M Sellars - All acts of pleasure

We had only just returned home and unloaded the trio of boxes from the back of my wife’s Jeep. Immediately emptying them of their contents and putting things back where they belonged seemed like the best thing to do, rather than have them sit around as a reminder of the legally sanctioned violation of our lives. So, that task became the undertaking of the moment.

The overnight bag just happened to be at the top of the pile in the first box I opened.

“Umm…yes,” she spoke again after a long pause then repeated while still staring at the bag, “Yes, that’s it. I’d actually almost forgotten about it until this morning…actually, you weren’t supposed to get that box…I must have mixed them up.”

“Okay,” I said with a shrug then placed the weighty carryall on the seat of the dining room chair between us. “Then I’ll forget about it too.”

I was lying. I wasn’t going to forget about it. There was really no way that I could. The urgency in her voice when she had first mentioned the overnight bag back at the Justice Center still hadn’t left me. Then, there was the “nothing” comment on top of it. Obviously something about it concerned her greatly. Even more so, what my impression of it, or something inside it, would be. Therefore, although my mind had placed the snippet of conversation in a holding pattern for the past few days, it was still there. Seeing the bag now had simply returned it to the forefront.

My curiosity, however, was going to need to remain unquenched. Whatever the mysterious purple bag held was apparently deeply personal for Felicity, otherwise I would have known of it before now. Violating its sanctity would make me no different than those who had already crossed that boundary, and pressing her to talk about it would only demonstrate distrust on my part.

I delved back into the box before me and began extracting the stack of books lined in the bottom. I was going to need to sort them out and return a few to the library sometime this week. I was on my third handful of the tomes when Felicity spoke.

“You want to know what’s in it, don’t you.” She wasn’t asking a question, she was making an observation.

I looked up at her and shrugged again. “No. It’s not important.”

“You’re lying.”

“Yeah, so?”

“It’s just…I mean…It’s…”

“Honey, don’t worry about it.”

“I can’t not,” she appealed. “I don’t want you to distrust me.”

“Why would I distrust you?”

“For keeping something from you.” She motioned toward the bag and added, “For keeping this from you.”

I stopped what I was doing and slowly let out a thoughtful breath. I couldn’t be sure if she was opening the door and inviting me in or if it was only cracked enough to pull the safety chain taut, affording her the ability to slam it in my face if I misspoke.

I took in a fresh breath and smiled. “Not long ago, a dear and very wise friend told me that we all keep secrets, even from those we love. And, that sometimes we do so for that very reason. Out of love.”

She cast a glance toward the bag and fidgeted nervously for a moment then looked back to my face. “Helen.”

“Yes. Helen.”

“What else did she tell you?”

“Nothing I didn’t already know.”

She remained silent in the wake of my answer, so I continued. “Felicity, Gods know I’ve kept things from you over the past few years. Things about cases I’ve helped work, things about visions I’ve had. Believe me, there are still some things locked away in my head that I haven’t told anyone, especially you, all purely out of love and my desire to keep you safe. So, you see, it’s a two-way street.”

“But, that’s different,” she objected.

I shook my head. “Not really. Obviously whatever is in that bag is something you think may hurt me or change the way I feel about you. Correct?”

“Aye.”

“Then it’s no different, and there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Are you certain?” she asked tentatively.

“Yes.”

“I just want to be sure,” she said. “I need to know that you trust me.”

“I do.”

“Even with this between us?” She nodded toward the bag.

“Let me ask you this. Do you want to show me what’s in there?”

Again she cast a furtive glance at the duffle, dwelled there for a moment, and then looked back to me. “I don’t know yet.”

“Okay, then, you don’t have to. I trust you. And, I trust that if you ever decide you want me to know this particular secret, you’ll share it.”

“How can you be so sure, when I’m not?”

“Easy. You sat in our kitchen around two weeks ago and announced that you had a fairly rich history with the bondage sub-culture. That was something new to me.”

“Yes, but that just sort of came out. I think it might have been the circumstances, the investigation and such because I even surprised myself by saying it. I wasn’t really thinking.”

“I’m sure it probably was the situation, and actually you really were thinking, sweetheart. You knew you could shed some light on a minor mystery and you did. Admitting how you knew the things you did was merely a natural progression from there.”

“At the time it seemed okay,” she replied. “But, after the fact, I was afraid I’d made a very bad mistake in telling you.”

“Honey, I may not have known about the history, but I can’t say I was surprised. You’ve got the personality. I even told you that.”

She let out a nervous laugh. “Aye, I know I do.”

“And, there you have the answer to your question. The reason I can be sure is because I am fully aware that if and when it comes time for me to know, you’ll tell me.”

The trepidation faded from her face, and she finally managed a tentative smile. “Have I told you today that I love you, Rowan Linden Gant?”

“A couple of times, but I can stand hearing it again.”

Wednesday, November 23

11:04 P.M.

Baton Rouge, Louisiana

The hunger was coming upon her again.

Only a little more than two weeks had passed since Saint Louis, and here it was creeping into her again. This was too soon.

It was like a drug. An addiction she just couldn’t shake, and there were no steps to help her cope. Homicidal Sadists Anonymous simply didn’t exist, not in any phone book she had seen.

She was coming.

And, She wasn’t going to take no for an answer. She never did no matter how much she begged.

“Where had it all gone wrong?” she wondered. “When had it taken this turn down a dark and dead-end path?”

She couldn’t remember. Or, maybe it wasn’t that she couldn’t. Perhaps it was that she didn’t want to. The pleasure was her reward, and the reward was sweet.

There was a time she knew she should have heeded the warnings. Seen the signs. Run when she had the chance. But that was all in the past. Now she belonged to Her, and there was no escape, even if she wanted it.

And, sometimes she did, though she wasn’t sure why.

She rolled over in the bed and lifted her arm to her face, inspecting it in the dim light. Softly, she caressed the scar where she had once sliced into her own wrist in a bid for escape. She wondered if perhaps she should try again before She arrived. That was the only thing that had saved her then. She had made her call 9-1-1, and the paramedics had arrived just in time.

No, if she tried to kill herself, She would just save her again. Besides, this feeling of dread always came just before She arrived, and it always passed.

No. She would simply wait it out. The bad feelings would be gone soon, and the pleasure would come in their place.

It’s not that she didn’t enjoy the things she did whenever She was with her. She always enjoyed herself. She always had. Even before She came along, sex had never been satisfying unless she was in complete control, and even then it was mediocre. Often, even disappointing.