Quod Me Nutrit Me Destruit: That Which Destroys Me with The Alternate Ending (20 page)

Wait. What?

I blink at him.

“An OBGYN? A woman’s doctor… They specialize in women’s health? Babies, menstrual

cycles…”.

“Oh! Okay.” I laugh. “Hell, doc. I don’t know? More than five years, I think.”

His nod and facial expression leads me to believe my answer isn’t exactly sufficient.

“Is the reasoning behind that because you’ve just recently become sexually active?”

Whoa! Whoa! Nuh uh, no damn way, doc. I know where this shit is headed and my stomach bug has nothing to do with my vagina or how frequently it bleeds.

My defenses have triggered and been raised. The therapy patient inside me flares to life and ensembles my use of closed-ended answers.

“Yes.” I nod curtly.

“Well, that’s certainly understandable.” He smiles. It’s awkward and fake as hell.

“Hmm.” I respond, unsure if a yes or no is appropriate.

“Okay.” He pulls a prescription pad from his pocket, gum wrappers that were also in his pocket fall and litter the floor unnoticed. “I’m going to refer you to a very good friend of mine. Best OBGYN in New York City. You’ll love her.” He says while writing something on his pad.

“Sounds fun.” I lie with the same fake ass smile still on my face knowing damn good and well that God himself won’t be able to drag me to see this ‘friend’ of his.

“Are you interested to know why I’m referring you to the best OBGYN in New York, Stella?” His voice is laced with authority and condescending tones that raise my hackles even further.

“Because you care about the health of my vagina?” It takes everything I have to not giggle like a damn girl.

“Stella, your urine pregnancy test came back positive.” Exhaustion coats his statement.

Whoa! Wait! I’m fucking sorry… WHAT?!?!

“Positive? Positive, as in YAY! I passed?” I’m scrambling for straws over here, mister. Shit! Give me something!

Please let it be cancer, please let it be cancer!

Dr. Thomas stands and, before leaving the exam room, hands me the prescriptions. “This is your referral to Dr. Hughes.” He taps the piece of paper. “And this one is a prescription for your prenatal vitamins. Congratulations, Stella. You’re pregnant.”

Ahh… Again, I’m sorry, Fucking WHAT?!?!

Vengeance

When your world has been ripped from beneath your feet, when the only sliver of goodness, the one and only thing you’ve ever loved, the last snippet of purity, spoils before your very own eyes, it doesn’t just leave you angry or disappointed…

…It rocks you to your
very core, the fundamental cellular level that lies beneath. It churns curiosity fervently, generating a mere habit into a maniacal infatuation.

My demons are insatiab
le with Beauty. However, where I want Beauty’s blood coating every inch of my skin, the demons only yearn to be the reason she smiles.

After the first night, she pleased Mr. Sims and apparently liked it enough to keep quiet as well as never mentioning it to friends in an effort to prevent the rumor mill from learning about her whorish behavior. Even with all the disappointment she laid upon me, I still made a vow to myself to always, no matter what, be there when she needed me. The problem with my vow was, nine times out of ten, the codependent is too confident to accept that they are indeed codependents or they are in denial.

Those key factors mix, preventing her from seeking out my help before she understands I am the only thing that can truly save her. Her lost pureness leaves nothing except stained Beauty in its wake.  

At first, I tried convincing myself that her age put her at a disadvantage. I wanted so badly to believe her too naïve
to understand what she was doing was unacceptable. And it helped choke the anger out for almost a year.

Until it dawned on me one night as I lie there listening to their grotesque concert orchestrated with his grunts and her cries with the squeaking springs, she has done this before. Her dreams alone, the same dreams that lured me in, bewitched me into falling in love with her, are enough proof that she isn’t naïve. No, of course she isn’t. All along, this was Beauty’s game… And I played right into it. Consuming any and every glance, smile, or sound I could gain for sustenance.

Like every man in the history of men starting with Adam and Eve, I’ve allowed myself to be blinded, used as an emotional puppet, pushed around on a chessboard by a mastermind that I – me - I was naïve enough to wholly believe and profess her beauty derived from her pureness.

A switch flipped inside me. Rage.
Rage  more potent than any other emotion  I’ve ever felt surged  and surged through my through my veins, driving  forcing my sanity to its brittle brink.

