A Controlled Descent Ch. 07

"Something on your mind?"

He says nothing and glowers at me. I'm too tired for that shit, so I leave. I'm halfway down the hall to my room when I hear the suite door open and close behind me. Running is not an option at this point, and Nathan catches up to me at my door where I am fumbling through my clutch for the room key.

"What?" I say. "Rides closed. Go to bed. Big day tomorrow."

"Don't flatter yourself."

I'm relieved and disappointed at the same time. "Then what do you want, Nathan? It's late."

In answer, he takes the keycard out of my hand and holds it against the electronic lock until it clicks and turns green. "Inside."

"Wait. No," I say as he shoves me through the door, which swings shut behind us. I stumble forward and trip over my bag lying open in the little entry hall. I sprawl onto the floor and roll over to find him looming over me. Now, I'm afraid in a way that I never was with Trey. At least Trey is a known quantity. I know where his line is. But I don't know the look in Nathan's eye, and I have no idea if he even has a line.

"Please," I say sounding like a fucking cliché. "Don't."

"Get up," he says and waits until I do. "You know what your problem is, Mac? You're only about one thing and make the mistake of thinking everyone else is like you."

"Then what do you want from me?"

"You're not going to the wedding tomorrow."

Somehow that's worse than what I thought was coming. "Wait what? No. Why?"

"Like you really have to ask."

"Aliyah invited me," I protest.

"Yeah, I got talked into that. It was a mistake. You're a charity case, Mac. She only invited you because she feels guilty and look how you repaid her."

"I'm sorry," I beg. "I'll be good tomorrow. I promise."

"You're not hearing me. You are not welcome. I don't want to look at my wedding pictures in twenty years and see your fucking face. Just go back to whatever hole you crawled out of."

"Fuck you. Get out of my room."

He continues as though I didn't say anything. "And when you get there? Lose Aliyah's number. Fuck it, lose everyone's number. It'll just be easier that way. We were all sick of your bullshit by graduation anyway, and you've only gotten worse."

"They're my friends."

"That seem like friendship to you in there? You just bring out the worst in everyone."

"I didn't do anything."

His hand shoots out with frightening speed and grabs me by the hair. Lifting me up onto my toes, he drags me into the bathroom like a marionette and flips on the light.

"Look at yourself," he tells me.

I won't.

"Look," he bellows, twisting my head around until I am inches from the mirror.

Grudgingly, I open my eyes and take in the crime scene of my body. My eyes are bloodshot. There is dried cum in my hair and crusted across my face, which is blotchy and red. My knees are rubbed raw, and a livid purple mark around my neck shows where Trey choked me.

"Tell me again how you didn't do anything."

"I didn't," I insist despite the damning evidence to the contrary.

"Mac, you don't belong around normal people. You have to see that."

"You don't know me."

Nathan spits in my face and then becomes absolutely still. When he speaks it is in a tone that my father used to use when he was furious with me. His quiet, scary voice. "I know enough. If you come near Aliyah again, I will fucking kill you. Do you understand me?"

I didn't know where Nathan's line was. Now I do. My teeth start to chatter. "I understand."

"Good. Make up an excuse. Family emergency, I don't really give a shit. Just get the fuck out of here," he says and gives my head one last ragdoll shake.

When I hear the door click shut behind him, my legs give out and I sink to the bathroom floor in a heap. That's where I wake the next morning. Everything hurts, inside and out. For a long time all I can do is lie there and breathe. When I finally climb to my feet, I try to make a bad joke in the mirror, but my throat is so sore I can barely speak. After about an hour in the shower, I muster the energy to towel off, get dressed, and pack. I check the time - it's almost noon. Not great timing, but somehow I score an empty elevator and ride it down to the lobby. It's busy but not like last night. I spot Conor and Billy over on the couches with some girls. They both look handsome and relaxed in their suits, not a care in the world and entirely untouched by last night. What an amazing thing it must be to be a man in this world.

