Switch (A BDSM Romance Novel) (16 page)

The
camera being an ever-present fixture of Viola’s, Jenna had not noticed or, she supposed, remembered that Viola had been taking photos that night when Jasmine had come round and everything had gone to pot. It was no mundane, so non-erotic, and so
real
that it made her ache. Her face crumpled but no tears or sobs were induced. It was a gloriously happy moment, captured forever in a large, glossy print that could fill a room and a heart in the blink of an eye. A blonde beauty was held in the soft, warm, capable embrace of a taller, dark haired man, a lookalike of some old, romantic painting, his features perfect and his burning gaze only for the woman in his arms who smiled openly up at him, leaning back with the absolute certainty that he would not let her go or let her fall.

The colours had been enhanced somehow to an absolute vibrancy that Jenna adored, the kind of beauty that would look every inch acceptable in some tastefully decorated living room, but Jenna could also picture in her kitchen, the very place where it had been taken. Not
her
sitting room, certainly; it would definitely not do it justice to be hung amongst her childishly garish furniture.

All of a sudden Jenna felt a hatred for the bright green, bright orange, the tastelessness. It was disgusting, nauseating to think of the things that had been done in such a naïve room. She wanted to be the painting, tasteful, beautiful, happy and elegant. Sophisticated and ordered.
The image was pure perfection, stunning. It was love and life and hope, and a small tangible piece of what Jenna wanted most; Henry’s respect, trust and adoration. That moment now was untouchable, would not fade, would not die.

She wanted it.

Regardless of the cost, she realised, she wanted to have it. And so, she dragged her head away, tilting her chin to search for the price tag, for sale sign or reference number, only to find none of them. Perplexed, her brow furrowed and Jenna spun wildly, wearing a lost look as she searched through the crowds for Viola.

Looking back again, she found it, but it wasn’t what she had hoped for.

A number, any number would have been welcome, and instead she found a small card beside it reading the word ‘sold’. Into a pit of despair, Jenna immediately fell. Wandering witlessly, she found herself in front of the desk that Viola had sent Suzannah to, the one that held the names and addresses of anyone who made a purchase. She stopped a few feet away, edging the remaining distance millimetres at a time as if it would stop the woman manning it from noticing her presence. A large black book lay open, a clipboard placed parallel beside it, and a pen parallel to that in a meticulous manner that made Jenna think that no one had touched it since Suzannah had been there.

So the mysterious buyer must have arrived before that, when Jenna did, when there were only a few stragglers entering the building.
And yet instinctively, she knew that they hadn’t. None of the people then would have bothered really looking at any of the pictures, let alone buying such a mundane, personal one that could only ever be appreciated to its full extent by the models who occupied the image; or perhaps their friends.

She moved closer still, hardly daring to
breathe as the neat, spidery writing drew nearer. It swam before her, a distinct mess that she could not decipher. She was near enough to separate each individual word, but not yet close enough to read them. It was maddening, her pulse hammering and her eyes wide and startled, her ears clogged with thick fear and the smell of panic permeating from her.

Nearer and nearer she went,
focused wholly on her goal and its gaoler. Sly, graceful and predatory, she slunk, no world outside of the mission. Everything else faded away, words dimming to a dull buzz and her peripheral vision clouding before becoming black, as if she were a horse wearing blinkers. Focused, driven, single-minded.

And also rather easily startled.

Jenna jumped with a whoosh of breath releasing in a small yelp, the liquid in her hand sploshing against its glass. A cold hand was settled on her shoulder, a familiar voice calling her name.

“What are you doing over here then?” Viola
gushed, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Are you looking for me?”

“I’ve been looking for you all evening.” Jenna replied, her voice sounding sharp and weary despite her attempt to inject humour and nonchalance, a seeming impossibility. “No, now I’ve just been trying to get a look at your customer list. Do you know who’s bought the picture of me and… um, of me in the kitchen?”

Her lips thinned and Viola nibbled them, frowning. “Yes, and they really adore it, so they won’t change their mind. Did you want a copy?”

