The Administration Series (112 page)

"I'm going to make some tea." Maybe if he left her alone for a while, she'd be able to get some equilibrium back.

He'd poured the water into the pot and was wondering whether to set things out here or go through to the living room, when Dillian appeared in the doorway.

"If you won't listen to me, I'm going to tell Mother," she said. "Maybe she can talk some sense into — "

It was a shame about the teapot. It had been a wedding present, but he'd always liked it and any connection with Lissa was long gone. It smashed impressively at his feet, and the fountain of tea and subsequent cloud of steam only added to the effect.

He pulled off his trousers and socks before the heat could do anything worse than redden his shins. Dilly stood on the other edge of the steaming pool, their differences temporarily forgotten.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. Are you all right? That was so stupid of me. I didn't think, I didn't — " She stopped, staring at his feet.

It took him a moment to register the bruises on his ankles. He hadn't even noticed them before. Before she could say anything beyond the apologies, he left the room.

He took his time changing, and by the time he got back Dillian had cleared up the broken china and mopped up the tea. The water was boiling again. In the bedroom he'd tried to think of something, some clever argument, but he couldn't. He sat down at the table, and spoke before she could.

"Please don't tell her, Dilly. It's got nothing to do with her, it will only upset her, and threatening to tell her won't stop me doing it, if that's what you were hoping."

"I didn't — " She took out another pot and measured out the tea before turning round to face him. "All right, yes, I was. I won't really tell her."

He daren't let her see the extent of his relief. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry about the teapot. Are you sure you're not scalded?"

"Quite sure. No damage done. Do you feel better now?"

She frowned. "No. I'm still worried to death about you, you've still got bruises all over and a wardrobe full of chains, and you're still sleeping with a psychopath. So, no, I'd say not."

He had to admit that, as a rather melodramatic summary of the situation, it wasn't bad. "That's not . . . I can only say that you don't understand, and I appreciate that hearing that probably doesn't help."

"Then explain it to me."

"I can't," he said, without even letting himself consider whether it might be possible.

"You mean you won't."

In that, she was probably right. He tried a different approach. "You don't want to hear about it."

"No, maybe not. But I need to understand." Her voice sharpened. "I'm not a child. I'm not going to faint with horror if you tell me that he hurts you. I know he does. What I want to know is why it's all right."

"Very well. Sit down and I'll try." As he said it, he had the feeling that it could only make things worse. He couldn't let her leave like this, though. "Would you like some lemon cake? It'll be cool now."

After a couple of seconds she nodded. When he brought the slice over she licked her finger and dabbed up a few crumbs. "Lovely." Then she waited.

He sat down, poured the tea and pushed her cup across. "The most important thing is that it's not about Toreth. It's me. I want it. I need it. I think I always have. I used to do it with Lissa. Oh, not like this. Just scarves, that kind of thing. She only did it to humour me. I could always tell when she wanted something because she'd offer to blindfold me."

She made a face, the one specially reserved for mentions of the woman he wasn't supposed to know she referred to as the Bitch Queen. "I bet she did."

"I wondered — or at least I wonder now — if that was one of the reasons it didn't last."

Dillian snorted. "It didn't last because she didn't deserve you. Oh, and you can stop looking at me like that, because it's absolutely true. She didn't, and he doesn't either."

He'd thought that she wouldn't be able to resist the follow on. The simplest way to deal with it seemed to be to ignore it. "Nothing's changed at all except that now I know what I need and I've met someone who's compatible."

"You're just putting up with him because he likes to hurt you?"

Now she was willfully misunderstanding him. "Dilly, if you aren't going to listen, what the hell is the point of my saying anything?"

To his surprise, she subsided. "You're right. I'm sorry. Go on."

He found he'd lost track of what he'd meant to say. "What do you want to know?"

"I don't know. You keep saying you need it — what's 'it'? Tell me . . . tell me what it's like."