I don't know if they see me or not, because I put my head down and hustle outside. A friendly porter hails me a cab, and I ask the driver to take me to Logan. All the flights to DC are booked solid, so I have to fly standby, but in the end score a window seat on the six o'clock. That gives me four hours to sit and think about how catastrophically I've fucked up. My body feels worse by the hour, and the emotional withdrawal that has kept me functional begins to burn off. I just can't wrap my head around what I've done. Why do I always go out of my way to ruin everything? While we are taxiing to the runway, I remember to text Aliyah and tell her that my mom fell and broke her hip. I say I'm so sorry and that I love her. She doesn't text back but that makes sense. It is her wedding today.

We land at National a little before eight. I'm in a coma just staring out my little window at the tarmac, and a nice flight attendant has to come and tell me it's time to get off her airplane. I do as I'm told and wander down the concourse and out to arrivals. There's almost no line for a taxi, which feels like a minor miracle. The driver asks where to, and after a moment's hesitation I blurt out the address. It's an act of pure desperation, but I know I can't carry this secret alone. It will bury me under its rubble if try and who else am I going to tell?

It's Saturday night, so there's a fair bit of traffic heading into the city. I check my phone. No messages from anyone and for the first time, I allow myself to wonder what they're saying about me at the reception. Nathan's words replay on a loop in my head. Is he right? Does anyone care that I'm gone? Am I a punchline or simply being erased as if I was never there at all?

The taxi pulls up to the curb, but I don't move. This is a mistake coming here. The cabbie retrieves my bag from the trunk and opens the door for me.

"Is this the right address?" he asks.

"Probably not," I admit but get out anyway.

I take my bag and climb the front stairs. It takes an act of tremendous will to ring the bell. I step back to wait, ready to flee. I have no way of knowing if he's even home only that he has to be. The prospect of facing my empty apartment is too much to bear. When the door doesn't open, I put my bag down and buzz again. What else am I supposed to do? I press my hand to the door.

"Please," I ask it like a prayer. "Please?"

Then something miraculous happens. The door opens. Jack fills the entrance and steps into the waning sunshine as handsome as ever. He doesn't look angry, but he's not exactly thrilled to see me either.

"Mackenzie?" he says, his expression hardening into an inscrutable mask. "What are you doing here?"

"Please. I didn't know where else to go." I'm not crying, but tears course down my cheeks. It's not fair what I'm doing, showing up unannounced and putting him on the spot like this. I'm not his problem anymore, but I am too desperate to care.

"What happened?"

"There's something wrong with me," I say pounding the tips of my fingers against my breastbone. "I don't know what to do."

His brow furrows. "What do you want?"

"I want to belong to you again."

"You never belonged to me. You made that very clear."

"No, I did. I'm stupid. I didn't understand. Please. I'll be your submissive."

A conflicted look passes across his face, his mask slipping long enough for me to catch a glimpse of the man who used to care about me. "You're only saying that because you're having a crisis."

"Then tell me what to say," I beg. "Help me."

"It doesn't work like that."

"You said it did."

He looks confused. "I said what now?"

"In your note. You said if I needed anything, anything at all, that you were here for me."

I see recognition spark in his eyes. "That was months ago, Mackenzie."

"Well it was fucking yesterday to me!" I say as a great wrenching sob escapes me. I have to clasp the back of my neck with both hands just to keep from melting down on his front steps.

"You're right," he says, his expression softening. "You're absolutely right. Tell me what do you need from me."

"I need to tell you a secret."

"I see," he says, weighing what to say next.

I blink through my tears and hold my breath like I'm waiting for a verdict to be read. Please, please, please.

"Then I guess you should come inside," he says finally.

"Really?" I resist the urge to throw my arms around him. "Thank you, Sir."

"Don't call me that," he says sternly.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," I say hastily, afraid I just got my invitation rescinded.

"It's okay. You're okay, Mackenzie," he reassures me. "Just slow it down. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes Sir. I mean Jack. Yes Jack."

"Alright then," he says and picks my bag, stepping aside to let me pass. Grateful, I cross the threshold into his home and shiver as the door closes behind me.