Quod Me Nutrit Me Destruit: That Which Destroys Me with The Alternate Ending (19 page)

No Explanation

Why couldn’t she just answer the question correctly? She not only answered it wrong, she fucking safe worded out. And for what? So she could explain? She took a very simple question and contorted it completely out of its intended context.

“Shit!” I turn from the counter and am forced to look over the mess strewn across my floor. “Thank God
Myrta’s coming tomorrow.” I say to the empty room as I storm out of the kitchen.

As soon as I’m behind my desk I sit back down and read over the files again
; chasing the same damn ghost. After reading and rereading the files, I snatch the phone up and dial Derrick. “Speak.”

“I need more than what’s in these files, man. Something is missing, something fucking huge. I feel it in my bones. Is this all you could get?”

“Ah…it was with the information you’d given me. But I can take apart each one and look for a lead. You originally wanted a timeline, or I assumed that was what you wanted from our conversation. You want me to break apart the timeline and extensively research it from every angle? Then yeah - whatever’s missing, I’ll find it. Gonna take a lot longer than days though, Wes. We’re talking weeks. Month and a half tops. Her vagabond upbringing has her shit scattered across the state of Louisiana.”

“Yes. Do that. And the quicker you get me the info the more your fee doubles. I don’t want that shit wrapped up it a pretty bow
either, send it to me in chunks. We’ll both look over it. You got anything for me on this morning’s job?”

“Oh yeah. I emailed it to you earlier, fax should be coming through.”

“Thanks, D. I’ll wire the payment immediately.”

“Sounds good. Got anything else for me, boss?”

“Yeah. Fucking hurry up.”

After the event that occurred Sunday morning.
I honestly saw no other way to protect Stell than from a distance; at least until I can get this shit ironed out and I can pinpoint for absolute certainty what it is I’m missing.

The case studies that Derrick faxed over were all the conclusive evidence I needed. The key to curing Stella’s nightmares is her ability to accept her submissiveness. That was where she failed; not me, but
herself.

Instead of reacting to my Dominate actions, she hesitated. That hesitation tipped the domino that tipped the next domino and ended in a cascade of tipped over dominos all ultimately resulting in her denying me as her Dom; the trust that I mistakenly believed I’d already held.

Instead of using her strength to withstand the consequences of her actions, she did what I thought - what I believed with every fiber of my being - she would never do:

She gave up. She broke.

Out of weakness, she gave up on the only thing that could save her.

I wasn’t hurting her. She’d withstood much more in the way of pain and self-discipline than a few swats to her bottom. So she didn’t safe word out because she couldn’t physically and emotionally take any more. She safe worded out because she panicked and refused to stay calm. In turn, she safe worded out by snipping any and all tethers tying her to submissiveness…to her cure.

She cut me off at the knees by saying that one syllable word. Rust.

I can’t help her. She took my ability to help her away. And until she realizes it, until it resonates through her as clear as a bell and she returns to me able to express it without me giving her the words or coaching her into understanding, all I can do is patiently wait… And pray to God to help her see what I could not.

Stella called in sick every day this week, so when I walk into my office on Friday morning I’m caught off guard by the sight of her in front of my desk.

“Good morning. I didn’t expect to see you here today.” I set my briefcase down beside my desk before shrugging out of my suit jacket and sitting down.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I must have a stomach bug or something. I can’t keep anything down. I have an appointment with my doctor today at four o’clock, if it’s alright for me to leave a little early?” Her bottom lip is pulled into her perfect mouth, her white teeth flash before chewing it.

“Absolutely, far be it for me to keep you from your health. I’m sorry to hear you’ve been sick too. I wish it was the reason I’d believed you called in sick.” I grab the phone and dial my new secretary,
Barby.

“
Barby, Good morning. Do you have the schedule? Ms. Reese and I are ready.”

“Yes, sir. I’m headed in now.”

“Excellent.” I set the phone in its cradle. Stella’s fidgeting in her seat and I have to bite my tongue to keep from correcting her.

I could kiss
Barby’s face for her timing. Sweet girl. Not a mean bone in her body. Brunette, got a body on her that would normally have me pulling out my signature Wesley Jacobs charm. If the angel sitting in front of me didn’t have me twisted up in emotional knots.

Barby
was the one in the office when Rachel came in expecting her job to… well, still be hers. So she scored her first gold star by printing out the email I received from HR after filing her termination paperwork. Barby said “I printed them out and handed them to her. After she stared at me for five minutes waiting for her glare of death powers to work, she huffed and stomped her foot then spun around and stomped her way towards the elevator, muttering curse words the entire time. When she tripped walking in to the elevator, I was thankfully able to hold my laughter back…Until the elevator doors closed, of course.”

