Pathways to Submission: Lisa Pt. 01

I suppose it could be worse. One of us could have picked the other, while they picked someone else. I think that would have been a horrible outcome. That would mean only one of us is committed to the other, but their feelings aren't reciprocated. At least this way we can share whatever guilt or blame we may feel for the outcome.

"I mean, didn't my character's name give you a clue? Lisa Anne... Annalisa?"

"Why would I make the connection, Lisa?" grumbles Michael. "I didn't know you had a middle name."

And that just about sums up the reason we failed the test. We've been friends for a decade, yet Michael never knew my middle name is Anne. But I can't blame the disaster on Michael alone. I recognised his personality in Philippe, but I couldn't help being drawn towards more exciting prospects. My true personality was drawn out for all to see, but it failed to spark an emotional response from Philippe. In the end I deliberately chose the character I connected with the most, and it wasn't Philippe.

"So, who did you pick in the end?" asks Michael.

"It doesn't matter who I chose. It wasn't you," I snap.

The last thing I want to admit to Michael is that my choice was Drax. Why I should choose someone like Drax is beyond any logical explanation. But Drax made me feel more alive than the feelings I experienced from my interactions with any of the others. Drax was serious 'bad boy' material; selfish, arrogant, rough as hell. But sexy, domineering and self-assured with it. And that's what rang all the right bells with me. Inside the scenario I recognised my desire to submit to someone who would be strict but fair in his treatment of me. Despite his many faults, Drax was the character who fitted that profile. My impressions of Philippe and Nico were that they would be fair, but they were not very strict. On the other hand, the Duke of Quenier was very strict, but unfair in the treatment of his slaves. So Drax got my vote.

"Fine. I guess this is where we spilt up. Goodbye," shouts Michael in a fury

Michael storms off in a huff. I'm too shocked to react. I want us to still be friends. I even want to continue to live with him to see if we can reconcile our differences. The Personality Compatibility Test isn't a legally binding test. The test's results are well regarded, but they aren't foolproof. I was sceptical about its accuracy from the outset. It was Michael who insisted on taking the PCT. There are instances of couples failing the test, but going on to live a perfectly happy married life together. But Michael isn't interested in any of that at the moment, which perhaps underscores why we failed the test. I wait a few moments to see if he'll return once he realises I'm not chasing after him. But he doesn't return. I see our car being driven out of the car park at a reckless speed.

"Hey!" I shout forlornly. "Come back! My stuff is in the car."

Shit! I'm stuck here with nothing other what's in my jacket pocket. Hopefully Michael will realise my predicament once he calms down, and return here. Our apartment is too far away for me to walk there, and the three dollars plus a few smaller coins in my pocket are nowhere near enough for a bus ride home. Besides, my key to our apartment is with my stuff in the car. I find a seat to sit on and wait. I'm really screwed until Michael comes back.

I try calling Michael from the payphone in the foyer of the testing centre, but my call goes straight to voicemail. I leave a message, although I know he never usually bothers checking voice messages from unknown phone numbers. My mobile phone is in the car, so all I can do is keep trying to contact him from this payphone. Needless to say, my prolonged stay near the testing centre attracts attention. The receptionist comes over to talk to me, and offers to call a taxi for me. But I've no money, and I can't be sure that Michael will have gone back to the apartment. More likely he'll drive around for a while until he cools down. I make a feeble excuse to the receptionist about waiting for my boyfriend to pick me up. Which is true up to a point. It's just that I can't be sure that my boyfriend knows that he needs to pick me up.

It's nearly four o'clock and the centre will be closing in an hour or so. There's still no sign of Michael and he isn't answering his phone. Just when I think things are as bad as they can get, they get worse. A biker gang roars up on their motorbikes and stop not far from where I'm sat. Common sense tells me to go inside the centre in case this is one of the gangs the police have been investigating over violent crimes in the city. But I'm too upset about Michael's continued absence to think about my own safety. I ignore the bikers, and fortunately they ignore me. A few minutes later, all but one of them roars off with a lot of roaring engines and squealing wheels. The biker who remains is tinkering with his bike.

"I don't suppose you know anything about fixing a motorbike?" asks the biker of me after a few minutes of fruitless tinkering.

"Actually I do," I reply. "I used to help my brother fix up old wrecks and sell them."

"Hmm. Well I wouldn't call Valkyrie a wreck, but if you can get her running again I'll give you a lift to wherever you want to go. That's assuming you aren't waiting for someone."

I give the biker an edited summary of my predicament, carefully avoiding any mention of our disastrous PCT.

"What an idiot!" says the biker, voicing his opinion of Michael. "That's no way to treat a princess."

"Yeah. Well all I've got on me are three dollars, a couple of paper tissues and... um... a condom."

"Oh, then you have everything we need. So can you fix her?"

I take a look at his bike. After a few minutes I identify the problem. Between us we manage to make a temporary fix to the bike. The bike roars into life and I realise that I now need to make a decision. Do I continue to wait here in the hope Michael will return, or do I accept a lift from a stranger... a stranger wearing a biker's leathers sporting a gang patch. My parents would have kittens if they knew that I'm even talking to a patched biker, never mind planning on riding off with one.

"I'm not sure I should accept lifts from strangers," I say.

"Of course you shouldn't," laughs the biker. "So let's introduce ourselves, and then we won't be strangers."

"Sure, I'm Lisa."

"Hi Lisa. I'm David. My friends call me Drax."

[End of part one]