“Yes.” Jenna replied hollowly. “But I still want to know who bought it. I want
that
one.”

“Why?”

“I hadn’t realised before, but it seems kind of creepy for someone to have that picture.”

“
Why?” Viola asked curiously. “It’s less sexual than the others.”

“
It is more
intimate
.” Jenna hissed, exasperated. “More
personal
, so I would like to know who bought it.”

Viola nodded thoughtfully. “I guess so.
It’s a good thing that the person who bought it has sentimental value for it then.”

Frantically, Jenna snapped her reiteration.
“Who bought it?”

Viola paused a miniscule moment, her voice as soft as silk as she let out her reply, a sad, sympathetic smile touching her lips. “Henry.”

Jenna was beyond nervous as she slid the key into the lock. She had had no clarity of thought when she had made her plans, when she had come here to this large building, when she had found the correct flat. Only now, hearing the door click open, did it hit her.

She didn’t even knock first, or try the handle. What if the door had been unlocked, and
he
had been home? What then?

She felt like a scared child as she entered the unfamiliar home, peering anxiously around the bland, plain, masculine décor, the neat space with a distinct lack of personal touches. As promised, she rounded the corner to enter a room with an arch rather than a door, and as promised she saw the picture.

A sofa, an arm chair and a television were placed in the room, seemingly haphazardly as they appeared to be too small for it. The open space was alarming, and the only other items were a cat-castle, not unlike the one that she had bought for her own pets, and a small, well, tiny, table to the left of the brown leather single seat. On that table lay a photo frame, a tiny picture in it of them both at Christmas, the only thing there that told her the flat was Henry’s.

As she had offered, Jenna entered the spotless kitchen area and opened the second cupboard along, pulling the wet cat food from the top shelf and ignoring the dry. She opened it quickly, efficiently placed it all into the plastic bowl and placed the packet in the bin, located in the low cupboard by her legs. She washed the small amount that had spilled over her hands off, and wandered into his bedroom.

Like the lounge and kitchen, it was almost bare, rather uncluttered and sophisticated, and suited both the man and the picture down to the ground. A lamp, not unlike her own, sat on a table by Henry’s side of the bed, and beside it was Henry’s diary.

She stripped, folding her clothes and setting them aside before kneeling on his hard, cold floor, her posture perfect and her hands clasped behind her back, just as Henry liked.

She settled in for a long wait.

***

The sky was beginning to darken when Jenna heard life again. For hours she had heard nothing, only the vague hum of the fridge, the water running in the flat next door and the tinkling bell of Henry’s cat jumping through the open window and padding over the bare floor to his food.

She heard him leave again, enter once more, and then silence.

She had no concept of time here, and nor should she. She schooled herself into her quiet contemplation, reminding herself at the beginning of her stint that she had only to wait here, like this, and Henry would see her. If she were like that, so wonderfully submissive, Henry might be pleased. The longer he took the better; the longer she would have to prove, even if he was not able to see it, that she was worthy of Henry’s love, and that Henry owned her submission.

She was prepared to think of him obey him, and wait patiently for him to tell her what to do. If he would accept her or send her away.

The time in the quiet sharpened her senses, her ears in particular as they picked up on anything and everything; even the lawnmower outside invaded her quiet space before becoming a hum. She heard the steps of people who passed, but now it was an unexpected, bleary relief to hear the key in the lock, the steps entering the flat.

It was not so welcome to hear the giggles, the moans, and more than one pair of feet, but after so long in one attitude, Jenna blinked owlishly, lifting her gaze from
that one spot on the floor where they had been situated. She had not expected or anticipated this, and now she was in no state to deal with it. She was empty, calm emotionless. A pet, a doll, an object who was so fully accepted events that she could not yet understand. She was ready to be filled,  specialised to the needs that Henry had for her. She needed him to train her, better her, and give her purpose.

At the female laugh and familiar growls, she was far too ready to break, too stupid to move, so fragile.

