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And I’ll gladly take whatever he’s about to give me, which I genuinely expect to be some colorful language—not a mean right hook. I didnotsee that coming. And as his fist pummels me into motion, and the pain knocks me to the ground, breaking the fall with my own face, the last thought in my head is—I deserve this.
Rule #25: Punishment won’t clear your sins, but an apology might.
Maggie
I’ve scrolled through the rental properties in Phoenix for so long, I keep expecting there to be some answers in these photos. Am I making the right choice? Is it really a good time for me to leave Briar Point, even if it’s only for six months? Especially with everything going on between me and Beau.
I mean, maybe a fresh start is good. Maybe dating again in a new city with new co-workers and a new club is what I need. I could start over and find another sub, still exploring this new Domme version of myself.
Or maybe he could come visit. I could see us there, free from all of the judgment of our friends and family, free to live the life we want. Together. Would he want that? Would he really come visit me? Would he stay?
These are dangerous ideas. Getting attached to a life like this could be beyond harmful, but I can’t help it. It’s too tempting. A fantasy of days like today every day.
But realistically, it’s only been a month. We’re moving too fast, aren’t we?
There’s a knock on the door, and I freeze in fear as Ringo starts barking wildly. As I descend the stairs, the knock is back. My first thought is that it’s the same people who were responsible for vandalizing Beau’s car. But it’s after ten at night. Would they really come to my house and knock on my door? I pull out my phone, ready to call Emerson or 9-1-1 or do something when I hear a voice.
“Maggie, it’s me.”
Beau.
In a rush, I run across the foyer and tear open the door. He’s standing on my doormat, an ugly red scrape running from his cheek to his forehead on one side of his head and a large purple bruise forming under the other eye.
“Oh my God, Beau!” I say with a gasp as I pull him inside. “What happened to you?”
He groans as he holds his head. I pull him into the kitchen and rush to the sink to grab a towel, running it under the warm water of the faucet.
“I fucked up,” he mumbles.
“What do you mean you fucked up? Weren’t you taking Sophie out for ice cream?”
“I did. Her boyfriend was there with another girl.”
As I rest the wet cloth against the bloody gash on his face, he winces. “Tell me you didn’t start a fight with a teenager.”
He doesn’t reply, only grimaces. There is remorse dripping from his expression as he stares at the ground.
“Oh my God, Beau. Is he okay?” I ask.
“I didn’t even get a punch in. I was just…so mad at him. I hated him.”
“Well, you care about Sophie a lot, but you can’t beat up every guy who breaks her heart.”
His sullen eyes lift to my face, and my heart skips in my chest. The vulnerability he’s expressing, the pain, fear, anger, all of it, is somehow as beautiful as much as it is haunting.
“I’m no better thanhim.” His expression is pleading, and I hate to hear him talk about himself like this. I hate it. So I turn my back and head toward the freezer for ice.
“No, you’re not. Don’t say that,” I reply with my back turned. As I pile ice cubes in the towel, I hear him standing up from the stool and walking toward me.
“Yes, I am, Maggie. I’ve cheated on almost every girl I’ve been with. I cheated on Charlietwiceand she only knows about one. I fucked the other girl and Charlie in thesamefucking day.”
My hand freezes in the ice bin as his words impale me with fear. Every perfect vision I have of him and any future we may have had evaporates into thin air.
I feel so stupid.
When I turn toward him, ice in my hand, I can’t hide the contempt on my face. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know why he is telling me this or what I’m supposed to do with this information. Does he want me to regret opening my heart to a selfish twenty-two-year-old man? Because at the moment, I do.
“That’s terrible, Beau,” I whisper.
