Wait for Me (31 page)

After some endless minutes, Adam re-appeared, completely naked. He switched on the lamp and light flooded the room.

He settled comfortably onto the couch with his legs apart, before the sacramental display.

“Now you'll see for yourself what it means to be humiliated, with your own eyes,” he said. “Enter.”

Two women – a blond and a brunette – stepped through the doorway, stark naked aside from high heels.

Now I'll see for myself? I thought, appalled. Was this really happening?

The brunette collected the whip from the ground and stood beside me, whilst the blond dropped to her knees and drew her mouth closer to Adam's erect penis.

The moment her lips touched his shaft, he tipped his head back onto the cushions, never breaking eye contact with me.

“Yeah, that feels good. Suck it harder,” he moaned.

I rolled my eyes to look elsewhere and a sudden whip revived the earlier pain.

“Look at me,” he growled.

I preferred to be beaten to death than watch him enjoy the body of another woman.

The successive strikes did nothing to dissuade me and I remained fixated on the ground, disgusted by Adam's moaning. I heard him panting louder and my eyes darted back to him. He was about to come. It was the sound of his impending pleasure, only this time it was another woman. It was some random stranger making him feel this way. It was harrowing to witness.

“Yeah, suck it all,” he said before gasping with the shock of the orgasm.

After swallowing, the blonde leaned back by ninety degrees and pulled herself up with the armrest. She stood before him and he did not move.

The brunette settled the whip on the ground and joined them. She knelt down and pushed her face into the blonde's vagina, licking at it. Adam watched the scene, lightly playing with himself as the blonde leant down to kiss him. As soon as he was hard again, they changed position. The blonde sat on the couch with her legs spread, the other remained on her knees, still licking, and Adam took her from behind.

Knowing him, he would keep this going all night to punish me. And punish me for what? For his fucking delusions? I had tolerated everything so far, but this surpassed the limits – both of our limits. How could he even begin to justify this?

The moans and those warm, excited bodies were infecting my senses, including the one persevering nostril that was keeping me alive at that moment. After ejaculating for a second time, he left the two women with the red vibrator, kissing and licking one another. He eventually returned with a bottle of water in his hand. He took a long gulp and offered it to the two women, who shared it between them. He handed the whip to the brunette and gestured for her to take care of me.

Adam knelt down behind the blonde and began to fuck her vigorously. The brunette continued to whip my back, more gently than before, but that could have been my skin going numb. In contrast, the blonde's moaning pierced through me ever more acutely.

“Good girl, show me how much you like it,” Adam panted. “I want to hear you.”

Luckily, my tears clouded the view. After a lifetime and a screaming orgasm, it came to an end. Adam accompanied the women out of the room and left me in the dark again. It was my turn next… and there was nothing I could do about it.

I heard the shower jet. Most likely he was relaxing before the grand finale. On his return, he filled the room with the scent of shower gel – a little sensory relief.

First, he untacked my eyes, unclipped the chains that held my head in place and unbuckled the ankle straps. Finally, he removed the collar. Exhausted, I dropped to the floor, writhing in pain.

“There,” and pointed to a bench in the center of the room.

With all the strength I had, I dragged myself towards the bench on my stomach. The cold surface brought some relief to my raw skin. He handcuffed me to one end so that my arms were extended, and fixed my ankles to the other end, so that I was spread-eagled and paralyzed.

Behold, the show would go on.

He never wanted anal sex after the first time. Perhaps it was a bad memory for him too, followed by a less than enticing story. But this time, without even a moment of hesitation, he drove himself inside my anus and began to thrust with unrelenting force. With every penetration, he would spank me so hard that my back arched. Ejaculate already, I prayed. I wanted it to end. Then, all of a sudden, he removed the gag and I could breathe once more.

“If you have to say something then now is your chance,” a guttural voice exhorted.

What could I say? What would make him stop?

“I'm the only one who can fuck you and I'll only stop when you speak,” he said.