Completely still, she remained, her eyes returning to their glare on the floor. The door half opened, the pair stumbled through it, heard but not seen by Jenna. Focused on each other, neither of them noticed the statue by the bed. They tumbled onto the bed, the wet sounds of their kissing and the rustle of fabric affecting Jenna in a detached, unrecognisable way. She did not feel heated, aroused, wanton or demanding, but she knew somehow that if she stroked herself, she would be wet.

It hit her suddenly, the gasp of awareness after the removal of sound and movement for hours on end. It was unexpected and alarming, the reality that she
could
move her limbs, she could now hear the people beside her, Henry was not alone, he was with a woman...

A yelp escaped her throat, drawing the notice of her companions,
grunts of surprise flowing from their panting lips as they rolled to face her, the strange, odd creature that knelt in profile to them, that was pale as paper and cold as ice. The bizarre doll that slowly, so heavily pulled itself to its feet; with no need to place its hands on the floor to do so. Hissing an attempt to lick its wounds, the venomous snake slithered away, teeth bared and scales slick with fright. Hearing slipped away once more, blinkers reattached, Jenna said nothing, heard nothing, paid no attention to Henry and his lover.

She simply left.
  

“Jenna!” The banging on the front door continued, a relentless a yet rather rhythmic pounding that made it easier for her to ignore.
The pain of Henry leaving had been nothing in comparison to this, this knowledge that everything she could offer him, he had found already. People interact with people, was always the simplest thing that she knew. There was nothing that one human could do for another that could not be rivalled by millions of others on the planet. The trick, once you had found someone, was to never let them go.

To make life easier for them, not to argue, to sweep your own fears and insecurities under the rug; they had their own, why would they want yours too? To enter an agreement, a promise that would protect her the way that others hadn’t. If you give too much, there will always be people who don’t want to give anything back, only take more and rip away the things that matter.

Without her submission, she had nothing to offer him, no security that her relationships would not crumble at the slightest jostle or turn to ice with the first cold word. Instead, the give and take was mutual, and a matching of trust; that which she had broken in her endeavour to deserve his love. She had forgotten its importance, in her desire to be wanted.

She hadn’t realised the lengths that Craig went to in order for Daniel to stay with him, to choose him above all others.

She still didn’t know that while she’d been bitching about Andrew and the ridiculous behaviour of the man who had wanted her, Suzannah had been in a department store, a large building full of fashionable clothing and make-up counters, her face bare and longing as she stared at a mannequin, envisioning it with her hair, her glasses and her eyes.

She knew know that she was shutting that person out, that person who could be bothered to see her, and whose voice she dimly remembered as her sister’s. Who, regardless of their arguments, and how bad they could be, always came back when she needed her.

And who she was currently treating like dirt, refusing to acknowledge her presence.

Weak and tired, Jenna hauled herself out of her bed
, refusing to look at the living room door as she clutched at the walls for support, dragging herself to answer the call. She was moving too slowly, what if Jasmine went away? Panicked, Jenna tried to speed up, only hindering herself further as her breaths came fast and heavy.

“Jasmine?” She called out weakly, her voice cracking from pain, her dry throat and days of not speaking a word.

“Oh, thank God!” Jasmine yelled loudly. “Are you alright, sweetie?”

“Yeah… Just give me a second.”

It was difficult to draw
the bolt against the door with her hands shaking, but Jenna did it, grunting weakly with the exertion. The light found its way in as her door opened, and Jenna flinched away.

It was blinding. It made her ache.
She swayed hazily, held up by strong, comforting arms that held her close, a familiar body. The comfort drew her into her bedroom, asking no questions at the dry sobs and excessive headshaking when faced with the living room door. Jasmine helped her into bed like a child and tucked the duvet around her, sitting on the edge and cradling her, gently stroking her lank, greasy hair and wiping away her tears until they ceased to fall. She made soft, crooning, wordless murmurs, and when her elder sister finally settled, she retrieved a damp face cloth from the bathroom and wiped Jenna’s face, putting it back in the sink and brining her a glass of water, some of which tipped down Jenna’s chin, before speaking.

