Raw Ch. 08

"Tell me the truth, did you propose because my brother left town and you felt sorry for me?"

I was lying on my stomach, barely able to move from the three hours of sex we'd just had. I could see the red digits on the alarm clock as they revealed we had entered a new year ten minutes ago. Not much else was functioning in my brain. Except a little paranoia.

Malcolm smacked my ass so hard I squealed. "No, I did not."

"Good."

"If you must know," he said as he slid two fingers into my mouth, and I licked them, "I had to get our dinner tickets several months in advance."

I whimpered as those same two fingers pressed into my pussy from behind. He'd been very methodical with his lovemaking tonight. Not at all rough or quick. It had been exactly what I had needed. But while I wasn't necessarily sore, I was overly sensitive. In some areas more than others. The lightest touch seemed to make my whole body tremble.

His fingers pressed in further, this thumb grazing over my clit. "I've had the ring since early summer."

I cringed but still lifted my ass to give him more room. To feel his touch. I would never get tired of that.

"I was just waiting for the perfect moment."

"Uh huh," I mumbled against the pillow. His hand stopped moving, and I whimpered.

"You know, speaking of 'uh huh,' I never heard a proper answer to my question. You were adamant that I do it properly. I think it's only fair that I require the same. Therefore, I shall take my ring back."

I almost died when I felt his hand withdrawing. My lips were so dry, as was my mouth. It was a struggle to swallow, but I succeeded. "Yes!"

His hand withdrew a little more. "Yes, what?"

"Yes! I'll marry you!"

"Wonderful!" He slowly slid his fingers slid back in. "Now, where was I?"

After that, I was babbling like a baby.

###

With the new year came new changes. Malcolm went back to work teaching. So I was home alone after we had our breakfast. Alone for the first time in six months. It wasn't an easy routine to get used to.

I had every intention of working on my chapters as soon as he left that first morning. I just wanted to tidy up the kitchen first. But when I couldn't find a clean towel, I went upstairs to get one from the laundry room. Which is where I found a full hamper and decided to do a load of laundry. Then I figured I should check the bedroom first for any stray dirty clothes.

Not surprisingly, my clothes from New Year's Eve were still in a pile beside the bed. I had squatted to retrieve a shoe that was peeking out from under the bed when my hand bumped into something else. Down on my hands and knees, I fished the item out of the dust bunnies. As soon as I saw it, I lost my breath and fell to my ass.

I held the picture of my brother and I that used to be on the dresser. I remembered tossing it in the garbage the week before Christmas. I guess I missed and one of us had knocked it under the bed in the weeks since.

I started out just sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at my oldest brother. But as the tears formed in my eyes, I laid down. And pulled the covers over me, tucking them under my chin.

I didn't fall asleep but pondered what my life had been like three years ago. Back when I was just a seasoned writer who had taken a five-year hiatus to write under a pseudonym just for the heck of it. When being dominated in the bedroom was merely a fleeting thought as I wrote soft-porn sex scenes. There were too many nights where I'd stayed awake contemplating that my characters got laid more than I did.

I'd never imagined I'd be where I was today. What I would experience. What I would conquer.

I fought between being proud of my accomplishments and being depressed that my life was no longer normal. I wondered what the past years would have been like if I'd said no to lunch with Brian Hughes. If I'd just stayed in my shell of that hotel room, pampering myself like a good girl. A vanilla girl.

Would I have continued to write under the name Drake Alexander? Developed a new set of books? Embraced my inner desires? Or ever discovered the truth about my brother?

I tried not to think about the negative connotations of Drake's name now. That was a different time in my life. A good time. And I would not let his recent decisions triumph over my success.

Yet, he was part of the problem. Despite what he'd done, Drake was still my brother. He'd always been in my life. I'd never imagined him not being around. And then suddenly he was. It felt like someone had ripped out a part of me.

As I lay there, I thought about the times in the past weeks where I had just wanted to call him up and say hello or bounce an idea off him. Then I'd remember why he wasn't here, and I'd cursed him under my breath. Mostly, though, I'd wished he would see the error of his ways and apologized to me. I think I would have handled the whole thing a lot better if he'd just said he was sorry.

