Vicious Carousel (12 page)

Betsy shook her head. “Since I moved in with Jack. Months. He wanted me to grow it out long.”

“How do
you
want it to look?”

“I…I don’t know anymore.”

“Well, we also have an appointment at my hair stylist. I bribed her to come in today. So we need to get you ready.”

“I can’t go out like this.” The last thing she wanted—the last thing she could emotionally handle at that time—was a salon full of nosy women staring at her.

“Yes, you can. She’s normally closed on Mondays. It’ll just be us. Wait here.” She left the room and returned with the tote bag. In it, a brand new, large, floppy-brimmed hat, large sunglasses, and some makeup.

“I wasn’t exactly sure of your skin tone, so I made my best guess. But honestly, that doesn’t matter. I was more worried about the concealer. Hold still.”

Tilly opened the new containers of cosmetics and gently started applying concealer, foundation, and powder to Betsy’s face and neck, being careful around her stitches and swollen eye.

Fifteen minutes later, she sat back and tipped her head as she examined her handiwork. “Put the glasses on.”

The new sunglasses still had the tag on them. Tilly reached over and ripped the tag off and handed them to her.

“Better. They hide the stitches and the worst of your eye. It’s obvious there’s something off, but let’s try the hat.”

Tilly removed the tag and handed it to her. Betsy donned it, then Tilly made a couple of slight adjustments to the hat before smiling.

“There. You look like a movie star going incognito.” She helped Betsy stand and made her look at herself in the mirror over the dresser.

Yes, there was a glimmer of who she used to be staring back at her, but the person in the mirror was still a stranger.

“Thank you for this,” Betsy said.

Tilly snorted. “Thank my husband’s black AmEx,” she said. “Girlfriend, we
are
going shopping later.”

* * * *

The hair stylist was nice, chatty, and pretended there was absolutely nothing at all wrong with Betsy’s face. She guessed Tilly must have warned her about how bad she’d look, or the stylist was lethal at poker.

Either way, two hours later, Betsy had her first haircut in the better part of a year, layered and hanging at her shoulders, where she’d used to wear it. The stylist had
tsked
at the poor condition of her hair due to no conditioner and the cheap shampoo Jack had forced her to use, and started off with doing a hot oil treatment that left it feeling better than it had in…well, a long damn time.

She also colored it, adding a few highlights to it and removing the grey starting to creep in, which made a huge difference and made Betsy look younger. Tilly asked the stylist to load them up with product Betsy would need and to add it to the tab.

Once Tilly helped Betsy touch up her makeup and put the hat and glasses back into place, she paid the bill and thanked the stylist with a long hug and a whispered something before taking Betsy’s hand and leading her out to her SUV.

“Where to now?” Betsy asked.

“Ted’s. We’re going to eat lunch there at his office while you chat. I can sit in with you, if you’d like, or I can wait outside.”

“With me, please.”

“No problem. I brought ibuprofen, too, for your pain. I’m sure you’re close to needing some.”

The pain wasn’t quite as debilitating as it had been, but yes, it still hurt. “Thank you.” Her right foot and ankle ached, but Tilly had examined her wounds and determined they weren’t infected.

Ted welcomed them with smiles and an especially gentle hug for Betsy before leading them into his office and closing the door. Tilly and Betsy settled together on the sofa. Betsy took her hat and sunglasses off and set them on the arm of the sofa.

“I’m going to order us pizza, if that’s okay?” Ted asked.

Betsy nodded.

Ted cocked his head. “Betsy?”

“It’s fine.”

She didn’t miss how he and Tilly exchanged a glance. “I’m fine with pizza, honestly. If there’s something I don’t like, I’ll pick it off.”

Tilly’s hand shot up like a kid in class. “Oooh, me! Pick me!”

Ted rolled his eyes, but waved a hand at Tilly to speak.

She turned and leaned forward toward Betsy. “Honey, this isn’t a dictatorship. If you don’t like pizza, or don’t want pizza, or specifically don’t want something on your pizza, say so.”