“What happened?” She asked, her voice soft and
to the point. “Suzannah rang me when you didn’t show up for work; she said that you weren’t taking her calls. She also spoke to Viola, and both of them came round here, but you didn’t answer.”

“Really?” Listless, she sounded as though she did not care. No emotion was infused, and while her face remained blank, internally she cringed at her own coldness.
“I didn’t notice.”

“Well, what happened?”

“I decided not to go in.” Jenna replied vaguely.

“Why not?”

Although soft, Jasmine’s voice was beginning to become exasperated, and it was this that opened the torrent of Jenna’s emotions.

“Because Henry doesn’t want me!”
She screeched out, dissolving once more into a mass of tears and sorrow and that hauntingly empty feeling inside of her that felt like she was being torn from the inside out. It hurt, ached, and was so much
worse
than she had ever felt before. The admission of that small truth to her was agonising, disgusting. It made her want to be hurt.

“He left you?”

Jenna nodded numbly, gulping air and sniffing unattractively before shaking her head. “He left
weeks
ago, and then I went round to his flat and he brought a woman there, and-“

“He brought a woman to his flat when he knew that you were coming round?” Jasmine asked, making it clear that she found such a thing momentously distasteful.

“No, he, he didn’t know I was going to be there.”

“Then why were you there? Doesn’t he lock his door?”

Taking a couple of deep, slow, calming breaths, Jenna forced herself to show some restraint, to stop the dribbling of her nose and the leaking of her eyes.

“He wouldn’t talk to me and no one would tell me where he was staying, and then he bought one of Viola’s pictures,
one of us, so I figured that they must know where he stayed. And when I asked, they told me that they had his address, but also a key, ‘cause one or the other of them goes in at lunch to feed his cat. He didn’t have a cat before, but now he has a cat.

Anyway, I went round there to wait for him in his bedroom, and when he came back he was with this woman and they were kissing and… it was awful.” Her voice a whisper, Jenna appeared to be haunted.
Pale, gaunt with smudges of colour for eyes a lips, Jenna could be a ghost herself. A Havisham-like character, trapped in the moment at which her life had stopped. An old beauty that had become withered, poisoned and somewhat insane.

“He cheated on you?” Jasmine asked, non-comprehensively.

“No, weren’t you listening?!” Jenna  yelled, her voice hoarse and painful so that it sounded grating. “He broke up with me before, and when I went to iron things out, he was fucking with someone else!”

A pause, a heaving of breath, a stone cold silence of words.
A tension, so thick it couldn’t be cut with a knife.

Finally, Jasmine ventured forwards once more, timid where she would otherwise be brash and thoughtless. “What was the picture of?” She asked. “The one that he bought?”

“It was of us.” Jenna said brokenly. “It was of us, dancing happily around the kitchen the day of our Christmas party.”
The day you almost ruined everything. The day that may have contributed to it anyway.
“He’s got it hung in his living room now. I saw it when I went over.”

“Then you must still mean something to him.” Jasmine quietly assured her. “Otherwise he wouldn’t want it, let alone have it hung up.”

“He was with someone else.”

“You’d broken up.”

“He’d left me. He felt like he couldn’t trust me.”

“What, not to cheat on him?”

Perplexed, Jasmine frowned, but none of her loudness had returned, and Jenna found her presence bearable.

“No, just… in general.”

“Did you talk about it with him, before going round and, you know.”

“No.”

“Did you have a chance to?”

A heavy shiver of an empty, silent sob left her, and Jenna’s head bowed in defeat. “Yes, but I thought I’d be
clever
. I thought that I could show him, that he’s believe me more than if I simply said.”

“Perhaps you should have told him, too. No matter how simple, he’d probably have liked them to be said.”

Bitterly, Jenna snapped. “You don’t even know what I needed to say.”

“I know that it should have contained the words ‘I love you’.
Actions can be quite unclear. The same act can be used to love, use or make light of. A kiss can be given, or stolen and words that leave your mouth can be a truth or a lie. But if you are fighting, sex is not the answer.”

Dumbfounded, Jenna stared at her. “How did you know that that is what I did?”

Jasmine smiled sadly. “When you show someone you love them, you make love.”