Some time later, I managed to get up and do the laundry. And clean the kitchen as well as tidy up the rest of the house. But I was sluggish and no longer felt compelled to work on my chapters. There was always tomorrow.

I tossed and turned that night during some weird dream that I really couldn't remember other than I was falling before I woke up. I couldn't go back to sleep afterwards. Come morning, I was too tired to get up and I told Malcolm to eat breakfast without me. He kissed me goodbye, then I rolled over to snuggle back under the covers.

On the third day of school, I did get up but I couldn't concentrate on writing. I sat staring out the window of my office instead. After an hour, I went back to bed and cried my eyes out. What was wrong with me?

After still feeling depressed on the fourth day, I approached Malcolm when he came home. We both agreed it might help if I sought out some local counseling. It had worked out on the East Coast, why not here in the heart of the Midwest? Malcolm made a couple of calls and was able to get me an appointment the following Monday.

I was extremely nervous at first, but Dr. Pritchard, a female head-doctor, encouraged me to not fear being honest. We couldn't start working on how to fix the problem until she knew what the problem was. She seemed friendly enough, and I felt more comfortable by the end of the session. We set up a time to meet every day for the next two weeks and we'd see where it went from there.

Day two was my breakthrough day. I shared that I liked to be submissive—and sometimes bound—while having sex. That an ex-lover had kidnapped me and repeatedly raped me using those same techniques. And that the closer of my two brothers had turned out to be a stranger in an even stranger world in which I'd only just begun to skim the surface.

That night, I slept better than I had in weeks. My head had never felt so clear. Malcolm even mentioned that I seemed more chipper.

I was leaving the appointment on the third day when Dr. Pritchard handed me a folded sheet of paper.

"Rebecca," she said with one hand on my shoulder, the other on the closed door, "based on what you've told me of your experiences and your preferences in the bedroom, I think you need this."

I don't know what my facial expression was, but there was nothing but worry in my head. Mostly because she'd rarely spoken during our sessions except to say hello and ask me how I was doing that day. She would nod and take several notes; then she would wish me well until our next meeting. I had begun to consider the fact that she thought I was a loon and she was recommending I get a different kind of help. Especially after what she said next.

"Please don't open it. Give it to Malcolm. Let him decide."

I nodded, stuffing the letter in my purse. I battled the desire within to read it in the elevator. But I worried that there might be cameras, and I didn't want her to find out I'd disobeyed her. So I resolved to read it as soon as I got to the car.

This was my life we were talking about here. Anything she had to tell Malcolm, she could tell me. She should tell me. I didn't know all the ins and outs of doctor-patient confidentiality, but I knew it wasn't legal for her to talk to someone who wasn't my spouse about something related to my mental health without my consent. At least I thought I had that right.

But the card didn't work out either as my cell phone rang just as I slid into the driver's seat.

"Becca! How have you been?" Sue's voice trilled from the other end.

"Just fine. And you?" I rolled my eyes as I secured my seatbelt. We'd just talked yesterday.

"Good. Good. Listen, I wanted to ask you something about chapter six."

"I'm in the car, hold on a second." I found the Bluetooth earpiece Malcolm had gotten me for Christmas and waited for the device to pick up the line—a technology I don't think I was ever going to get used to. "Okay, go ahead."

I only half-listened to her ramble as I drove home. It had snowed the last couple of days, and although the roads were mostly clear, I was leery of the other drivers. I kind of missed being in the city and relying on public transportation if I wanted to go out and didn't want to face the elements myself.

"So what do you think about that change?" Sue said as I pulled into the garage.

"Tell you what, I'll think it over." Honestly, I couldn't even begin to say what it was she'd suggested. "Why don't you shoot me an E-mail with all of the details, and I'll get back to you after this weekend."

"Perfect!" I could practically hear her clapping her hands. "That's all I ask is to consider it. I'll let you go so you don't get into an accident."

I just shook my head as we both hung up.

Inside the house, Malcolm entered from the living room as I removed my coat and set my purse on the kitchen counter.

"How was your appointment?"

