Rebecca has finally left her Master for good but is she strong enough to move on completely with a new man? Find out in the latest entry of Rebecca’s Forgotten Journals.
Read the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh entries from Rebecca’s Forgotten Journals to catch up with her romance.
Don’t forget to check back in next week, as Hypable will be running weekly entries from Rebecca’s Forgotten Journals, which are featured in her Inside Out series, until Valentine’s Day.
Rebecca’s Forgotten Journals: Dream Man Part Eight
Friday 10 pm
I know I said I was going to call Alex and accept that date, but I didn’t. I felt guilty, like I was betraying the Master, who is no longer my Master. But the thing is, I feel like I’m betraying my heart, too. I love him and I know the pain he’s hiding from. I’ve seen it in his eyes over and over and over again. I feel like I am hurting him by leaving him even though he’s hurting me by keeping me at a distance. And it’s not about being his submissive.
Being a submissive, though not natural to me, is not a bad thing. In fact, I found it to be an incredible bond, shared with someone you trust completely. It can be freedom and a connection shared with someone else, that I don’t think I could explain if asked. It’s something you just have to experience. But my master used the role of submissive as his way of keeping me at a distance. It was a tool to protect himself from the emotional bond growing between us. The problem for him though, was it became a way that we grew closer, and each time I felt that happening, he’d push me to do something he knew I wouldn’t like. He’d bring in the second master, to share me. He’d bring in her. God. I can’t believe I let myself be shared. I can’t believe I don’t hate him for doing it. But I have no one to blame but myself. The power is always with the submissive. The submissive says “yes” or “no.” Until recently, I never wanted to say no to him.
So, I didn’t call Alex last night when I’d planned to do so. I told myself it was too late since it was nearly midnight when I put my journals aside. I went to work this morning trying to convince myself to call him today, but I just kept finding work to do and yet, I managed to find time to call down to the bakery and find out if they had my favorite chocolate cookies. That tells you, I didn’t want to call. And yet…I did. I’m very confused about why I felt that way. How could I have wanted to call Alex, and still be in love with another man? And almost as if Alex knew my conflict, he showed up. Not literally, but he might as well have.
I’d just sat down at my desk for a late lunch which included a bag of those chocolate cookies and a cup of coffee, because my diet couldn’t afford for me to eat a sandwich and the bag of cookies. And considering my tormented mood, I knew I was going to eat the cookies no matter what. I was three delicious cookies in when Amanda had appeared at my door.
“Flowers for you!” she’d exclaimed.
I’d nearly choked on crumbs, and had to wash them down with a hot swig of coffee, and not because of the flowers, but rather, the certainty they were not from the man I love. How did I know this? They did not match the ring on the chain at my neck. They weren’t roses but rather some sort of orange blossom flowers.
I’d recovered from the attack of the cookie crumbs by the time Amanda set the flowers on my desk. “Are they from the same man who sent you the gift last week?”
I’d felt that question like a punch in the chest because, no. They were not from the master I love. “Let’s hope,” I’d said, with the hope she’d leave, because as much as I love Amanda, she’s young and she pushes and pushes and in that moment, I just didn’t have it in me to deal with that part of her.
I’d grabbed the card though, and read it: Marigold’s represent a desire for riches, but I find all I desire is you. I can’t stop thinking about you. – Alex
“Well?” Amanda had pressed.
“Ricco Alvarez,” I’d lied. Despite hating lies. “Marigold’s mean desire for riches, and he’s thanking me for selling so many of his paintings the past few weeks.”
“Oh.” She’d looked disappointed. “Well that’s nice. And he is a good looking, rich and famous artist. I think he likes you.”
“I think he likes the money I’m making him,” I’d told her and motioned for her to leave. “Scram, you. I have to eat my lunch before my next appointment.”
She’d pursed her lips and headed away, and suddenly, Bossman, Mark Compton himself, had been standing in my doorway, looking better than any chocolate cookie could ever taste, in a blue suit and silver tie. And being that he’s blonde, he makes tall, blond, and hot mean way more than tall, dark, and good looking. “Ricco sent you flowers?”
Lying to Amanda had been one thing. Lying to him, well, you don’t lie to Mark Compton. Those gray eyes of his just see right to the soul. “No. He did not.”
I’d just admitted lying to Amanda, and he’d stood there, staring at me, assessing me in that way he assesses me, and really everyone. And then, he’s just pushed off the door and left. And this is the thing. When Mark Compton comes in the room, he charges the air, and consumes it. When he leaves, it’s like a bubble being deflated. He takes all that energy with him. My shoulders had slumped and I’d sucked in air. That’s when the sweet, and almost spicy scent of the marigolds had teased my nostrils. I’d sat up and stared at them and it had hit me that while Bossman has been assessing me, maybe judging me, I’d been judging me, too. I’ve been doing a lot of judging myself, and maybe, just maybe I need to be with someone who isn’t judging me.
I’d opened my drawer and pulled out Alex’s card, before punching his number in. I’d then stood up, and walked to the door where I’d shut it, and then before I could stop myself, I’d hit the call button. He’d answered on the first ring. “Rebecca.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“I just knew. You got the flowers?”
“Yes,” I’d said, my gaze landing on the orange blossoms where they’d sat on my desk. “They’re lovely.”
“You’re lovely,” he’d said. “Listen. Rebecca. I’m in Aspen on business.”
“Oh I’m sorry,” I’d said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You didn’t. Have you ever been here?”
“No. I hear it’s beautiful.”
“It is. I want you to come here. I’ll fly you here to me. I’ll get you your own room. No pressure at all for more than just dinner and a chance to get to know you.”
I was stunned. I stumbled over my words when I never stumble over my words. “I…This is… I have to work.”
“It’s Friday. Aren’t you off for the weekend?
“I work Saturday.”
“Then I’ll have a private jet waiting on you when you get off.”
“I have to work Monday.”
“And I’ll have you back there. I’ll send you a list of character references. I need to be here. And I need you to be here, too.”
Need. He needs me. “This is crazy.”
“Life is short, sweetheart. You have to live it. Live this part of it with me.”
Life is short. Those words had resonated with me. They have even before he spoke them. They’d become my motto after my mother had died. They are why I dared a job in the competitive, often low paying art world, and I’d made it work.
“Say yes, Rebecca,” he’d pressed.
I’d dared the art world. I’d dared to be submissive. And I’d decided right then, to dare do take an adventure. “Yes,” I’d said, and I could almost hear Alex smiling through the phone.
“Excellent,” he’d replied. “What time do you want the plane to be ready?”
“Five.”
“Five it is. I’ll text you the arrangements when I’ve made them. See you soon.”
“See you soon.”
We’d ended that call, and I’d had butterflies in my belly. I still do. I’m going to Aspen.
With Alex.