And Jenna hadn’t even done that. She’d ordered him, made demands of him, and had expectations that were unrealistic and undeserved. She’d controlled him, played with him and fucked him; but what did that have to do with love? Andrew had wanted to fuck her. Henry had wanted to fuck that woman.

Henry, who’d bought Viola’s photograph of them together. Henry, the same Henry who had kicked her cats off of the bed so many times that they stopped trying, had bought a cat of his own.

Who’d now also had her invade
his privacy, ruin whatever he was trying to prove with that girl, whose face, body and even hair colour Jenna could no longer remember. Slightly eased, but cut afresh, Jenna eased quickly into sleep, the deep, dreamless, slightly odd sleep of someone who had not slept soundly in far too long.

***

When she blearily awoke, Jasmine was beside her, an almost manically large grin on her face as she bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, leaning over to be at eye level with her sleepy, laid down sister.

“Great, you’re awake! It’s been bugging me for, like, hours!” Jasmine laughed happily and bounded out of the room. “One sec!”

She returned a few moments later, a chipped blue mug full of steaming tea held in her hand and a very pleased expression on her face. “I made you tea!”

“And that’s been bugging you for hours?” Jenna raised an eyebrow and peered at the cup, her voice still dull however her normal speech returned.
“’Cause it looks like that has just been made to me.”

Jasmine huffed. “That’s not it. What is wrong with your living room? When I tried to take you in there, you completely flipped out.
You had some kind of panic attack or something.”

“I just don’t like it anymore.”

“Finally realised that your furniture it ghastly?”

Jenna nodded. “I want to get rid of it all.”

She raised the mug to her lips, slowly allowing a small trickle of the boiling hot liquid to enter, almost burning her tongue as it warmed her from the inside out. She felt thawed and relaxed; not a single tremor entered her voice. “I’ve been thinking that I might give it to Aaron, donate it to his more ‘homely’ café. What do you think?”

“I think… why on Earth would he want your furniture? No offense, sis, but it really is hideous.”

“But very comfy.” Jenna pointed out. “And a little too bright, but Aaron said that he didn’t want it all to be uniform and matching.”

Jasmine shrugged. “Fair enough. If he wants it, then I think that we should get rid of it before you change your mind.
Aaron’s café, right?”

Jenna nodded.

“If you want, I can go round there and ask if he wants it. Do they do warm food?”

Another nod.

“I’ll get something for us to eat as well then, since you probably have nothing edible.” She kissed her on the cheek. “Back soon.”

Jenna did very little while she waited, despite feeling more lively than usual.
After so long being idle, it was as if her mobility had returned to her and it needed to be used. She cleaned the kitchen, her radio on as she scrubbed at the surfaces, unable to do more than nod along. No humming or singing could be heard from her, and she felt as though to dance would be suicidal.

But she nodded her head, she cleaned, and she behaved in a normal, sane manner; she acted as a normal person would.

It was a start, dictated by hope; the hope of her sister, knocking on her door and reminding her that there were others in the world, others just as important as a Master, that loved as much as a lover albeit differently. Those who could give more for longer with far less in return.

The entire kitchen had been scrubbed by the time that Jasmine returned, the light
shining through the open windows with an almost eerie glow that lit the plates dripping on the draining board. The mouldy fruit had been removed, leaving only the few passably red apples remaining in the bowl. A vase stood beside it, ready to be filled just as soon as Jenna could bring herself to go outside. The old lady next door grew flowers; roses, freesias, daffodils and anything else that small, grey Mrs Benn could get her hands on. Her joy was gardening, a painstakingly slow effort of her arthritic limbs pottering around the garden, a happy smile on her face. She told whoever would listen that flowers were pleasure, and meant to be enjoyed; a treat for the eyes, she said. She routinely made sure that all of the building’s inhabitants knew they could pick the beautiful things.

Jenna only really went out there to
make sure that her cats were doing their business in someone else’s garden. There was little more shocking that the thought of dear old Mrs Benn bending to kill some weeds, only to find them rather grotesquely taken care of.