I nodded, my eyes full of tears. In reality it did not matter what I said. Adam was lost in his past – encased by the darkness that colonized his whole existence.

I stared at the empty couch on which he had just received head from another woman – on which another woman had made him come – and I started to understand. It was a direct insight into his sick imagination. I closed my eyes and waited for his sperm to squirt out. He took a long time, to the point where my senses eventually collapsed. I couldn't hear his carnal breathing; couldn't feel his hands around my neck. Expended, I rested my cheek on the bench, soaked by my own saliva, and closed my eyes. That was the last thing I remembered.

The following morning, I awoke on the bed wrapped in clean, fragrant sheets. Adam was sitting on the chair beside me, looking pale and distraught. On the bedside table was some antiseptic cream, a basin and some bandages. I tried to move and my body erupted with pain. I slowly turned onto my side to face him. The table also displayed a photo of the two of us, taken on a hike during our first month together. That picture, with his genuine smile, showed nothing of the darkness within. True, I had accepted Adam for who he was, but I was beginning to wonder what kind of future we could possibly have. Incredibly, I had believed that I might be the cure for his ills. Clearly it wasn't so; I was merely the anesthetic. The past lay dormant within him, always waiting to strike harder. It was not up to me to save him. He needed real help. Gradually, I eased my way out of bed.

“Let me help you,” he hastened, putting an arm around my waist.

I let him because, honestly, I would not have managed it alone. One unsteady step at a time, I reached the bathroom.

“Do you want to take a shower?” he asked, easing me onto a stool.

“Leave me alone,” I said firmly. “Go.”

He didn't respond. He simply looked at me with profound sorrow. The guilt must have been torture, and that was some consolation.

“Please, get out,” I said.

He left.

I rose to my feet, unfastened my robe and let it fall to the floor, carefully avoiding my reflection. I did not want to look at myself. It was enough to see the swollen red marks where my wrists and ankles had been bound.

I took a long shower, hoping that it would quench the fire on my skin. Unhurried, I dried my hair, staying in the bathroom for at least an hour. I wasn't ready to deal with him. Surely he would want to make amends with sweetness and compassion. There was no middle path.

“Sophie,” he said behind the door. “Please come out.”

I harbored my courage and lowered the robe to face the mirror, revealing every sore on my body. I was disgusted at the reflection. Once again, the scars of an unstable man. Choking with anger and agony, I opened the door, naked, to show him what he had done.

Despite the spectacle, he did not lower his eyes. He remained motionless, a few feet away, and neither of us spoke. I quietly slipped into the closet.

“Are you going out?” he asked, leaning on the doorframe.

“I'm going to have lunch with my mother, like every Sunday,” I replied, buttoning my shirt.

“You'll have to cover the marks,” he said, nodding at my wrists.

I looked at the purple bruises, boiling with anger. “Uh-huh,” I sounded, without bothering to look at him.

The weight of those syllables was too much and he returned to the bedroom, leaving me to execute the painful task of getting dressed. When I was ready, I threw some clothes into my laundry bag: underwear, jeans, the first couple of shirts on hand, socks, and a jacket. Time to confront him again.

Adam was standing by the window. He briefly glanced at me and continued looking through the glass.

“Are you leaving me, Sophie?” he asked.

Of course, I thought, too afraid to say it aloud. For one, I was terrified of his reaction, but also because a part of me still despaired at the thought of never seeing him again. But it couldn't go on like this; I couldn't go on like this. Everything had come flooding back, Albert, Paul, and now him.

“Talk to me, tell me what you're thinking,” he asked, moving towards me.

I had nothing to say. If anything it was his turn to talk, but that was not his style.

“There's nothing to say. I'm not thinking about anything,” I replied, forcing eye contact.

My expression must have said it all and, for the first time, I saw him truly nervous.

“I lost my mind,” he said faintly. “The thought of you with someone else… I—”

“The thought of me,” I echoed. “You imagined something that never even crossed my mind. And for that I had to watch—” I started to weep.

