Quod Me Nutrit Me Destruit: That Which Destroys Me with The Alternate Ending (17 page)

That Which Belongs to Me

I’m at my breaking point. I’m a seething melting pot seconds from bubbling over when I see Stell flying towards our table, flustered and pale as a ghost. She looks fucking horrified. I’m out of my chair and halfway across the room before my mind even registers how scared my angel truly appears.

When I’m within reaching distance, I slip one arm around her waist and the other over the top of her shoulders before tucking her tightly to me. “Angel, what’s wrong?” Her entire frame is trembling and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I’m barely able to make out her whisper, “Wes, I don’t feel well. Please take me home. I’m so sorry.” I see Josephine step from the bathroom. The same bathroom that Stell just came running from like the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels.

“Tell me by home you mean mine and yes, we’ll leave immediately.” I probably should’ve coaxed her a bit more gently into that proposal, and I fully intended to, but the insane surge of possessive emotions, along with the physical ache to protect
Stell, causes the words to fall from my mouth.

Is it because Jude was all over her most of the night? Possibly.

Stell nods against my chest and whispers, “Yes. Let’s go home, Wes.”

And that’s all I need. Moments later, I have
Stell still tucked tightly to me as we slide into the limo. Once Stan pulls the car from the curb, I pull her onto my lap and cradle her against my chest. I remove the pins from her hair before running my fingers through it with one hand while gently scratching her scalp at the base of her neck with the other. At some point during the ride home, she falls asleep.

The limo parks outside my building. I step from the car and scoop
Stell up, looping one arm under her knees and the other behind her back. Once I stand to my full stature, I tell Stan, “Hey man, grab her shoes and hand them to me.” With the hand under her knees, I wiggle my fingers indicating where to place the shoes. As soon as he hands me her shoes I turn and carry Stell up the stairs and into my building.

Once we’re in my penthouse I walk into my bedroom and gently lay
Stell down on the bed. After I have her dress off, I grab a t-shirt from my bureau and head back  stopping dead in my tracks. I was concentrating on removing her dress, not paying attention to what lay beneath.  Biting down on the inside of my cheek doesn’t prevent the groan that escapes my throat.

Her body is encased in a satin nude corset cinched around the waist by boning sewn into the material. Between her pushed up, cupped breasts the corset plunges to her navel and laces from just below her breasts down. The light pink nipples that I love barely peek out over the top of the corsets satin material. Hooked across her hips is a garter belt with silk nude hose clipped to the straps.  My eyes appreciate silk, satin, and lace but at this moment they barely skim over everything to land on her beautiful bare pussy. Instantly I’m hard enough to knock on wood and my mouth waters at the sight of her.

With perfectly Saintly intentions I loosen the lacings which begin just below her breasts in the middle of the corsets plunge, and slowly untie until the corset opens like the gates of heaven. When I’m fingering the clasps holding her hose I find my face over my favorite place.

Once I have her garter belt and stockings off, I hook her thighs over my shoulders and run my nose from the back of her knee to her inner thigh. Even though I’ve just eaten a
seven course meal, I’m suddenly famished. Dying for a taste of her.

I’m stopped on my decent into decadence by
Stell’s shrill ear splitting scream. The sheer terror  in her scream causes me to jump and scramble up her body pulling her rigid frame on top of mine. “Shh… I’m here, angel. Wake up, Stell. Stell?” Her shrieking does not waver as I try to wake her. I can feel her body expelling all the air in her lungs , her scream pauses as she drags in another lung full of air  before continuing to wail in horrified panic.

Fear and concern thread their way through me causing my arms to wrap tightly around her.  I kiss her sweat soaked forehead and grab ahold of the tops of her shoulders before shaking her and shouting, “Stella! Wake up!”

She stops mid scream.  Ragged breathing slowly quiets  as the sweat covering her entire body turns cold.

I feel her begin to tremble as I grab the sheets and comforter and pull them tightly around us, kissing her face and the top of her head over and over until we are settled under the blankets.

My emotions are a damn whirlwind. Anger, panic, love and protectiveness all batter inside my chest for first place. Not knowing what the hell to do, I do nothing except continue holding her and running my fingers through her hair.

Time stands still but it feels like an eternity before
Stell looks up at me and rests her chin on my sternum. “I’m sorry, Wes. I never wanted you to have to witness that. I hate that anyone has to witness it, but you… I never wanted you to.”

“
Wha—“ I sound like a damn toad. I clear my throat before speaking again, “What were you dreaming about? Do you remember?”

She smiles sadly. “Yes, unfortunately I always remember.” Her head ducks down and she rests her cheek back on my chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Before I can finish my question, her little head shakes. My chest feels like someone left a grenade in it without the pin and the explosion  shreds  me from the inside out.

“I can’t. I’m sorry, I just can’t.
I’ve tried. The state of Louisiana had me seeing every damn counselor and psychiatrist in almost every parish. It didn’t work then and it won’t work now. I’m fucked up, Wes. And believe me, you don’t want to know why, I promise.”

