Page 48 of Unforgettable
23
Rose
Strangely enough,things quickly get back to normal after my breakdown. When I woke up the next morning, the mess was completely gone. Kisten started calling me Hurricane Rose in an attempt to lighten the mood around the situation. I didn’t mind because it did make things sound way less serious than they were. I’m balancing on some weird line between a deep depression and blind anger. The slightest bump, and I’m ready to fall off into one state of being or the other.
Hannah barely leaves my side. The last three days, she’s watched me like a hawk. I have no doubt that Matthew is behind that. He probably gets hourly reports on how I’m doing. I hate that he’s so worried about me. I hate being a bother. Every morning I don a mask of calm. I smile when appropriate and respond anytime someone speaks. My insides are a churning mess, but outwardly, I’m good.
Matthew brought me back to the club today for the first time since my little meltdown. It isn’t until Dr. Martinez drops in to check on me that I realize he didn’t bring me with him just to keep me close. I slip a little on that fine line I’m walking letting a little anger filter through.
Of course, the doctor tries to pretend that it’s just a coincidence that she’s here in the middle of the afternoon when she should be at the office. The fact that she’s dressed in scrubs doesn’t do a thing to dissuade me from thinking this is a setup.
“Since I’m here, why don’t I check over your back? See how you’re healing up.”
She’s so nice and sincere that I don’t argue. Matthew leaves us so we have his office to ourselves. She asks me to strip, and I do without hesitation. Cool fingers touch my back and a jolt away.
“Sorry,” Dr. Martinez says quickly.
I shake my head and tell her it’s fine. It’s not her fault that unexpected touches still make me jump.
“You can put your clothes back on. You’ve healed up nicely. Even better than I thought. Are you still using the salve?”
“Yeah. Matthew puts it on me after every bath or shower.”
Once I’m dressed, I face her again, glad to not have her at my back anymore. Paranoia has become an unwelcome friend.
She smiles kindly. “That’s great. Keep doing that, and the scars could completely fade.”
If only the scars on the inside could be treated so easily.
“How is the anti-depressant working for you?” Dr. Martinez asks, finally revealing why she’s really here.
I expected this. She asks me a dozen questions about my moods, not giving her thoughts away as I answer. When I try to evade a particularly uncomfortable question, she gives me a no-nonsense look and assures me she’s only here to help. I tell her more than I probably should about how scared I feel all the time. How the anxiety never full retreats and the anger that is a constant bubble inside my gut waiting for the right moment to explode.
“I think we need to bring in a specialist,” she says. “I’m concerned because the medication should be helping, and it doesn’t seem like it is. Especially considering what happened the other day.”
I flush with embarrassment. Of course, Matthew told her about what happened. He’s worried about me. They all are.
“Dr. Klein has agreed to come tomorrow and chat with you. I’m sure he will be able to help find a medication that will help.” She pats my arm. I’m able to keep myself from flinching away from her touch, but only just. It’s been harder to allow casual physical contact.
Hannah and Matthew are the only two that don’t make my skin crawl. It makes me feel guilty that Slade and Kisten can no longer touch me without me jumping. I hate it. The easiness between us has been erased somehow. I still trust them both implicitly, but something in my mind refuses to settle around them.
“Take care of yourself, Rose. And please be honest with Dr. Klein. He only wants to help.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding in. Dr. Martinez didn’t say it, but it’s obvious Dr. Klein is a psychiatrist. The thought makes me nauseous. I have no desire to bare my soul to a stranger. After she leaves, I wander around the club, sulking. I know both Doc and Matthew are only looking out for me, but I can’t help feeling a bit betrayed. Feeling I’m crazy myself is one thing, having the people I care about point out my craziness is different.
I can admit to myself that my moods have been shifting all over the place. I really thought I was doing a good job of hiding the instability. I spent years hiding behind masks, and something about being here with Matthew makes my masks weaker. The truth shows through the cracks, and it scares me. I don’t want anyone seeing the ugliness that lingers in the dark parts of me.
I’ve spent years keeping it buried, hidden deep inside. I’m constantly aware of it. The darkness feeds off of me. Sucking down everything good until I’m a dry husk of a person. It has been with me so long that I don’t recall a time when the darkness didn’t exist. It’s been my constant companion since long before Red House.
My masks kept me safe from people seeing too much. Knowing that Matthew has seen through the cracks to the darkness within terrifies me. What happens when he realizes just how broken I am? Will he finally realize how unworthy of his love I am? Worst of all, without him, the darkness will consume me. I’ve never depended on a person to hold it at bay before, but that’s exactly what Matthew does.
Selfishly, I want to keep leaning on him. I want him to sit in the darkness with me when it becomes too much to bear. I hate myself for that. He deserves so much better than my madness. No matter what happens, he’s right there taking care of me. All my days at Black Rose have shown me that it’s a dominant thing.
Matthew and I haven’t had any sort of official conversation about it, but we’ve slowly shifted into a relationship where he’s the dominant, and I’m submissive. Not in a sexual way, and he doesn’t spank me or anything, but he does take care of me in all the ways a good dom takes care of his sub. At first, I questioned if I was even a real submissive. I balked at the very idea of me wanting to give up control to anyone after what I’ve been through. Still, I’ve found a certain level of security in giving Matthew control.
Things that should be simple, everyday decisions stress me out. Picking restaurants, shopping—even though I’m restricted to online shopping at the moment for security purposes—and sometimes what clothes to wear. All the choices overwhelm me. Part of that is I lived so many years without any choice, but another part is that I like when Matthew swoops in and takes care of it.
What people don’t realize about healthy BDSM relationships is that they are a partnership. Yes, one person has the illusion of control, but they only have as much control as the submissive is willing to surrender. There’s freedom in surrender, and I’m only just starting to understand it.