Burn (Songs of Submission #5)(22)

“No secrets.”

“Oh, you know what? Mister No-Secrets-Sir. Mister Your-Honesty-Is-Beautiful. Tell me about when you were sixteen. Westonwood Acres?”

If I’d held out any hope of him putting his hands on me, I’d dashed my chances pretty cleanly. He removed his hands from the cabinets and leaned against the opposite wall. I flushed red.

“It was Gabby,” I said. “You didn’t know her deal. She wanted to know everything about everyone she thought could help her. People with money or connections or both. Westonwood Acres came into my hands the day of her funeral.”

“Those records were sealed.”

“Everything was blacked out but the institution, your name, and the date.”

He scanned my face, his eyes flicking back and forth, then he cast them downward. “I took a handful of pills. The Adderal was mine. The Oxycontin and the rest were my mother’s. I don’t even remember all of them.”

“Why?” I reached for his hand, but he pulled it back, still obeying the rules. Damn him.

“Do I have to talk about this in the bathroom of a Gulfstream?”

“Commit, Jonathan.”

“Are you sure you never considered law school?”

I could have cracked a joke, denied it, or even demanded an answer, but he was stalling. I wouldn’t give him something to answer with another stall. I folded my arms.

As if understanding the gesture, his mouth curled in a wistful smirk. “Now you know why I ran to you when your friend killed herself.”

“I thought it was because you cared about me.”

“That too. Believe me, that too.”

“What was so bad you’d try to take your own life?”

He nodded and slipped down the wall until his feet were wedged against the opposite counter. He put his hands in his pockets. “Remember Rachel?”

“I’ll never forget that story.” I slid down as well, leaning my feet on the opposite wall, a mirror of his posture.

“It wasn’t just the once, her and I,” he said. “It was a thing. I was infatuated, and she was f**ked up. It was intense. All encompassing. My father wasn’t in the picture then, but we snuck around. Tough to do when you’re fifteen, but enough money makes it easier. I got my license and a car as soon as legally possible.” He smiled as if some uncomfortable, yet pleasant memory flooded his mind. Then he shook his head. “Anyway, drunk driver. Meaningless loss. Devastation. A family I couldn’t lean on or they’d know the truth. Et cetera, et cetera.”

“I don’t think you can ‘et cetera’ any of that.”

His laugh was short and humorless. “No. I shouldn’t.” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “I have a big family. I know, we’re loaded, so it’s not like we all lived in a one-bedroom apartment, but someone was always around. It wasn’t until she died that I realized I was surrounded by seven sisters and two parents and all these friends, and I was alone. Very, very alone. My dad said, ‘Oh, son, by the way, I took care of her family, so don’t worry.’ Like that was all it was about for him. Or not. Maybe he was hurt and didn’t want to show me because he was in denial? Or she really didn’t mean shit to him, which disgusted me, because I knew it was true.”

“Your dad sounds like a charming guy.”

“You have no idea just how charming he is.” He looked at his feet, then continued. “I felt like I came from shit, and that was what I was. Rachel, for what it was worth, understood the dynamic. She made me feel less isolated. And when she died, I felt worthless and alone. A handful of pills seemed like the best way to take care of it.”

We watched each other for a second before I said, “I want to hold you.”

“Commit yourself to me.”

“Yes.”

“Will you be okay with people looking at you, knowing you’re submissive to me?”

I swallowed. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t think I’d ever be.

“From your face, I can see that’s a no,” he said.

A buzzing noise came from the speakers, shocking me straight and alert. Jacques’s voice came soon after.

“Mister Drazen and passengers. Please buckle in. We’re landing in a few minutes.”

Jonathan snapped open the door and let me go out first. He pressed himself to the doorframe as I passed so our bodies did not touch.

CHAPTER 18.

MONICA

We piled into the limo, exhausted. Night time in Vancouver looked much like night time anywhere else. Though I was excited to be outside the U.S. for the second time in my life, my body, mind, and heart had been through too much in the last six hours.

“We’re at the Travel Lodge,” Darren said. “I assume you’re not staying there.”

“Neither are you,” Jonathan said.

“Jonathan,” I grumbled.

“I own a hotel practically on top of the museum. Don’t be stupid. Staying in Richmond’s going to waste time and money. Separate rooms, in case you’re concerned.”

“I’m not,” I said.

“Thank you. That’ll be great,” Darren said.

I wanted to kick him. Why was it okay for him to accept an expensive hotel room, but whenever I accepted a gift, I was whoring myself? I tried to give him a look, but he just dicked with his phone. Then he smirked a little and glanced over at me. Then I realized that in his mind, by accepting it himself, he was saving me from doing so. Thus, I was no whore.