See, I told you. Not a mean bone in her body.

“Barby, what’s our day looking like?” I smile at her and lean forward, resting my forearms on my desk.

“Good morning,
Stell. Are you feeling okay?” She looks at Stella with worry knitting her brow.

Stella smiles at her, but goddamn if it isn’t so sad, it causes my chest to ache.

“Not really, Barby. I have a doctor appointment this evening though. So, hopefully, they can find out what it is and I’ll feel better soon. Oh! Can you add that to the schedule? It’s at four.”

Barby
nods before marking the schedule then smiles at Stella, “Done! Now, Wes, you have a meeting with Melissa Wilson, the horror romance author you’ve been looking at, she’s from eight to ten. I have conference room B set up for you.” She looks back down at her legal pad. “Stell, Mr. Jude has been trying to reach you. I figured if you wanted him to have your number, you would’ve given it to him, so I didn’t offer. I did, however, promise to book him for your first available meeting slot. He’ll be in at eight, you two are set up in conference room D. I set the file on your desk that has his up to date manuscript and the new cover art he is looking at to give ‘Twisted’ a new facelift. I left two hours open for the meeting. At ten, you’ll meet with Wes and five potential hires for the editor position.” Barby looks over towards me before continuing, “After lunch you have a two o’clock meeting with Silver Marketing, then a four o’clock meeting with—“ Her face scrunches up. “Sorry… Your father and the National Publishing House Society board members. The receptionist of NPHS said this was an annual meeting.”

I nod feeling my temper rise at the mere mention of my father’s name.

“Stella, I don’t have anything on the schedule for you after lunch. I’ll leave you and Wes to discuss whether or not he wants you in his two o’clock with Silver.”

I stare at Stella over my desk before
Barby interrupts, “Wes, did I leave anything out?”

I slightly smile at her before taking the files. “Nope.
Excellent as always. Thanks Barby.”

After she leaves me and Stella alone in my office, neither one of us speaks for a while.
Stell’s the first to break the silence.

She clears her throat before speaking. “Wes, I’d be happy to sit in on your meeting with Silver. I-I mean, if you want me. Err… I meant if you want, if you think I should.” Her head ducks down and she coughs.

“You’ve sat in on plenty of meetings with our marketing companies. I don’t see how this one would be any different than those. You’re free to leave at lunch.” I smile at her then look back down at Wilson’s files.

“Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll see you at eleven,” She stands up and gathers her things. “Have a good morning, Wes. And I guess a good weekend too.” She shrugs her shoulders and makes her way from my office. Every click of her heels is a fucking
gun shot to my chest.

I stare blankly at the door she walked out, rubbing my chest and praying for Derrick to hurry up with some damn information.

I’m Sorry…Fucking What?

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. It has finally happened. I have wondered almost daily for as long as I could remember, how much longer my sanity would hold out. How much time I had before my cheese finally slipped right the fuck off my cracker.

And now I know. It wasn’t the constant nightmares that did me in, it wasn’t the horrid memories of being raped and molested by every father figure and a brother figure that cracked my marbles. No. Ugly and hate, perversion and vitiation are not the precipitators of my mental collapse.

Falling in love with the man I swore to hate, trusting him, being honest with him. Giving him absolutely everything that I could and watching as he walks away from it like it never mattered - in the end, love is what destroyed me.

I sit behind my desk staring blankly at the wall crying. Crying over a broken heart. I couldn’t be
more weak if I tried. I am utterly disgusted with myself. If I wasn’t so afraid of the pain, or botching it and winding up a vegetable, I would put a bullet in my head just to save the world from the pitiful excuse I have become.

I glance at the clock. Shit! It’s seven fifty two! After grabbing my purse I jog-slash-walk to the ladies room.

I splash water on my face then pat it dry. I’m digging through my purse, trying to find enough make-up to fix the current state my face is in, when Barby walks into the bathroom.

“Hey, girl.” When I look up and she catches sight of me in the mirrors reflection, her smile vanishes. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit! I was hoping you were really sick. Oh, shit that sounds terrible. I mean…” She sighs as defeat takes over her features. “I know Wes has been weird all week. And the tension during schedule was thick enough to cut with a knife. I was hoping you were calling in sick because you were sick, not because there was trouble in ‘Wes and
Stell paradise’.”

“Well, I hate to make it any worse. But I was sick, I am sick, and there is no ‘Wes and
Stell’ anything anymore.” I smile sadly at her before getting back to fixing my face.

