The Parlour (VDB #1) (42 page)

All the rope suddenly goes slack and I tumble down to the floor within it, bracing my hands out in the hope of not hitting anything. My hip hits at exactly the same point as it did before, sending shockwaves of pain crashing across me. The floor is so cold as I scrabble around on it, trying to lift my skin away, almost ice laden somehow. Eventually, with the pain still excruciating and the cold still numbing everything, I just stop and listen to the silence again, waiting for whatever is to come next.

“Tomorrow night at 8pm,” he says firmly, now completely devoid of that warmth he had a few moments ago. I swing my head in his direction in shock. Does that mean this is over? And does he seriously think we’re doing this again? I can barely move, let alone put myself through this sort of torture again. I’m not even sure I want to do it again. I’ve learnt nothing about anything, apart from maybe my own fears. My hand comes to my mouth and rips the tape away, tearing half my skin with it.

“What the hell does that mean?” I shout, starting to rip away the tape over my eyes, too. Light blinds me as I squint and struggle to get my line of sight back. The room’s blurred and foggy as I search for his frame. I eventually find it. He’s leaning against the stone wall by the door, one leg crossed over the other with his arms folded. There’s not a wrinkle or crumple in sight as I hover on the stone floor, naked, cold and completely humiliated while he looks at my exposed body.

“More training, Lilah. You did tell me you wanted it, didn’t you?” he says, smirking slightly and gazing at me. “If you can’t manage it, we could always stop. I’ll find him someone else instead. It won’t be hard to get a replacement.”

“Fuck you,” I say softly, as I watch the smug bastard kick off the wall, pick up his jacket, and begin unlocking the door.

“I hadn’t planned on it, but I wouldn’t be averse,” he replies nonchalantly, ratcheting the lock around and chuckling to himself.

“This isn’t training,” I mumble out, not knowing what the hell this has actually been. Not that I knew what to expect when I asked him for help. He opens the door wide and looks me over again, presumably wondering what the hell Pascal sees in me. I couldn’t look more pathetic if I tried, I’m sure. I’m a mess of tears and broken old wounds, lying on the floor just waiting to be opened up and torn to bits. Naked and useless. And the man standing in front of me is telling me I need to do this more, that I need to feel this for some reason I can’t comprehend at all. I curl my body in on itself at his perusal and try to shield myself from his stare.

“This is my training, Lilah. We do it my way,” he says, snorting at my attempt to cover myself. Another minute goes by as he continues staring and then gazes at the floor instead. “We must all break to become whole,” he says quietly, still looking every inch the controlled gentleman he was when we first entered the room. He still manages to hold all the power in the world between his hands regardless of his sudden quiet demeanour. “Remember what I told you. Think about what you’ve learned. And be here tomorrow at 8pm.”

And with that, he nods his head at something and leaves.

The door swings wide behind him as he walks away and I hear his footsteps disappearing in the distance. That’s all there is now, just an echo of his feet after he leaves me completely alone in this room. I pull myself up a little and stare around the space for my clothes. I eventually find them by the side of the wall where he tore them off me, so I pull myself across to them and gather up the remnants of what’s left scattered on the floor. Holding up my shirt, I stare at the lack of sleeves and ponder the whys. Why would he need to do any of that, let alone destroy my clothes? After several minutes, I realise exactly what he was doing. Ripping at me. It wasn’t the shirt, or skirt. It was me he was after, something more than the clothes I wear or the front I put on. All of the feelings I’ve had in the last few hours have been induced by him, but created by me. I let them crawl through me, weakening me. I allowed them the space I hadn’t given them before. I wallowed in them, allowing them to torture me and use me. I allowed a haunted year on the streets to take control of my emotions again. It was all me. I may have been scared, but not of what he was going to do. He didn’t need to do a thing. He just instrumented the act. I did the pulling myself to bits.
Me
.

I slide myself into what’s left of the garments and gingerly lift myself to my feet, trying to balance out the pain in my hip as I head to the door for my boots and tights. Is this what training is? I thought I’d be learning about tools of the trade, maybe picking up something to hurt Pascal with, because that’s what he says he’ll need from me. But all that has happened is that I’ve become a wreck in front of a sadist – Pascal’s sadist – without him even really touching me. There was certainly no sexual expectation that I felt. He just used words and silence to slaughter me. Clever bastard. God knows what would happen if he actually touched me as well.

Poor Elizabeth.