"Like?" He looked down at the table. "I'm not sure if I can, to be honest. I can tell you what we
do
easily enough, but I'm afraid it wouldn't be very reassuring. Or it would sound ridiculous. God knows, it must look strange enough. You know some of it, although the cabinet was new, yesterday. Toreth bought it for me, as a present."

He risked an upward glance. She sat, picking at the cake, watching him assessingly.

"But what it's like . . . " He hesitated, searching for an approach to the question. "One thing about it is that I don't particularly enjoy pain. Not from cold." He took hold of his wrist, pressed his thumb against the bruise, and winced, because even though it was supposed to be a demonstration of exactly that, the pain was surprisingly unpleasant.

"That hurts. Just hurts, nothing else. But after half an hour, an hour, I'd barely even feel that. He's incredibly good at that part of it. Building it up so I can take more, and then more again, until I
want
him to do things that the rest of the time would be . . . unbearable."

"You're right," she said after a moment. "That isn't very reassuring."

He shook his head. "That's not what it's really about. The essence of it is . . . is losing myself, my
self
, and belonging to him completely. Being taken, and not just physically. Everything else is what I need to get me there."

She opened her mouth to say something, so he went on quickly. If he stopped now, he might never be able to do this again.

"When he hurts me — eventually, when it goes far enough — there's a point when I finally lose control." He looked down at his cup, talking to it, not to her. "Or rather, I give it up, although that may be a distinction without a difference by then. It's more profound, more fundamental, than simply permitting him to tie me up in the first place. Often I don't even remember afterwards what I did, what I said. Just how it
felt
."

He could feel himself getting caught up in it, right in front of her. Half of him wanted to stop right now, because she would be horrified. Half of him hoped that if she could
see
it, she might somehow understand.

"I expect there's a lot of complex brain biochemistry involved. It feels . . . I can't explain it, not in a way that does it justice. It's not that the pain isn't there any more, but it changes, although I can't say how. It goes on, and on, and it keeps getting better, more intense. When I'm chained, when I can't do anything, can't move, can't . . . I've cried, I mean really cried — tears — begging him to finish it, to let me come, and I've still loved every second of it. And then . . . then, when he does it, when he . . . finally . . . fucks me, or when he — "

"Keir," she said sharply.

He had, for a moment, forgotten that she was there. He looked up, startled, then smiled apologetically. "Sorry. Mm. Yes. Right. Well, you did ask."

Her cheeks were pink, but all she said was, "I did ask."

"And?"

"And you're right about that, too — I don't understand."

No more than he'd expected. "I can't imagine being able to explain it well enough that you could. But did it help at all?"

She thought about it for a long time, finishing the last bits of the slice of cake. "Well . . . I'm willing to believe that you really enjoy it. And, I suppose, to believe that he doesn't make you do it."

"That's an improvement, then."

"But I can't . . . Keir, he still
does
it. He hurts you. He
wants
to hurt you. He's dangerous."

That he indisputably was. "It's not so much that he wants to hurt me. He does it because . . . no, it's not right to say that he only does it because I want it, either. It's not that simple."

"So what is it, then?"

He looked at her, still worried for him, still uncertain, and made a decision. "If I tell you this, you must promise not to repeat it to anyone. Everything else is about me, but this is about Toreth and I have no right to tell you things like this about him."

She hesitated, then said, "All right. I promise."

"Toreth is . . . he finds it almost impossible to trust people. I can't explain how much the idea of risking caring, of dependency, frightens him." Angers him, he almost added, but a little self-censorship, in the interests of reassurance, couldn't be wrong. "But he trusts me, partly because of what we do. I'm not saying that he doesn't enjoy it for its own sake. I assume he does. But it's also because of what he can do to me. What he can make me do. Making me prove to him, over and over again, how much I need it. And then he can allow himself to reciprocate, just a little. To . . . well, do you remember Carnac? The socioanalyst?"