My hand slides into her hair and hugs her face to me as my arm circling her waist tightens. “You’re not fucked up, angel. You just have nightmares. That’s all.”

Her manic laughter sends chills down my spine.

“Just nightmares, huh? Don’t fool yourself, okay? I’ve let enough of how fucked up I am slip for you to know that your statement is total bullshit.” She chuckles. “Just nightmares.”

I don’t know what the hell to say or do. I do however note that speaking seems to be a bad idea. And she isn’t pushing me away, until she does I refuse to let go of her.

So I hold her. I stare at the shadows dancing across the ceiling and continue holding her body to mine. After her breathing evens out and the tension wound tight in her muscles relaxes, I still don’t loosen my hold on her in fear of not being there if another… whatever the
FUCK
that was happens again.

I can’t honestly say this insane idea didn’t stem from the sadistic bastard inside me. But sometime during the night and early morning hours, as my fingers traced the obvious self inflicted razor blade scars on her outer thigh, it dawns on me that she has stayed almost every night for three months and not once suffered a nightmare before last night. There is only one common denominator, in all of those nights over
the last three months I have dedicated at least two hours to completely and utterly Dominating, bending, and shoving Stell beyond her boundaries. And she submits, every fucking time -  effortlessly.

Last night was the first night we went to bed without our Dom/sub play. The first night the exhaustion from our intense chaotic love-slash-hate-slash-fuck storm didn’t lull us into unconsciousness.

With that said, I believe Stella’s submissiveness is the key to her nightmares.

Now, it’s just a theory, and I’m going to need a little more information before I pull out the big guns and test my theory.

I slowly slide Stell from my chest  laying her down before easing from the bed. I pull on pajama pants and head to my office,  bare feet padding soundlessly across the hardwood floor.

Once I’m in my office, I call Derrick. Hell no I don’t give a shit that it’s seven am on a Sunday. “Speak.”

“Derrick, I need something from you ASAP. No later than this evening. It’s not foot work, more like finger work, scouring the internet kinda shit.”

“I’d rather foot work.
Whatcha got for me?”

“Check to see if you can come across any case studies focusing on the connections between reported sexually abused victims turning to the BDSM lifestyle once they reach middle to late young adulthood.”

“That’s it? You know you can just look Erickson up on Google, right? You sure you don’t want to save yourself ten k?”

“Derrick. Has money ever been an issue for me? No. Do what the fuck I pay you to do or I’ll go find someone that will without asking questions or tossing their two cents in.” I hang up and immediately dial Trina and
Stell’s number. After a few rings, Trina picks up the phone and mumbles, “Hello?”

“Hey Trina, sorry I’m waking you, but we need to talk.
Stell’s fine, or well, physically. I wouldn’t have called if I didn’t think this was important. You still with me?”

She yawns and a split second later starts shouting, “Fuck. Shit. Motherfucker!” The next thing I hear is the phone crashing into something.

“Trina? The hell, you okay?”

“Sorry! Sorry! I tripped over my Kindle cord, and no I didn’t enjoy my trip. It was painful. Okay,
I’m all ears, what’s up?”

“On average, would you say
Stell has nightmares weekly, every other week, or monthly?”

“Fuck. It happened didn’t it? She thought she’d, hell I don’t know, found the cure to her nightmares by staying with you.”

“I’m not willing to take that assumption off the table just yet. So, how often?”

“Before you? Like totally before you…I’d say weekly. After you, well, at first, probably every other week, but she hasn’t had one in over three months.”

Interesting.

“Has
Stell ever mentioned why I was at Chained that night several months back?”

“Well, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist. Has she gone into detail? No. Other than
you being her… ahh real first. And that she likes you. Whatever y’all do between the sheets she claims fixes her, the part of her that’s wired differently than everyone else.”

“Hmm… That’s what I’m trying to piece together. The scars on her outer thighs, how long has it been since she cut? Do you know?”

“Longer than I’ve known her. She doesn’t talk about it, Wes. And I don’t feel like I have a right to tell her to go back to therapy. I mean, shit, she’s been in therapy since she was seven. She stayed in therapy until she was in her twenties. If anyone would know whether or not therapy helps, it’s her, right?”

“Y’all have known each other longer than what? Five years?” I ask.

“Yeah, since Junior college.”

“Okay. Well, if I think of anything else I’ll call. Hey, Trina!”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“
Ahh… Do me a favor, don’t tell her I called asking all these questions. I promise you, I have her best interests at heart. And if I am her cure, then I need to know what I was doing to keep those fucking nightmares out of her head.”

“I won’t, Wes. But the first time you hurt her, I will remove your balls.
THAT
is the only promise you get from me. Period.”

I chuckle at her confidence that she could take me on long enough to get to my balls,
until  appreciation for Trina taking care of my angel for all these years floods through me. My chuckle dies in my throat. “Thank you, Trina. For everything.” I hang up the phone and look down at the damn file that’s been mocking me since coming into my possession.