"Fine." I think. I kissed him and perched myself up on a stool on the other side of the counter. I eyed my purse, wondering when I'd have a chance to read the note privately because I'd forgotten to do it in the garage. But my purse chose that moment to fall over, and the note fell out of the front pocket, fluttering to the floor.

Malcolm stooped to pick up the folded sheet. "What's this?"

I gulped. Okay, Plan B: obey the doctor's orders. "It's actually for you."

"Really?" He opened the note and read it silently. His only visual response was his eyes widening slightly. Then he said, "Where did you get this?"

"Dr. Pritchard." My mouth was suddenly dry when I tried to swallow. I could use a glass of water. But when I glanced at the fridge, it seemed so far away.

"Have you read it?"

I shook my head. "She said not to."

"Did you want to?"

My nod was hesitant.

"Do you want to now?"

I shook my head even slower. I was such a liar. After a deep breath, I said, "I'd better not. She said for you to decide."

"Hmm. Okay. Stay here."

I watched him disappear down the hall. With the note.

By now, I could hear my heartbeat thumping in my ears. I held no secrets from him. He knew what I had discussed with the psychiatrist. And she knew he was into the kinky sex just as much as I was. Still, I worried that maybe she thought I had made it all up. That something was wrong with me mentally. I mean, who really had the experiences I'd had?

When he had been gone ten minutes, I managed to pry myself from my seat and get that glass of water. But it did little to dispel my concerns. I paced the kitchen. I wrung my hands. More than once, I eyed my keys on the countertop and considered making a break for it. I couldn't be committed if no one could find me.

I had just decided to leave when I heard his footsteps on stairs to the second floor. He reappeared with a suitcase. My suitcase.

I'd been right. I cursed myself for not leaving when I'd had the chance. I'd sealed my own fate by going to that damned doctor. And now I had to lie in the grave I'd dug with my own two hands.

"Are you comfortable in those clothes?"

I nodded without really hearing his question. He said something else, but I must have given him a blank look because he sighed and repeated himself.

"Put your coat on. Please."

Although I slipped each arm into the proper sleeve and wrapped my scarf around my neck, it felt like someone else was doing the actions. I picked up my purse with numb fingers. My feet dragged as I followed him out to the garage.

Tears filled my eyes, and I turned my head to stare blurrily out the passenger window as he backed out of the driveway. I didn't want him to see me cry. I felt betrayed. I'd trusted that doctor. I'd trusted Malcolm. I still did. But I hadn't imagined he'd want to comply with the doctor's wishes and put me away. Now I knew the truth.

He squeezed my hand. I wanted to pull away but resisted. Deep down, I knew it was better not to fight. Not this time. Maybe I really needed this kind of help.

After several minutes, I rationalized that we weren't going to the local hospital. I noticed the signs for Interstate 88. Maybe they put the crazier ones in a bigger facility. In a bigger city.

I wanted to curl against the door. To press my forehead to the cold glass of the window. But I sucked up what resolve I had left and just gripped my hands in my lap.

Malcolm, too, was silent. He hadn't even turned on the stereo. It might have helped to distract my mind.

The loudest thought of all told me I'd made many mistakes over my life, but staying with him may have been the biggest one.

This wasn't something that had just happened to me. I had chosen this life. He was my Dominant partner. After the events of the past several months, I'd decided to relinquish as much control as possible to him. It was more of a test of my own will, or rather a desire to give up that will. To see if I could even do it. Especially, since he'd proposed. What if I couldn't cut it as a submissive wife?

I hadn't been too successful with my experiment since my brother left because I always second-guessed Malcolm or tried to take the upper hand, even though I knew he had my best interests at heart. Today had been my most significant step forward...and I was quickly regretting it. But I was intent on seeing it through. To live with the consequences of my actions.

Hot tears finally trickled down my cheeks until my scarf was damp against my chin. Suddenly, I wanted to rewind and still be that mysterious writer. To keep my secrets locked inside my head with the occasional one-night-stand that left me wanting for more but knowing I was safe with the brief satisfaction of release that hadn't come by my own hand or an adult toy.

When the car finally stopped inside a parking deck forty-five minutes later, I wiped the back of my hand across my eyes and sat up straighter. I tried not to fidget as I waited for Malcolm to come around and open the door for me as he usually did. I would miss his chivalry.