How long had it been before now since she’d
had
a choice? “Do they make a white sauce pizza?” she timidly asked, hating the way her voice sounded.

“They do,” Ted said. “A very good one. Would you prefer white sauce?”

She nodded. “Please. And I like mushrooms.”

“Sounds good to me. We have sodas, water, and tea, or coffee, here at the office. Is that all right?”

Betsy nodded.

“Good. Let me get it ordered and we’ll get started.”

Tilly reached over and patted her on the leg. “See? That was easy. Baby steps.”

Betsy thought about her sore right ankle. “It’s about the only kind I can take right now.”

* * * *

Betsy had never seen a counsellor before, had no experience with the process whatsoever. She wasn’t even sure what to expect and sat there nervously picking at her cuticles while Ted ordered the pizza.

With that done, Ted surprised her by starting with one simple question.

“Where do you see yourself in one year?”

She looked up when she realized he was talking to her. “Me?”

He nodded. “You.”

A flurry of flippant lines crossed through her brain but she caught herself. Jack had hated her one-liners, her quips, her comebacks.

She’d been backhanded plenty of times when she’d said something without thinking about it. Things others had always laughed over. She loved making people laugh.

With Jack, she’d learned to stay quiet.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

Ted didn’t say anything. He simply looked at her as if expecting her to continue.

“I
really
don’t know,” she said.

He arched an eyebrow but didn’t speak. Even Tilly remained uncharacteristically silent next to her.

Betsy thought about it and finally said the first thing that came to mind. “A year ago, if you’d told me I’d be sitting right
here
, under
these
circumstances, I would have said you were nuts. That I’d let a guy do
this
to me? No flipping way.”

“Were you involved in BDSM a year ago?” Ted asked.

“I’d just started, yeah. Had been to a few munches. A couple of classes. I knew this was what I wanted. Not
this
, obviously. But BDSM. I wanted a loving Dominant who’d respect my boundaries and make me feel safe.”

“Why?”

She blinked, staring at him. “Why what?”

“Any of that. Why?”

“I don’t know.”

He leveled his gaze at her. Now she felt a little of his Dom stepping out of the shadows and into view. She suspected this wasn’t something that normally happened with his other clients.

“Look me in the eyes,” he said, “and as soon as I finish asking the question, you immediately answer me with the first thing that comes to mind without censoring yourself or thinking about it, okay?”

She nodded.

He crossed his arms in front of him on his desk and leaned forward a little.

Yes, definitely Dom-tude in his gaze.

“
Why
did you want a loving Dominant who would respect your boundaries and make you feel safe?”

The answer welled up from inside her, beyond her control. “Because for once I wanted someone I could trust and lean on and not feel alone, and feel like I finally belonged somewhere,” she whispered before bursting into tears.

* * * *

Ted handed Tilly the box of tissues before stepping out with the excuse of getting their drinks.

Tilly immediately ripped a handful from the box and pressed them into Betsy’s hands before wrapping her arms around Betsy and letting her sob.

“You’re not alone,” Tilly whispered. “Sweetie, you’re
not
alone. You have all of us. I know it’s not the same, but it’s a start. Just don’t close us out.”

“Tilly, I fucked up sooo bad,” she whispered, barely able to speak. “Look what I did to my life. How am I ever supposed to trust any guy ever again after what I did? I should have said stop so many times and I didn’t.”

“Are you religious?”

“Not really. I went to church when I was a kid. Why?”

“You know the difference between a cult and a religion, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know there’s that one that’s in Clearwater? That famous one. There are people who spent decades of their lives, I’m talking people high up in that so-called ‘church,’ who devoted everything to it, just to quit. And by quitting, they lost everything, including friends, family, kids, sometimes spouses. And sometimes, they fought tooth and nail to stay in before they finally quit.”

“Why?”

