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“Next month, yes?” she asks, turning towards the house.
“That would be wonderful,” I reply, getting up to follow her inside. “Do you have anyone coming this weekend?”
“No,” she says quietly, shuffling through the kitchen. “I’m too old for visitors now, and too cantankerous for anyone who lives in a pretence of life.” I smile at that and hurry over to her chair, moving the blanket out of her way and plumping cushions. “You are a good girl, Lilah. He did well to find you, no?” she says, sitting. “Could you get my wine for me?”
I wander through to the lounge and grasp her favourite Beaujolais and a glass, swiping some cheese and crackers too and laying them onto a tray. I feel terrible leaving her, always do. It’s as if she has no one but these monthly visits she offers me. Pascal isn’t welcome anymore. She says it’s because he has enough to hinder his progress without her interfering. I say it’s because she longs for conversation with him that he’s no longer allowed to bow down too, and that would confuse him. Funny breed, these sadists. They’re always after the best from those in their care, no matter the effect it might leave them with.
“Don’t you have anyone else at all?” I ask, gently placing the tray beside her. She glares at me, her hand grabbing at my wrist quicker than you would think possible of an older woman.
“Did I ask for your pity?” she snaps, twisting at my wrist. My eyes widen, arm not sure whether to pull away or give in. “Do not dare look on me with some semblance of care. I do not wish for anything of the sort from you.” I sigh a little and try to extricate my arm from her grip, smiling to calm the beast down. It happens, and I’ve mostly learnt to admire it when I’ve witnessed it with the subs she brings in. But not on my own skin.
“Don’t treat me like a fool, Sabella. I’m not one of your toys. I’m being congenial, as you’ve taught me to be.” Still she grips, as I stare into wizened eyes. “Besides, you taught Pascal, and he still hurts me on occasion. Your grip isn’t nearly as strong or painful.” She tosses me away, eyes suddenly smiling again, and snorts.
“He loves you, Lilah. It is unlikely he has ever delivered anything remotely painful to you.” I think she’ll find he has, several times. I stand upright and move the tray to straighten it again, annoyed with her thought that he hasn’t hurt me properly. That would mean I don’t know him as well as I should, and I do. I think I do, anyway. He must have hurt me.Has hurt me?
She snorts again and then laughs lightly, lowering the blanket to cover her lap as she reaches for the wine. “You should make him hate you for a while. You might then feel his wrath effectively. Know what he’s capable of. He’s barely any different to his precious Alexander when provoked correctly.”
I turn, indigence proving rather damn uncomfortable in front of her wisdom. It’s annoying, as is she all of a sudden regardless of her superiority. “Glass of wine before you go?” she asks.
“No.”
I reach for my shawl and drape it around my shoulders, still scowling at the thought of not knowing Pascal. It’s my job to know him inside out, to beat it out of him if necessary. That’s what my love for him means, and what he needs from me, isn’t it? I thought it was. Maybe it isn’t. I glance back at her, unsure what I’m supposed to do about the predicament she’s put on me. He gets his pain from Alexander, gets his memories out that way when he needs to, or Alexander does, but what does that mean for me? She smirks. A true and deviant sadistic smirk.
“Do you think a sadist ever gives up his need to cause real pain, or anarchy, Lilah?” She takes a sip of her drink. “Or cares for the feeling of lacking control?”
“He doesn’t need to control. He has me, and Alexander to do that for him. He’s free to be as he chooses.” Her lips curl, disdain in her look.
“He is in hell, Lilah. If you cannot see that then you should let him go.” My mouth opens to argue, exhaustion from the two hour session she’s put me through riling up my blood. Her finger stops whatever I’m about to say. “Think, Lilah. You are more intelligent than this. When was the last time he seemed truly happy?”
I baulk at the question, remembering him under Alexander’s hands in London six months ago. Did he seem happy then? He was exhausted. That’s usually deemed happiness for him. And he laughed riotously with me last weekend when we hadClaire over, with what I would consider a true smile on his face. But this thing with Thomasisconstantly wearing on him, aggravating him. It’s always there in the background, even I can see that regardless of the rest of his life being complete. And then there’s the lacking visits from Alexander. The distance he seems to be putting between them. “And I expect Alexander is still as brutish. Refinement was never his best trait. He’s selfish. Always has been.” I raise a brow at that, damn sure that Alexander White, when in business mode, has absolutely nothing brutish about him, but she’s right about his selfish manner with Pascal. And he seems to be becoming more so of late. Dismissive even, with regard to what Pascal needs anyway.
“I’m not being a very good dominant, am I?” I mumble, looking at the floor and trying to find logic in the cloud my life has become with the four of us involved. “I should stand up to Alexander more.” Because she’s right to some degree. I’ve lost focus about Pascal, or never had it maybe. It’s become foggy of late, like I’m not sure what he needs anymore and I’ve been solely concentrating on me. He’s confusing, and a little unpredictable. Which had seemed to evaporate when all this started, giving me room to learn the four of us, but it seems to have returned.
She softens her smirk to a smile I get very little of, and sighs.
“You’re muddling through, Lilah. Pascal does not need a muddler. And more importantly, you need clarity. For that, you should know what you need to do.”
“But I don’t. I can’t keep them all happy and-“
“Who said anything abouttheirhappiness?”
“What?”
“You presume I’m talking of Alexander and Elizabeth. I’m not. There is only one person in this foursome of yours who should be happy. It’s the one person who holds you all together.”
“Pascal?”
“Hmm.”
“But he has everything he’s ever wan-“ She throws the glass across the room at me, sending wine spilling out onto the wall and shards of glass flying.
“Infantile,” she spits. “Use your mind.” I glare at her, trying to control my temper. “What does he need?” I shake my head, searching for an answer other than control. He can’t have that anymore. He asked for it to be taken from him. “What, Lilah?”
“I don’t-“ She stands up, her hand coming back as if ready to slap me for stupidity. “Don’t you dare-“ The slap that flies across my face has me stumbling back away from it, hands reaching for the wall to hold me upright.
“What does he need?” she spits, coming in close and shoving my body against the stone. I glare more, halting the thought of knocking her off her damn feet. Who the hell does she think she is?
“Get off me.”
