Page 3 of Dark Time

I even liked her real name more than the one she’d given me. Emily suited her perfectly. I sat on the couch and pulled her into my lap. Her body was swathed in mine, and for this moment the world couldn’t harm her. I kissed the top of her head as the sobs finally began to taper off.

I’d had a shitty upbringing, there was no doubt about that. My mother was, at the very least, psychotic. My father had wanted to keep her calm and happy, but he’d only made matters worse. The end of their lives had almost brought me peace. It brought me the couple that gave me a new chance at life and gave me all the love they could. The tragedy that was my early childhood had become a triumph.

Emily’s misery had gone on her entire life, and for whatever ridiculous reason, none of her family did anything about it. From the way she described, and the photo evidence I’d seen, she was their whipping boy. It infuriated me that the moment she stood up for herself and demanded some respect, they’d shut her down. She didn’t have to explain it any more than she had. It wasn’t just me who had angered Trent, it was the fact that she’d tried to have a life of her own for once that had really pissed him off.

“What is wrong with your family?” I asked softly, half hoping she wouldn’t hear me because I didn’t really want to set her off into a flood of tears all over again. The question felt almost cruel, and I winced when she slid off my lap, running her fingers through her hair.

“Oh, they’ve been fucked up since day one. My father’s first wife, Trent’s mother, died when she was young, and my father replaced her with my mother. I think my mom was meant to be a trophy wife, someone to fill his empty arm when he went to social functions. Sure, he had a few more children with her, but I would never say my parents were in love, or even liked each other. Respect, yes, definitely, but anything else? No. They lead such different lives.”

Her face was red and splotchy, but I didn’t care, she was still beautiful, even if her makeup was smudged and her face was wet. I ran into the bathroom, wet a facecloth and brought it to her. She took it as I settled on the couch beside her.

“Your mom didn’t show you love then?” I knew rich women could be cold, but to their own kids? Well, yes, I thought after a moment, I’d seen it at boarding school.

“No, she was always too busy with my father; love was the nanny’s job. The nanny was busy with my older brothers, and Trent was a handful from the word go. He hated my mother, he hated us, and he hated his dad for making more babies. My entire life I’ve tried to keep the peace between them all. I had to grow up early and play my part. Maybe it’s my own fault.” She let her head fall back and swiped at her face with the cold, damp cloth.

“So you were always in control, never able to let down your guard, and always ready to take command if you needed to?” I could see it now, why she wanted the relationship we’d had. She’d had a confusing life of total control one moment and none at all the next.

With me, she’d had a defined relationship, based on the fact that I’d be the one always in command; she wouldn’t have to make any decisions at all. I could see how that would be appealing to her.

“It was like living on a merry go round or a seesaw, Dylan. I never knew where I’d wake up next, which child I’d have, or which brother I’d be chasing after. The wives tried to help, after they came along, but they’re all so…” she paused to shiver with something I took to be disgust, “…in love.”

When she’d finished, and the crystal-clear gray of her eyes was on me again, I could see the shiver hadn’t been disgust but sadness. She’d been abandoned all over again, this time by the women who should have worked really hard to make her feel like part of the family, not just another servant. Instead, they’d fallen into the same pattern of trying to play catch up with the brothers. Emily had only been a face, not a real person, to them.

She took a deep breath, and I could see the way she gathered herself. This must be what she did when life became overwhelming with her family. She’d have a moment to cry and then get on with life. Not a bad way to deal with it, but she shouldn’t have had to do it so often. She smoothed her hair, swiped at her face, and took a deep breath. She gave me a weak smile, and her hands fluttered for a moment as she tried to think of what to say next. I could almost see the moment she decided what she wanted to say. Her eyes became clear once she’d chosen a path, and she looked much calmer.

“Anyway, if you don’t want to kill me now, I brought this over.” She reached around the edge of the couch and pulled her bag into her lap.

She dug around inside the contents of the huge, black leather bag and then brought out the folder I’d left the contract in this morning. I could feel a racing thump in my chest and put my hand over the spot. My hands shook a little as I reached for the folder, and that made me snatch the file from her.

