Smoky Amethyst

An extract from The Menagerie

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The clue is very much in the title.

But, this is a tough read, and was a difficult piece to write, as it is grounded in many of my own life experiences - albeit, twisted and changed to some extent. (I made it nicer, far nicer than real life.)

⚠️ Abortion, abuse (emotional, physical, sexual), gaslighting, infidelity, sex

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This story will be available for approx. two months, before I’ll need to remove it. But it’ll remain in ebook and paperback should you wish to find it later.

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Photo by Ankit Sinha on Unsplash

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I hadn’t even realised I was looking for something. But I must’ve been. I must’ve been screaming for something from my subconscious, asking the universe to help me. To find me. To bring me salvation. I tried to deny it when it arrived, but it won. It beat me down, it wore me out, and I gave up… I let it dominate me.

Until I figured out that it wasn’t what I was looking for after all.

By then, though, it was too late.

It had been a tricky time, one where I’d given myself to those who hurt me. I’d trusted and had that trust thrown back. And it’d all ended in disaster, leaving me alone.

Which wasn’t something I’d experienced before.

I’d always felt alone, but I’d always had someone. Now, I was alone physically as well as emotionally.

And that was new.

Having a naturally fawning personality, I’d tried too hard to please people, only to have such earnestness result in the crumbling of all my relationships. I put myself second, and found it difficult to maintain the persona they wanted me to have.

I wanted them to love me, for me. But to make them love me, I had to be someone else. It was a ridiculous dichotomy, and one I should’ve known would never last. But I did it anyway.

Over and over again.

I guess because I just wanted to feel like I belonged somewhere.

Anywhere.

That eventually a character would stick, and I’d find someone who understood and would want me around.

It’d been the same story my whole life. I’d tried and tried, and failed and failed. I was desperate. Which is what, I guess, brought him to my door. All those fractured pieces of my heart were crumbs for someone like him, and he followed them.

Looking back, I’d seen him before. Many times as I went about my working life. I’d avoided conversation, avoided contact, avoided anything to do with him. A smile in passing, to be polite, all I offered.

However, on that day, I opened the door and smiled with warmth. A genuine pleasure. I don’t know why. I still don’t know why. He said it was because I knew I needed him, just as he needed me. That there was an opportunity for him to fix every broken memory, that he could provide me with paradise.

And for a while I believed him.

What he said that day whet my appetite. It made me hungry, and I was willing. I was willing to let him indoctrinate me. I listened. I bantered. I countered his comments with my own. Deep down, I’d misgivings, but I was lonely. I enjoyed his attention.

It made me feel like I was worth something.

He’d made the effort to see me.

And he kept coming back.

Week after week, he returned; never staying for too long. Just long enough to chat, sometimes a drink. He said he didn’t want to rush me. He wanted me to embrace this and learn it for myself. He knew if he kept me baited long enough, I’d bite.

We talked every day, messages forth and back which made me feel special. There was a promise of something which could be amazing. An illicit escape, something delightful.

Was I merely allowing him to shape me into what he wanted? Was I putting on another act, becoming another persona; someone he wanted to see? I don’t know. I was confused. I was sure I could control this. I was sure I could control myself. But I could feel myself slipping further each and every time.

About a month into this bizarre relationship, for I kidded myself that was what it was, he came to my home. I hid. I hid in the kitchen, listening to the incessant knocking on the door. Listening to his muttering, then the phone vibrating against my hip.

Thankful I’d turned off the sound.

My heart was racing; I felt I’d accomplished a victory, ignorant that I’d set myself up for punishment. Somewhere in the depths of my brain I knew, and was terrified, of the consequences. That I’d acted in a way which was wrong. Utterly unacceptable.

The following week, I had no contact from him at all.

He did not visit. He did not text. He did not call.

My victory was short lived.

I caved first; panic I’d angered someone I believed I had a future with leading me to send a message. Asking how he was, if he was ok. I got a one-word reply.

‘Sure.’

I don’t know if that hurt more than not hearing from him. So, I took a deep breath and got on with life. I turned to my books, buried myself in work and reading. Buried myself in fantasies and dreams. In maintaining my home.

Possibly out of hope he’d make contact again, I began to organise my wardrobe, my belongings. Sorting through them and weighing up if he would approve. If they were suitable for me to have, if I was to be with him. I made piles of things to discard.

Perhaps I was hoping that by acting in this way, the universe would bring him back. The universe brought him to me once; I was merely trying again.

With my house cleansed and organised in a way I believed he would find appropriate, I waited. Waited for the knock on the door, the chime of my phone. I imagined his arrival, imagined him inspecting me. I imagined him rewarding me for my compliance and skill.

I yearned for that acceptance.

When the knock did come, a week later, I was unrecognisable to who I was before. My work colleagues had noticed it, they’d asked what was happening, but I’d declined to comment. I’d dodged family, certain they wouldn’t condone my choice.

But it was worth it, to see his eyes spark.

To see the briefest of nods of approval.

To see the smile twitch at the corners of his mouth.

I smiled, bit my lip, and welcomed him in.

This time, he explained, he’d be setting a challenge. Homework of sorts. I explained I’d already done so much, and he congratulated me, he was proud of me. But he wanted more. He felt I could do more to prove I was worthy of him, that I could follow his instruction.

What I’d done was a good start.

But I needed to do more.

He said he’d show me, and be with me, and guide me. I didn’t need to worry about a thing. We talked some more, he ran his hands over my skirt, my modest blouse. I shivered. I swear his eyes glittered when that happened, some malicious glee.

