Sub by Boxes Pt. 05

That night he felt overly warm. Strange dreams came to him and at times he didn't know if he was asleep or awake. In the darkness, he thought he saw the boxes beside his bed glow. Wakeful, he sensed a hand on his brow, a body beside his. Female. Serpentine. For a while there was nothing and he managed to sleep a few hours. Then piercing the fog of morning an explosion breached his peace. His hand shot up, covering the pain. There was a blaze growing hotter by the minute, his ear lobe a brand new branded sun.

Holy fuck! He cried, scrambling to turn on the bedside light. He held up his phone and examined his ear. There was nothing there, only a tiny reddened pinhole.

Maybe it was a spider bite?

He drank water, sat back against his lumpy pillows and tried to calm.

He stroked the duvet. He was being stupid. Dreams were just dreams. He needed rest. Of course he was going to be uptight after the office drama and Sheba controlling him so heavily when they had never even met. He read for a little while and tried to settle once more.

'Sub, are you there?' said the text at twelve fourteen the next day.

Fin groaned and wiped his sweat drenched brow onto the sheets..

He hadn't the strength to check his phone, much less reply.

'Fin, answer me. What's going on?'

Mistress Sheba still received no response and Finlay's fever intensified.

'Go and fetch water Drax! NOW!' yelled a voice, two hours later.

Finlay moaned as arms shifted him gently to sitting position and a milky white hand pressed a glass of water to his mouth to drink.

'Explain this to me,' an angry voice said. 'Explain how my Sub is sick as a dog after being under your needle!'

'I don't know Sheba! I really don't. You've sent many to me. Fuck, I've done work on you even. Either way, we can sort this I'm sure. It's not a big tattoo. I have antibiotic shots with me. If you're ok with it, we can prick him and then see how he goes.'

She sat on the edge of Fin's bed in a jet black dress with a fanned leather collar looking down at him; so unwell, all because of her.

'Do it. I shall stay. If he gets any worse, I'll seek medical help.'

The ultra alpha male Drax reached out his hand to comfort her but her eyes blazed like a wildfire fortified with fifty gallons of petrol.

'You care about him don't you?' he said instead.

'Go and do as you're fucking told,' she said, hard as an antarctic iceberg.

He nodded and retrieved his rucksack and found the two shots of black market penicillin.

Fin woke up alone a day later.

His phone was chock full of messages. He had no inclination to open them. He contacted no one. Replied to no one. For the first few hours he just sat looking at his tattoo, convinced it had very nearly killed him.

Why would Sheba do that? Get him to do something so risky, so permanent. And why had he agreed? Something had changed inside him. Barriers had gone up. Walls. He was not willing to die based on someone else's whims.

His leg hurt badly when he walked to the shop to collect milk and bread. Had the words done it?

'Sheba's Bitch?'

Had they poisoned him somehow? He had Drax's number to call if there were any issues. But he didn't want to. As he walked back to his apartment he tossed the business card from Inkredible into the bin.

He ate a few bites of toast and drank sips of tea, then crawled back into bed.

His phone rang five hours later. It was Sheba.

He looked at his handset blinking and vibrating.

Nope. He wanted to be left alone.

He dismissed it.

Days later he began to regret not answering his phone. She had gone dark. No messages. No parcels. No calls.

He tried messaging and calling. She just wasn't there.

He Googled her and drew a blank. Searched the sex site he'd met her on for further posts; she had deactivated her account. He called Inkredible and asked for Drax but was told he was unavailable.

I marked my body for her! Where the fuck is she? God, you're a fucking dick Fin.

Friday evening he crawled into a bottle of vodka and sat contemplating his actions. Three shots in his phone rang.

It was his friend Bethany. Not Sheba.

'Hey Fin!'

'Hi doll.'

'Whatcha up to tonight? Wanna come play with me and the girls at Jinx?'

'Err...My week hasn't been great Beth.'

'All the more reason to let your hair down. Come on! It'll be fun. And you know I'll look after you.'

He smiled. He knew she would. They'd known each other since second grade.

'I'm just not feeling it tonight,' he said.

He could almost visualise her pouting.

'Well can I do anything to help?'

'Wanna talk? I can ditch these cats and come over.'

He laughed, knowing she partially meant it.

'No Missus. I'll be fine. You enjoy your night and I'll be in touch next week. I want to hear all the goss,'

She laughed in a way that indicated she may have already had a few wine coolers.

'You sure you're ok?'

'I'll be fine. Nothing an early night won't fix.'

'Then you just do that. If you need anything at all, just ask, ok? I'm only a text away.'

'I will Bethy. Thank you.'

'Speak soon.'

The irony of it was he knew what would fix him; badness. Not clubbing badness at Jinx with a crowd of bimbos, but blowing his load badness. With a very badass woman.

He sighed and gazed at the ceiling and consumed yet another vodka in one gallant frustrated gulp.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door.

Jeez Beth, I said no!

He ambled over to open the door, annoyed that his privacy had been invaded.

'Evening Finlay.'

A statuesque woman stood there. Head to toe bronze silk, black lace and leather.

His jutting chin pierced the moment.

'Can I help you?'

'No. I'm here to help you.'

His tiredness, fretfulness and poorly constructed defences fell away and the realisation of who she actually was dropped like a hangman's victim into the noose.

Sheba.

It was Sheba.

And she was here.

Now.

For him.