Beneath This Man(154)

I shrug him off and stand trying to piece together the scene unfolding before me. It's hard, even though time has slowed and every tiny detail is perfectly clear to me. He's naked, except for his jeans, and kneeling on the floor, his head dropped limply. He hasn't even looked up. Sarah is standing behind him, kitted out in black leather trousers, a leather bodice and a thigh high leather boots, looking as evil as the whip in her hand.

I can't move. I'm completely rooted to the spot. My legs are shaking, my heart beating so fast it might escape my chest, and I can't open my mouth. What is happening?

Sarah glances up at me, a look of deep satisfaction on her face as she slowly raises the whip again. I want to scream, tell her to stop, but my mouth is dry and not responding to my brains commands. Her pouty face screams pleasure at subjecting Jesse to this wicked torture and, no doubt, having me here to bear witness to it.

She brings the whip crashing down on Jesse's bare flesh again, and he arches his back, throwing his head back, but he doesn't make a sound.

The loud scream echoing around the room is me.

His head snaps up as my cry seeps into his ears. I'm struggling against John again, who has regained his hold on me. 'Let go of me!' I fight harder, twisting my body in his grip, clawing and hitting him.

'Ava?' Jesse's voice stills me. It's weak and broken as his head turns in my direction.

A desperate cry escapes my mouth as our eyes meet and all I find are empty glazed holes. He doesn't look completely with it. He looks drugged and hollow. He makes to stand but staggers forward slightly in complete disorientation. My eyes fall onto his back, finding at least ten angry welts spread from one side of his back to the other, overlapping and seeping with beads of blood.

I feel sick. My stomach starts to heave and as Sarah raises the whip again, I hear John in the distance bellowing her name. My knees give out and I crumble to the floor at John's feet.

'Ava?' Jesse makes it to a standing position, but he is nowhere near stable. He shakes his head as if trying to regain his focus, his confused face becoming stricken as he registers my presence. 'Jesus, no!' Fear floods his handsome features. Even his voice is unstable. He goes to walk forward, but he's stopped by Sarah, who's grabbing at his arm. 'Get the f*ck off me!' he roars, knocking her backwards. 'Ava, baby. What are you doing here?' He rushes forward and drops to his knees in front of me, grabbing at my face and searching for my eyes.

He's a complete blur through my tears. I can't speak. I'm just shaking my head frantically, trying to rid my brain of what I have just witnessed. Is this a nightmare? He wasn't fighting her off at all. He knelt there waiting for the blows in a total trance. I throw my arms out to bat him away from me and scramble to my feet.

'Ava, please!' he pleads, as I push his grabbing hands from me. I need to get out of here.

I turn, knocking John out of the way, and run in blind shock down the corridor, emerging into the massive summer room. As I hurry through, I'm vaguely aware of shocked gasps, and I turn to see Jesse and John in pursuit of me. I slap my hand over my mouth as I feel the bile rising in my throat. Oh God, I'm going to throw up.

I hurtle through the toilet door and into a cubicle, slamming the door behind me. I just make it over the bowl and then proceed to evacuate the contents of my stomach on loud, painful retches, my face wet with sweat and tears. I'm in the lowest level of hell and once again, trapped in a f*cking cubicle with nowhere to go.

The sound of the toilet door crashing into the tiled wall rings out around the ladies' washroom. 'Ava!' He bangs on the door behind me, and I sink to my bum as I feel another round of violent heaves coming on. 'Ava! Open the door!'

I can't answer him through my persistent retching, even if I wanted to. What the hell am I supposed to say? I've just watched him accept a thrashing from a woman I despise - a woman who I know wants Jesse and hates me. My imagination doesn't stretch to this kind of callousness. I throw up again and fumble for some toilet paper to wipe my mouth as the door continues to bang behind me.

'Please,' he begs, and a dull thud meets the door. I know it's his forehead. 'Ava, please, open the door.'

My tears gather force again at the sound of him begging. I can't possibly look into the eyes of the man I love knowing he has done this to himself.

'Who let her in?' His tone has turned fierce, and he punches the door. 'Fuck! Who the f*cking hell let her in?'

'Jesse, I didn't let her in. I would never have let her in.' John's low hum is soothing. I want to jump to his defense. He didn't let me in. John's fretful voice, his attempts to stop me from entering Jesse's office, it all brings me to one conclusion. He didn't text me. He didn't open the gates. She's done it again. My strong, dominate man having himself beaten? I've underestimated her hatred of me. I've trodden on some really fancy, red polished toes. She has more than succeeded in her attempts to shock me, but all of this doesn't detract from the fact that Jesse was actively, willingly, partaking in the appalling activity. Why?