“Well, shit! I’m so sorry,
Stell. If there is anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I won’t.
And thanks, Barby. You’re cool as hell. You should come out with me and my friends sometime. You’ll fit right in, girl.”

“Hells yeah! That sounds awesome!” She practically skips into the bathroom stall.

I’m smearing on my lip gloss when she walks out and walks to the vanity to wash her hands. I toss all my make-up into my purse and sling it over my shoulder before smiling at her. “See ya later, girl.”

Before I can get to the door,
Barby says, “You know the best way to hurt the guy that hurt you is to replace him. Or rather, make him think you’ve replaced him.” I look over my shoulder at her with an eyebrow raised and motion with my hand to keep going. “Just saying… Jude? Is hot as hell. And I know for a fact that he wants him some Stella Reeses cups.”

“Oh?” I lean my shoulder against the wall and cross my arms. “And how do you know this?”

“I don’t think I have ever seen an author willing to do the amount of changes or write a manuscript as fast as he does, just for the chance to see his publisher; much less, his publisher’s intern.” She winks. “Take him for a spin. Or at least make Wes think you are.”

I nod as I absorb her rationalization behind this. Then I look back and smirk. “Alright, I will. What can it hurt? Right?”

“Exactly.”

I shake my nerves out, pull my shoulders back, and hold my head up high as I op
en the door to conference room D. There sits Jude, leaned back in his seat, arm hooked over the back of the couch, legs spread wide. He’s wearing his signature black on black suit and tie, his long sandy blonde hair is standing up on the top of his head as though a hundred fingers have plowed through his hair. The rest barely brushes the collar of his jacket.

Yeah, just as hot as I remembered. Can’t say it’ll be hard faking this. “Hey, Jude.” I smile brightly on my way to him. Trying not to act so obvious, I hold my hand out for a handshake I know he’s going to slap away. He always does.

His steel colored eyes snap to mine and instantly, his face lights up and he leaps from the couch before walking to meet me halfway. As soon as I’m in reach, he picks me up and hugs me tight, chest to chest, nose to nose. “Hey, babe. You look… Wow. Radiant. That’s all I have. I know I suck. I should have more words than that. Your beauty makes me, the ‘word master’, forget how to use them.” His eyes close and he breathes in a deep breath before setting me back down on my feet.

“Jude, you are such a flirt.” I laugh for the first time in almost a week. “Don’t you dare stop though, I need it. My self confidence needs it more than you know.” I move around the conference table and sit.

Jude is right on my heels and he sits directly beside me. “So, I looked at the covers for ‘Twisted’. I really liked two of the five, but I need to know which one you liked the best?” I lay each possible cover on the table, side by side, before looking over at him.

His face is smiling so sweetly at me. I hate that I fell for Wes. Why couldn’t Jude have tried
harder. Been more dominant and demanded my attention the way Wes did.

Dammit!
Focus, Stella.

“I like whatever you like, babe. You tell me which one to choose. If ‘Twisted Obsession’ was yours, what cover would you want to represent it?”

I blush before ducking my head, hoping he doesn’t see. I look at each cover, one by one. After I’ve looked at every cover, I pull the original two that I felt best fit the story away from the pack and point to the first one. “This one I like because the main character had so many conflicting emotions which in the end fractured his mind. His inability to speak, to voice what he was feeling, I believe was the main reason his sanity finally snapped, turning his love into a sick perversion or… ‘Twisted Obsession’. When I look at this cover, even though it’s a woman under the shattered stained glass screaming, I think it portrays the message behind the book perfectly. Who’s to say even though Renee seemed happy that she was? She could have very well been just as broken, if not more than John was. We can’t say because we only read his point of view. So, I think that concept ties this picture to the story as well. I see, man or woman—doesn’t matter - someone in the midst of a silent scream to stop their fracturing sanity with the broken mosaic of stained glass representing said sanity.” I smile at Jude waiting for his response.

He nods thoughtfully and stares at the picture for a long time before looking up and smiling at me. “That’s deep shit, babe. I love it. You get this story on so many levels. I love that about you.” He points to the second picture, “Now, tell me what you see in this one.”

I look over the picture slowly and smile. There isn’t any one thing about it that I can put my finger on or say to explain why I love it. In my opinion… I speak my rambling thoughts aloud, “In my opinion, it depicts the epitome of his obsession. Everything he ever wanted to touch, to see, but never got the chance.” My eyes run up the curve of her spine. She’s sitting on a bench, completely nude, with her arched back turned to the camera. Her hair is twisted in a sloppy French twist and her face is slightly turned, making her beautiful profile visible. In the picture, it looks as though she feels someone watching her and is just about to look over her shoulder in search of the person.