How long would they lock me up? Was there a minimum period, like a jail sentence? Who or what determined when I could leave? I'd convinced myself that I shouldn't implicate my fiancé, although he was just as guilty as I was in this. They'd never believe me. Not with an accredited doctor's recommendation. Or my lack of dissent.

I'd do whatever they wanted me to so I could go home. My real home in Chicago. I'd leave all of this behind me—including Malcolm if I had to, as hard as that thought was to swallow—and try to become normal again. But had I ever been normal?

As we walked from the parking deck, I realized we were at O'Hare airport. My heart sunk deeper into my stomach. Was he that ashamed of me that he had to fly me out of the state?

I stood beside him—my hands in my pockets and my eyes at my feet—separated by the lone suitcase that seemed more like a brick wall. We shuffled forward through the queue towards the ticket counter, not speaking. I hoped I didn't look like the unwilling traveler that I felt like inside.

When it was finally our turn, I showed my driver's license when requested. I only paid half attention as Malcolm put our passports on the counter. As he handed over the single piece of luggage to be tagged. But when I heard the ticket agent say we would have a short layover in New York to catch our connecting flight to Canada? I wanted to curl into a ball and cry like a baby.

"Good grief, why are you being so glum?" Malcolm said as we headed toward the security checkpoint.

"Who wouldn't when they were being sent out of the country to be committed?"

He stopped and grunted as someone bumped into him. He apologized to them and yanked on my arm to pull me off to the side of the hallway.

"What in the hell are you talking about?"

"You're sending me to some mental hospital in Canada because I'm crazy!" I tried not to glare at the people who seemed to glance at us as they hurried past.

"Becca! We're going to Canada for a bondage convention and art exhibit."

I had been speechless many times in my life, but never like this.

He checked his watch and glanced at the short line of travelers waiting to go through the scanners.

My eyes welled up again. When the words finally came out, my voice sounded like a boy hitting puberty. "Why didn't you just say so?"

"You said you didn't want to know what the note said!" He ran his hand over his face and then back through his hair.

"I was trying to be more submissive! Dr. Pritchard said she thought I needed this."

"And you immediately thought she wanted me to put you in an institution?"

I threw my hands in the air. "I don't know! She hasn't said more than ten words to me all week. I've let all the skeletons out of my closet. Then she gave me that note, and I guess—"

"You thought the worst."

I couldn't answer with the tears clogging my throat. Then I couldn't breathe because Malcolm had pulled me against his chest. I felt the rumble of his chuckle before I heard it. I pushed against him with my fists. Thankfully, he kept his arms around me, because I felt like I was going to collapse with a combination of relief and frustration.

"Oh, Becca."

"It's not funny."

"Honey, it kind of is." His hand rubbed the back of my head, and I felt his lips against my forehead.

I regained my composure, and we made it through security without issue. We found our gate with a few minutes to spare before they began the boarding call. As we took our seats, it occurred to me that Malcolm had thrown all of this together at the last minute. How hard had it been for him to keep our destination a secret? The reason?

The fight was uneventful. Once we landed in New York and found out we had an almost two-hour layover, we grabbed a bite to eat at a tavern in the airport's restaurant section. Nestled side-by-side at a corner table away from the rest of the patrons, we finally had a chance to talk privately.

I sighed as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I jumped to conclusions like that. It's not even a rational one. And it's not like me. I'm not sure why I've been so paranoid lately."

"I'm confident that Dr. Pritchard can help you understand that." He kissed my lips when I tilted my head back. "In the meantime, apology accepted."

I smiled and linked my fingers through his, leaning into his one-armed embrace. This was nice. A little quiet time together. It wasn't every day you went to Canada on a whim. I was going to ask him about our return to the states when he spoke.

"I don't what kind of man you think I am, but I would never have you committed. Especially against your will," he whispered against my hair.

I bit my lower lip. He was right. Why had I'd assumed the worst from him? Was this something I'd learned from my captivity with Brian? Would I be able to get over it? I made a mental note to talk to Dr. Pritchard about it.

Malcolm lifted my chin. "You do understand that, don't you?"