I smile quietly to myself as I pull on my boots and attempt to straighten my clothes. I just need to get to my coat so that I can get home and think about all this. As he said, I need to think about what I’ve learned from my first training session, and have a drink, preferably a large one.

Limping out of the room, I drag my weary backside towards the main entrance of Eden. Figures and bodies dance in front of me as I try to negotiate my way past them, inching myself so as not to bump anyone or cause another scene like the last time. They’re all dressed in their customary black leather and PVC ensembles, a few covered in creams and reds as well. I just keep my nose down and thread through them, trying to get to the relative safety of the hallway that’s looming up in front. A woman knocks into me – a sub I assume, because the moment she turns to look at me, she bows a bit and scuttles backwards. I keep moving only to have a man suddenly block my way. I stop and stare up at him. He’s all Dom – tall, built, glorious in his commanding presence, but not a patch on the man I have just been with. There’s nothing that makes me feel the need to either respect or yield to him. Nothing. And I feel my insides rallying themselves back together one by one. I will not be useless anymore. I am not that girl on the streets. I survived that, and I will be more than I currently am. I have something to prove in this world if I choose to continue in it, not only to Pascal, but to myself.

“Move out of my way,” I say quietly. He just keeps staring, as if I should bow, or beg, scrape maybe? What did Pascal say, that I should get down on my knees and apologise that I couldn’t be of service to him? Screw that. Never again will I beg. Never will I kneel, not even for Pascal.

“MOVE!” The roar that leaves my throat surprises even me as I hold his gaze and glare at his audacity. Fucking men. He raises a brow at me then nods his head and ambles his way around me, leaving me with a clear line to the door. I snatch a glance around the space to see who’s laughing at Lilah James. Presumably everyone. No one is laughing. In fact, now I think about it, the bodies seem to have made a pathway for me to leave.

And then I catch a glimpse of them, sitting in the bar area, drinking. Pascal is lounging gracefully, as he always does, with his back towards me. Alexander is watching him closely. He’s reading him – his movements, the way he smiles, or doesn’t. He’s probably listening intently to the tone of his voice, the actual words. It makes me wonder how little this is all about BDSM in reality. Maybe it’s more about love than I thought it was. Some sort of love that isn’t appreciated in the real world. A different kind of love. Because why would someone be that intently trained on someone’s reactions if not to love them? To care for them, and their needs, bizarre as some of those needs might be.

Just as I’m about to swing my eyes away, Alexander’s head tilts slightly, enough for him to look straight at me and wink, then knock his head in the direction of the exit, indicating that I should get my arse out the door. I snort at his attempt at pleasantries; after what he’s just put me through I should hate him, but I don’t, not at all. I respect him for it, in the strangest of ways. And as I let my eyes gaze at the outline of Pascal’s back instead, I remember what this is all for. It’s for him. For those kisses, and those lips, and that feeling of overwhelming clarity when he holds me in his arms and we simply breathe together. But in this moment, in these seconds, it feels less about him and more about me for some reason. Maybe I do have a few things to learn about myself first, and maybe that’s the point of all this, really. So that Alexander can see I’m strong enough for what’s to come, or maybe so that
I
know I’m strong enough.

“We must all break to become whole.”

The words ring in my ears as I take one last glance at the black coat of the man I know I love and then head for the door again, limping and snarling at anybody that dares to get in my way.

Then the apartment, to think. And then to be back here at 8pm tomorrow night. If I survive the nightmares that I know will be coming. More streets and more filth will creep into my blood all night, reminding me and making me remember everything I’ve tried so hard to push aside, hide from maybe.

“Peace lingering in timeless seconds.”

Those words stay with me, too. Peace.

THE END

For now …

To all the blogs that have supported, helped, guided and forged a path for me, I love you all without reservation. However, as always, special mentions go out to:

Leanne Cook, my PA - Love you, honey.

Heather Ross, at Heathers Red Pen Editing - my rather wonderful editor.

Orchard Book Clubs’, Rachel Brightey.

Bound by Books Book Reviews’, Rachel Hill.

Rachel De Lune – Without you to vent at, I may not still be writing at all – thank you x

And to my Harlots and Whores – Utter stars, the lot of you x

And of course, you guys. And all my Twitter and Facebook followers who’ve made this journey fantastic. In fact, anyone who has read me and enjoyed my stories are warmly thanked and acknowledged as super wonderful. I hope you’ve enjoyed the further journey of my characters, and if they’ve resonated with you in some way, be it small or large, then I’ve achieved my goal, which was to provoke thought and entertain you.

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They mean the world to me.

CEH x