“Sophie,” he said, trying to hug me.

“Do not touch me,” I gasped through the pain. “Do not touch me, ever again.”

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. “Are you leaving me Sophie?” he asked. “Because if so, look me in the eye and tell me straight.”

“What were you hoping to achieve? Did you want me to see what it was like for you to find Elizabeth with Tom? Because if so then you didn't succeed. All I saw was anger – anger being redirected at me,” I said, through the tears. “You could have thought about it, paused for just a second. I can't even leave you, but this is intolerable.”

“If you can't do it Sophie, I'll do it for you. I don't need someone like you.”

I didn't see that coming. I was sure that he would beg me not to go, whisper that he loved me, let the timbre of his voice declare that universal truth. I wanted him to justify my enduring patience. Stunned by those words, it was all I could do to stare in disbelief. How could he be so cold?

“Go ahead, you're free, I'll drop the rest of your stuff off with your brother, if that's alright?”

Bewildered, I dropped the laundry bag and broke down.

“What's happened to you? Look at me… it's me, Sophie. Do you even recognize me?”

He didn't answer.

“Don't leave me, please don't do this, I'll even forget about last night, just don't be afraid of staying with me,” I said, wiping away the tears. “I know you, I understand, you just need to get help.”

He shook his head in frustration. “Sophie, please, go away – you're only going to get hurt.”

“I'm not going to get hurt,” I said, between sobs. “It doesn't matter what you did, it's nothing, just don't go.”

He stroked my hair and bent to his knees. He gave me a gentle kiss on the lips, on the cheeks, and then held me tightly for several minutes.

“Go on, get to your mother's, I'll wait here for you.”

“You're not leaving me, are you?” I whispered. It was a pitiful display.

“No, I'm not leaving you,” he said, kissing me with more feeling.

Knowing this, I dropped the laundry bag and made my way out of the apartment. In the lobby, Stewart looked at me with sympathy. It was likely he had greeted the two prostitutes last night, and god knows what conclusions he had drawn.

“How are you Sophie?” he asked.

I looked up.

“Good thanks, Stewart, and you?”

“I'm very well, thank you,” he replied politely, holding the glass door.

Fred was already outside the parking lot waiting for me. During the ride, he told me all about how the second location was doing. I could not have been less interested.

“How's Adam?” he asked suddenly.

“Fine.”

“Is it still going well between you? How long have you been together now?”

“A little while.”

“Well someone's in a bad mood today… did you guys have a fight?”

“No, I just didn't get much sleep.”

“Anyway, I do like Adam. I'm happy for you. I can say it with a lot more certainty now.”

“Ah,” I muttered.

“He seems more laid back, you know? You can tell he's happier.”

Probably because he had round the clock access to his favorite toy now. I didn't say that.

“Are you okay?” Fred asked, looking sideways.

“Yeah, just thinking.”

“Any thoughts of tying the knot?”

“What?” I asked.

“You haven't talked about it?”

“About what?” I repeated.

“Getting married,” he said.

“Yeah right.”

That must have been the last thing on Adam's mind – he wasn't even through with the first one yet.

We arrived at my mother's house. I could smell the roast from the doorstep and a surge of nostalgia took me back to my childhood Sunday lunches. With some surprise, I found Mark in the house – an old friend and ex-neighbor. I had a hopeless crush on him as a teenager, and he was actually the first guy I slept with. Of course, my brother knew nothing about it. It happened one afternoon when I was seventeen and he was twenty-three. He had innocently called at the house to say goodbye to Fred before he left to do a placement in Chicago. He waited on the couch with me, watching a movie. Until that afternoon, he had always treated me like a younger sister, but my virginity was history within fifteen minutes. For a long time afterwards, I dreamed about him every night. As time passed, I eventually forgot about him and the secret remained.

He greeted me nervously, with a vaguely troubled expression that persisted throughout the whole of lunch.