. I never broke my rules for her. I never felt peace holding her after a scene. No one—not Trinity or anyone else—holds a candle to you. I never loved her.”
There it is.The thing. My breath catches, sticks in my throat, trembles.
“So…” I fumble, “with me…I mean. Do you…?”
Normally so confident, suddenly, I can’t get the words out. They trip over my tongue and my throat goes tight, refusing to let the question out.
Those brown eyes watch me, trying to decipher my line of questioning. Then the realization hits, and his eyebrows furrow, “Are you asking if I love you?”