She nodded, looking surprised.

"He was at I&I at the beginning of the year — the hows and whys don't matter. He told me that Toreth loves me. I don't know if it's true. I don't know if he's even capable of it, in the way that a — that someone else might be. But I need him, and he lets himself need me in return. Does that make any sense at all?"

She didn't answer.

"Dilly, I know he's dangerous, and — " he took a deep breath, " — to be honest, I want that. But I'm as safe with him as anyone could be. He's never hurt me, not outside the game. Never, in three years. If he did — if he did it even once — then I would leave him."

"Truly?"

He didn't know which part she meant, but the answer was the same. "I promise."

"Do you think he'd let you go?"

That was something he'd occasionally considered before. Not often, because Toreth tended to give the impression that he was perpetually on the verge of walking — or running — away himself. It was a real question, though, and one he couldn't answer.

In place of an answer, he said, "You said once that the important thing was that I was happy. Do you still believe that?"

There was a long silence, before she sighed. "Yes, of course. But it's not a fair question. I have to say yes, don't I?"

"No, not if something else is more important to you, especially if it's a good reason. Not, for example, if you still think I'm in real danger from him."

She shook her head, nearly smiling. "You're so . . . so
reasonable
sometimes. It's absolutely the most annoying thing about you."

"I'll take that to mean that you don't." He gave her a space to argue, but although she frowned, she didn't say anything. Maybe she'd simply decided it was a lost cause. He hoped not.

"To get back to the point: I
am
happy." And that surprised him a little, as it always did. "Very happy, in fact. I'm not pretending that Toreth doesn't have an extensive collection of faults, or that he isn't difficult to be with sometimes, or that what I have with him is anything like an average relationship. But it is what I want."

She sat, staring down at the table, biting her lip, then looked up. "Should I ask again?"

It took him a moment to understand her. Then he said, "I still think it would be an incredibly stupid thing to do."

"As stupid as letting someone hang you up by your wrists until they're black and blue?"

"Almost exactly that stupid, yes."

"Oh dear." She sighed again. "And that's it, I suppose, isn't it? Keir, I'm sorry about what I said, when we were in the bedroom. I'm — "

"No, don't apologise." For whatever it had been. He could feel things beginning, slowly, to return to normal, although they could never be quite the same. Whether the change was for better or worse he'd have to wait and see. "It was my fault for showing you the damn thing in the first place. I should just have explained."

"I don't think it would have mattered much. I'd have freaked out either way. Maybe this was better. At least we talked."

"At least that, yes." He reached out and laid his hand on hers. "And you were right about some things, too. It used to be SimTech that ate up all my time, and now it's SimTech and Toreth, and I haven't been paying as much attention as I should to other things which are just as important."

"Keir, I didn't mean — "

"No." He tightened his grip as she started to pull away. "I'm glad you said it. And we'll do more things together, I promise. Not just shopping — real time alone, to talk."

"That would be nice." She closed her other hand over his, fingertips gently stroking the bruises. "I hate feeling like you're disappearing."

"I'm not, I promise."

"Good." She sat in silence for a while, then shook her head, dismissing a thought unvoiced. "Can I have some more cake?"

"Wouldn't you like me to ice it first?" He smiled, and pulled his hand back gently. "You can have first lick of the bowl."

"I should've gone to the canteen earlier," Sara said as she dumped her burden on the coffee-room table and sat down beside him. "All they had left were the really cheap baps, so that's what we've got. The donut's for me, the crisps are yours if you want them."

"Yeah. And I'll have the corned beef," Toreth said. Not too bad if you ate it quickly and didn't concentrate on the flavour. "And the cheese and onion."

"Tough." Sara took possession of the disputed sandwich. "Cheese and onion's mine. You got first pick. That one's cheese and beetroot, have that."

Toreth hated beetroot, as she well knew. "I thought you had a date tonight?" He breathed on his palm and sniffed it suggestively.