“Because they finally realized it was harmful for them to be in it, for whatever reason. There are people who escape cults every
day
because they realize it’s harmful for them. But does that make other religions bad?”

“No.”

“Exactly. Does that make the people who got out of those cults wrong or bad people?”

“No.”

“Exactly. Are you old enough to remember hearing about that crazy fucker in South America who killed himself and his followers by ordering they drink poisoned Kool-Aid?”

“Yeah?”

“
That’s
earth-shattering. That’s
bad
. Honey, this is painful, yes. It takes, what, nine months to grow a baby. Based on what you’ve told me already, you were ready to leave Jack a while ago, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to borrow a trick from Ted’s book. No thinking, just answer me this—what kept you with Jack?”

“Fear,” she said without having to think about it. She blew her nose.

“Okay. So let’s say nine months, ballpark then. You grew a baby. Your life changed. The baby, instead of being a pooping and peeing and crying and barfing little brick of joy turned out to be a nine-pound bundle of self-realization and experience. Right?”

“I guess.”

Ted returned with their drinks, handing cold bottles of water to Tilly and Betsy and taking his cold bottle of Mountain Dew to his desk.

“How are you doing?” he asked Betsy.

“I quit drinking the Kool-Aid before it killed me,” she quietly said.

He looked puzzled. “I’m sorry, I thought you asked for water?”

Tilly fell over laughing.

* * * *

With the pizza delivered and served and Ted brought up to speed, this time he let Betsy talk, leading her through what had happened, from meeting Jack until finally making the break on Saturday.

It took an hour and a box of tissues, but Betsy felt a lot lighter when they finished talking. She didn’t feel any less angry at herself for being so gullible, but she had to admit now she had a starting point to work from going forward. She had things to do. She had goals to make, focus to find, and dreams to define.

She started feeling the beginnings of
her
returning.

Ted was still trying to get in touch with his friends about taking her on as a client. But meanwhile, he wanted to see her back there on Thursday at ten, an appointment Tilly assured him would be kept, even if someone else had to bring her.

Tilly went with her to the restroom to help her wash her face and reapply the concealer and powder. With the hat and glasses back in position, her disguise was once more complete.

“How’s this?” Betsy asked her.

Tilly hugged her. “I think in a couple of weeks you’ll look almost normal again and maybe even start feeling that way a little.”

She drove Betsy to the mall close to Nolan and Kenny’s house. Tilly started them at an Old Navy for some basics for Betsy, including shorts, slacks, jeans, a couple of casual sundresses, and blouses. Then Tilly, who wouldn’t let Betsy carry the bags, led her to a high-end department store, where Tilly started finding business clothes for her, then some nice bras and panties.

Betsy knew arguing would be pointless, so despite feeling guilty that her friend was spending the money on her, Betsy didn’t fight her, tried on everything Tilly shoved at her, spoke up when there was a color or style she didn’t really like…and said thank you.

A lot.

Tilly finished off the shopping trip at a shoe store, where she got Betsy three pairs of dressy flats, a pair of loafers, and two pairs of sandals.

“Now,” Tilly said, finally letting her carry a couple of shopping bags as they returned to her SUV, “we’re going to go home, you’re going to change from what you’re wearing into one of the outfits I just bought you, and we’re going work on your resume.”

“Why do I need to change?”

“You’re going to dress the part to get the part.”

“I should call the office I worked for, too.”

“We’ll do that first.
After
you change clothes.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Tilly smiled. “Well, I’m not your Domme, but I’ll let you call me that. I’d rather you do that if it makes you feel better.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, that’s what friends are for, sweetie.” Her smile faded as she started the car. “Believe me, I wouldn’t be here talking to you right now if it wasn’t for friends.”

While Betsy used the bathroom, Tilly laid an outfit out on the bed, including shoes. Betsy washed her hands and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Taking off the sunglasses and hat, she looked at the swollen shape of her right eye under the concealer. The bruising still painfully evident despite Tilly’s best efforts. The stitches, of course, still there.