Staring at the picture, I whisper, “She is his ‘Twisted Obsession’.” I tap the picture with my finger, “Bottom line, it’s so simple I don’t need to decorate my reasoning. It’ll only take away from the utter simplicity.” I shrug sliding both cover pictures in front of him. “That’s my two cents, babe.”

His gray eyes flash to mine and I wink at him. “I can flirt just as well as you can, Mr. Preston.”

He smirks, “Well, I’ll be damned. You most certainly can.”

Jude and I meet for lunch. He kept calling it our first date and I kept telling him, and anyone he said it to, it’s just lunch. It was also exactly what I needed. He is always so much fun to hang out with. I forget all the problems plaguing my mind. And I laugh - constantly. Our lunch was so fantastic that when he drops me off outside my building and asks for a real first date tomorrow night, I don’t bat an eye before wrapping my arms around his neck and squealing, “YES!”

However, now that I’m sitting in this cramped, God forsaken doctors waiting room… I don’t feel so hot anymore. Actually, I feel like I’m going to be sick, again.

After sitting in the waiting room for a damn hour, the nurse opens the door holding a file. She finally, thank GOD, says, “Stella Reese?”

I walk towards her and smile half-heartedly. “Hi,” I say when I’m close enough for her to hear.

She holds the door open and motions for me to walk ahead, “Hi, Stella.” She points to the scales. “If you want me to hold your bags, I just need to get your weight.”

“Oh, sure. Thanks.” I hand her my stuff and step onto the scales.

Huh. You’d think without eating for a week I’d drop a few lbs.

“Okay. Follow me.” She leads me to an exam room and points to the paper covered table. “You can hop up there. So, what’s been going on? You told the receptionist you’ve been nauseated for… Oh, wow. Five days as of yesterday. What about today? Any nausea?” She looks up at me.

“Yeah, earlier. But I did eat some soup and a few crackers for lunch and kept it down; well, so far.” I shrug my shoulders.

“Hmm… Okay, let me take your vitals first.” She opens a cabinet above the sink before setting a container beside it. “Then I’ll need you to give me a urine sample. If that doesn’t give us any answers, Dr. Thomas may want to draw some blood.” She walks over and wraps a blood pressure cuff around my arm before shoving a thermometer under my tongue.

After the monitor beeps, she scribbles on my chart, removes the cuff from my arm, and takes the thermometer out of my mouth. “Your vital signs are perfect. That’s good news.” She smiles at me like I passed a test or something.

Yay! Way to go vital organs! You win again!

She hands me the container. “Here, follow me. I’ll show you where the restroom is.”

After she points to the bathroom and explains what to do with the betadine swabs - that I refuse to elaborate on - she says, “Just leave your urine specimen in the metal cabinet. Then head back to your exam room, room number five. The doctor will be with you as soon as he can.”

I have scrubbed my hoo-ha with cold brown cotton balls, pissed in a cup that I wrote my name on and put it in a metal cabinet with two way doors, washed my hands and awkwardly - because I know that all these people know that I…just now, in that bathroom… scrubbed my hoo-ha with cotton balls soaked in brown stuff - walk back to exam room
numero five.

Another thirty minutes passes and I’m on the brink of declaring to never, under any circumstances, return to any doctor – ever - when the doctor walks in.

Hmm… Isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?

“Ms. Stella!” The older man cheerfully announces. He’s impressed with my vital organs, these things are always showing off, I swear.

“Doctor Thomas!” I mock his excitement.

He laughs and shakes his head before flipping through my chart. “Your vital signs are awesome. That’s good. Urine came back okay, other than you’re dehydrated, but with the number of days you’ve been sick, that’s expected.” He looks up from my chart and smiles before sitting down.

“Crap. So now you’re gonna take my blood?” I really did not foresee me getting stuck today. My blood is fine, ask my vitals, they’ll tell you.

“
Ahh… Well, yeah. It’s kind of standard protocol for your diagnosis, Ms. Stella.” He sets my chart down on the counter before pulling his glasses off and setting them on top. He pinches the bridge of his nose for a second then looks at me with stark seriousness rather than the cheerful happiness that was there seconds before.

Fucking dread bathes me inside out. I suddenly become terrified of the words this man is about to say. I want to tell him to shush! Not to tell me. I’d rather live in ignorant bliss! I chastise my epic failure of an excuse for vital organs…for only behaving when the nurse is around.

Please, God don’t let it be Cancer. Please, God don’t let it be cancer!

“Ms. Reese, when’s the last time
you’ve had a well women’s check-up?”