I hadn’t meant to snatch the file away so quickly, but I didn’t want her to see my hands shake like that. I dropped the folder and cast a glance up at her face to see if she’d noticed. That mixed with the way my heart raced made me wonder if something was wrong within me. A symptom of my condition, again? I brushed it aside as nothing but nerves from the last hour of emotional upheaval and opened the file.

She’d signed it at some point in the day, and I looked down at the words I’d written there. She had virtually been a prisoner her whole life. Was it fair of me to ask her to sign anything like this now? I could understand now why she’d hated the idea of a contract so much. I brushed my hands through my hair and started to speak.

“Emily?” That’ was when it occurred to me, she’d signed the contract with her real name.

I looked at her and saw the truth there. She really had planned to tell me about this. Still, the betrayal was there. The emotion wasn’t as intense now, my brain no longer felt as if it was melting, and my heart wasn’t as crushed, but she’d kept a very important secret from me. What was to stop her from doing that again later, if she felt it was important?

You can’t trust other people. The words danced around in my mind, a memory from my youth, in those dark days after my parents died. The days when I’d withdrawn into myself. I’d done it to try to protect myself from the knowledge that my mother had tried to kill me; that she’d succeeded in killing my father and herself. Trust meant weakness, weakness meant death.

Trust no one, that had been my motto from that point on. I’d allowed a few people into my life since those dark days, but not many. Now, I was stuck, addicted to a woman that I couldn’t get out of my system. Like a heroin addict who couldn’t stop shooting up, even when their veins had collapsed and their limbs had turned gangrenous, I still couldn’t give her up. Every instinct in me, all the knowledge I’d gained over the years, the protective measures I’d put in place to wall off my heart, said to let her go, that she was trouble; she was a Thompson, get rid of her. My heart, and to an extent, my brain, said the opposite, though.

“Emily, this is…” I couldn’t continue. I couldn’t admit that she could break me, that she might break me, because that would be weak. The truth of it was there, though, even if I turned away to hide the evidence that had to be on my face.

I hadn’t cried since I was a child, and I wouldn’t now, but there was something stinging my eyes. I blinked until it passed and hardened my jaw. Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. Even though she’d hidden her real identity for very good reasons, I couldn’t let her see me as weak. It was my job to take her control, to give her direction, and to make her life less complicated.

“Get on your knees, Emily.” I stood and walked away, and she did as I instructed.

I left her there, pretty as could be, and went into the kitchen to get a drink to cool my throat. She could sit there, with her thighs trembling and her knees aching, until I was ready. Until I could control myself.

The way I felt right now, calmly out of control, was too contradictory. I might hurt her if I took her into that private room of mine at this moment. I’d make her wait, make her wonder. There was no doubt now, she was mine for as long as I wanted her, but I’d let her sweat it out.

A smile played at my lips as I went in to fetch the necklaces I’d bought her. I took them into my bedroom and left them on the dresser I’d had brought in for her use. She could take them later. I made sure everything was ready, and then I went into the hallway.

“Emily, take off your shoes and dress. Leave them beside you,” I called out to her from the doorway. Her eyes shot to mine, and I saw anticipation written on her face. I didn’t think she would ever ask me to take her to my private room, and I wasn’t sure she craved it the way I wanted her to, but she would never tell me no. Mainly, because she needed to have that domination as much as I needed to dominate.

In the lingerie she’d chosen, dominating her would be more than a pleasure. Tiny black scraps of cloth covered her most intimate areas, and I had to admire her choices for the night ahead. The material enhanced the loveliness of her skin and became wrapping that I would soon enjoy tearing into. Although, it did look like something I’d want to have her in again, so maybe not so much tearing.

For a moment, as I took in how lovely she looked in her black bra and panties, I saw defiance tighten her jaw. Her eyes flicked to the contract, now in the floor, and then back to me. We’d both signed it now, and she’d agreed to my terms. Acceptance settled onto her features, and she moved. The shoes were kicked off, and the dress was pulled over her head. She folded the dress and set it on top of her shoes, beside of her, as I’d instructed.