I sat quietly
concocting and strategizing the perfect plan. Watching. Weeks turned into months and I was patient,  I continued to plan. Until the day came and I set the wheels in motion that would lead to Beauty’s ultimate downfall.

Leading to my long awaited payment, my vengeance… Her blood.

The plot I created was easily enacted; A note placed here, a note placed there. An inconspicuous minute tattle tale whose weight was great enough to trigger a man into unleashing his ravaging beasts upon a girl.

I spoke.
To another human. Once I knew my conspicuous notes had been found in the order which I’d intended, I muttered shyly with confusion apparent on my face the tiny tattle tale to Mr. Sims. “I saw her and her friends giggling and only caught a part of what she told her friends. “His is the smallest I’ve ever seen, I thought when boys grew to be men, everything else grows with it. It’s so boring. I’ll probably just tell the teachers or school counselor, so I won’t have to pretend I’m not so bored anymore.” All of her friends broke out into a fit of giggles.” After I apologized to Mr. Sims for not knowing what she meant, I walked away smiling, swearing to never speak again.

I had to bite down on my own fist until I tasted blood to keep the cheers of delight from escaping me while I lay under the bed that night, listening to her horrified and agonizing screams—much like the ones from her dreams.

The best part, what coursed through me like a drug and made me feel high, was knowing that it was me responsible for every one of her tortured cries.

Teacher Vs. Dom

Weeks have gone by since Stella shouted her safe word. I’m no closer now than I was then at understanding what I feel is missing. Or understanding if my course of action in response to her safe word was the correct path.

It sure as fuck doesn’t feel right.
I’m uneasy and my restraint is wearing thin. My control is slipping. I know I’m supposed to wait for her to understand. I know I can’t have her or take her until she realizes that she is the one that holds the key. That it’s not my Dominance over her, it’s the submissive within that is the key.

The
idea she might never understand this concept drives me fucking mad. It abrades the snippets of restraint and the reins I barely grasp for control. I spend my days talking myself into staying in check, maintaining the rule… And I spend every night talking myself into just giving in, let the threads of control just slip through my fingers. They aren’t worth losing my angel.

I’m unsure how much longer I can withstand this torture. I’ve lost my ability to concentrate on
anything
that isn’t her. In meetings, I have people - important people - standing directly in front of me speaking; however, I have no idea what the hell they’re saying. Because every single part of my anatomy is honed in and focused on Ms. Stella Jolie Reese standing outside her office in a black pencil skirt, red silk blouse and those damn black stiletto’s which I
know
lead up between her thighs to her naked pussy!

“Wesley!” I snap my eyes to my business manager. “Which one?”

Shit! Which one what?

I quickly flip through my mind searching for what this meeting was for. When all I come across are recollections consisting of Stella, I get creative and mentally search for Stella and meeting memories.

Ding! Ding! We have a winner!

This is why I am so adamant on morning schedule meetings. See how useful they are when you least expect it.

I glance at my watch. Nine-thirty. First meeting. Editors!

“I like Shane best. Of all the applicants, he’s definitely the most suited for not only our team, but the company as a whole.”

What? He really is. See? I have my shit together; I just have to go about finding it a little differently these days. It’s called adaptation. Look that shit up, people.

“Perfect. We’ll start the paperwork and I’ll let you know when to expect him.”

After we shake hands and everyone has left, I sink into my seat exhausted.

It’s only nine-forty. Why the hell am I exhausted at nine-forty?

Stella fucking Reese - that’s why. I narrow my eyes before scanning across the office from behind the glass walls of the conference room in search of the man-draining woman.

When my eyes finally land on her, they soak in the sight of her, famished beyond reason. Goddamn she is beautiful. Radiant. The essence of beauty. Pain slices through my chest as I watch her. The suffering is so excruciating that it causes my eyes to water.

“I can’t take this shit any longer. She broke. Oh well. So did I, dammit.” I
dart from my chair and stalk from the conference room headed on a one way track to ‘fuck it all’ and ‘damn the consequences’ when that son of a bitch, Jude goddamn Preston, steps from my periphery and stands directly between me and my angel. And it pisses me off.

I can’t do this anymore. I’m done. Finished. She’s mine. Period.

It feels like I run smack into a glass wall that someone Windexed the hell out of when he leans down and she greedily accepts his kiss.

NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. What the hell is going on?

My feet are cemented to the floor.

I shake my head trying to clear these… these delusions. Please God, let them be caused by my mind playing tricks on me. Please.

A red mist floods my vision as I watch my woman in the arms of another man.  She is MINE.

Stell’s
smiling up at him like… Shit, like she smiles up at me—or used to smile up at me!

Hell no! No. I’m Wesley fucking Jacobs. If I say it’s mine, then it’s mine! And that damn smile, that damn woman
–
is mine!

I storm
toward them my fury like a tornado and ram my shoulder against into Jude’s hard enough to cause him to back-peddle several steps to keep from busting his ass. Immediately my hand circles Stella’s arm yanking her toward my office. I growl over my shoulder at Barby, “No one. And I mean
NO ONE
is to disturb us, is that understood?”

Her eyes are as wide as saucers
as she nods her head.

I slam the door to my office lock
ing it before spinning around and glaring at her. I watch her ease slowly further and further away. 

“I do not know what in the
HELL
you think you’re doing, but
IT STOPS NOW
!” I roar advancing towards her with my pointer finger stabbing the air with each word. “Are you fucking him? Is that what’s going on? That weaseling author that has been chasing after you since day one.”               I’m towering over her tiny frame as I stare into her terrified face. I grab her chin harshly, my fingertips biting into her pale flesh. “
YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE FIXING YOURSELF! HELPING YOURSELF! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE REALIZING THAT SUBMISSION IS THE KEY TO STOPPING YOUR NIGHTMARES! NOT OFF FUCKING VANILLAS
!”

I release her face and step away from her to keep myself from bending her over my desk and tearing the skin off her ass. I shove my hands through my hair as I begin to pace the length of my office.

“How am I supposed to come to the conclusion or understand that my submitting to you will stop these nightmares that plague me
EVERY
damn night since
YOU
shut me out,
WHEN I DON’T HAVE MY DOM TO SUBMIT TOO
? Huh?
HOW, WESLEY
?!?!”

“How? What
?!” I stop pacing and stare at her in confusion.

No - wait. Why does her argument stack against mine with the same amount of weight? Is it my need to have her tipping the scales? Am I allowing my mind to rationalize something irrational just to selfishly gain what I want - what I’ve been starving for?

She pulls her shoulders back, standing taller before speaking, “If my submission is essential then how, Wesley, will I ever figure it out without my Dom? A submissive isn’t a submissive without her Dom there to demand she submit.”

What the hell am I fighting for? I can’t even remember the rationalization behind my argument. All I can manage to do is stare blankly at her and blink, trying to remember why the fuck I thought leaving my sub was the correct thing to do as a Dom.

SAFE WORD.

“You safe worded out, Stella!
You might as well have cut me off at the knees, not because you used your safe word, but because you used it when you were panicked. You took your trust from me when you read too much into my question. Instead of relying on me, trusting me enough to realize I would not ask a question with intentions of trapping you. What you did, Stella, was total bullshit! You used your safe word to dominate
me!
Do you not understand that?”

Yeah! There it is! I knew I had a point, dammit!

I watch her face as my words settle between us. Confusion, denial, anger, defeat, resignation, shame, all flash across her features. When her eyes slowly rise and meet mine, all I see in them is cold determination.

In a tone as
icy as her mask, she replies, “I understand now. But before you explained it to me?” She shakes her head, “No, I didn’t. I’m entirely too new to this lifestyle to even grasp concepts at that level. You are the only man I’ve been with consensually. You are also the only man I have ever handed my total and complete trust over to. The only man I’ve willingly submitted to. The only man I’ve freely allowed to Dominate me. As my first teacher, Wesley…
you
let me down. How can the student let you down?
HOW
!?  The
TEACHER
, the
DOM
, left
HIS
student,
HIS
sub behind to flounder without explanation? Explain
THAT
fucking riddle and we can try this conversation again!”

She shoves past me
and slams out of my office.

“Because! You…” I close my mouth. Whatever I say, she’ll just find a way to twist it up and use it against me.

Well, that and
she’s already gone, so she can’t hear me.

Jesus. Christ. What the hell have I done?

Her words batter around in my chest and my mind.

There
is no way I can effectively refute her argument.

I left my angel, and I let her down.