As he left, he handed me a piece of paper. Small, neatly folded. With a sincere face he told me to read it after he’d gone, and that he’d be back to check my progress. The date set. I nodded, eager to read the text and begin.

With trembling hands, I opened it.

There were two columns.

Things to Buy and Things to Do.

The To Buy list requested I obtain matching blue lingerie, that was not to be cotton; a blindfold; masking tape; a ruler; and soft rope.

Ok, I thought, I know where this is going. I’ve been bound before, and his instruction, his requests for research, and our conversation, had hinted at such things. And I like it, it thrills me.

Then there was the To Do list. He would advise me, via text, when he would be coming round. I would then have an hour to prepare.

I must use the masking tape to create a square, each external side precisely thirty centimetres long. I must leave the door unlocked. I must be standing in the square, when he arrived, facing away from the door. I must be only in the lingerie he’d requested, with my hair down. The ruler, blindfold, and rope must be laid by my feet.

Ok… different. But, ok.

Things were happening. And the increasing tension within me was seeking release. I wasn’t used to this, this waiting. I’d offered myself far sooner than this in previous relationships. This was restrained. This was something curtailed by rules.

And it excited me.

And frustrated me.

I sent a text, saying I’d read the note and I agreed to it.

I said I was looking forward to it.

He did not reply.

The balance of power moving again. I felt so empty, so lost. Had I screwed everything up? Had I made the wrong move? I ran through the conversation, the action, the history; in person and via text.

I tried to speak to my only close friend, attempting to get them to see what was happening, but I couldn’t put it all into words. They would’ve been so disappointed if I’d succeeded. They’d have talked me out of the path I was on. I think I was still interested in the eventual destination. Or, at least, what I thought the destination would be.

💎💎💎

When the text came, a thrill swept through me. A surge of eagerness, of heat coursing through. I felt ready. My body was ready. The house was ready. I meticulously measured and laid out the square, and made sure the door was unlocked.

Everything was in place.

I waited.

It felt like an eternity.

My body was pulsating, tense to every slight noise.

I reacted to each small movement of air from the open window. Hearing the gate, my heart leapt. The hairs on my skin raised when the handle turned. The noise of outside growing louder, then fading. The door opened. Closed. The key twisted.

I resisted the urge to turn. I could barely swallow. I was shaking; this felt so exhilarating. Elating. The anticipation was electric. I felt like one touch would make me explode.

Without words, he stood behind me; distant enough I was unable to feel his clothes, his skin. But I could sense him. Static which demanded release. He bent to measure the square, his fingers lightly brushing my feet. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, silencing the gasp.

Then, his hands on my skin. Moving up my legs, over lace.

‘You did well,’ he said with measured calm. ‘I’m now going to use the rope and blindfold, nod if you agree to this.’

I nodded. My heart was so loud I was sure he’d hear it.

He placed the blindfold around my head. Binding my eyes to what would happen next. I trusted him. He had promised me so much, so many flirtatious comments had led me to this moment. Glimpses of things he could do for me, visions of what our future could hold.

If I followed his commands.

If I listened to him, and let him mould me.

I could barely breathe.

Standing behind me, I felt his hands skim over my hips, then my lace covered breasts. His fingers on my arms to pull my wrists together. Using the rope, he tied them palm to palm. Then he stepped away.

I heard him sit on the sofa.

I was tempted to spin, to face him.

‘This is your lesson; stand still and do not move. I will tell you when it is time. Do not speak.’

An hour passed in absolute, torturous silence. I was desperate. Truly desperate. This was intense. So, very intense. I was crippled with desire. With the longing for touch. For him to take my wrists, to pull me down.

To strip the lace from my skin and fuck me.

This was different to what I expected.

When he finally stepped toward me, he carefully removed the rope from my wrists. He rubbed the indentations in the flesh, before trailing up my arms to my neck. Hooking under the strap of my bra, sliding it down, his fingers circled my hard nipple, squeezing it sharply.

I bit my tongue to prevent my involuntary squeal.

Letting go, he moved to face me. He tenderly kissed my blindfolded eyes before lifting the fabric from my head. The room suddenly bright after all the time in diffused darkness. I met his gaze as he ran his fingers through my hair. He twisted it around my neck, pulling it slightly. My eyes pled with him; I’m not sure if it was a request for him to make the make-shift noose more restrictive or not.

‘You’ve done well.’ He paused, not releasing the tension. ‘There are instructions for next time on the table.’

And with that, he departed.

I collapsed, the carpet hitting my knees with a burning thud. I let out a moan, breathing heavily. Panting. Acutely aware of my own arousal. Of the craving to have this experience again. An emotional fire lit, flaring within me.

Crawling to the table, my hands shook when I opened the next set of instructions. They were almost the same. The additional requirement neatly scribed: handcuffs.

And, cruelly, I was forbidden to touch myself until he returned. Which would be in two days. I could wash, I could prepare my body, but I wasn’t permitted to pleasure myself.

I put the piece of paper down and sighed. My hands automatically on my skin, running along my stomach, between my legs. The damp heat enticing, provoking a small whimper when my fingers brushed over the blue lace.

The desperation a siren.

Ashamed, I snatched my hand away.

This was not allowed.

This was not the command I’d been given.

Taking a deep breath, I walked slowly upstairs to take a cold shower.

💎💎💎

When the text arrived, I was so ready. So keen. Everything was laid out as instructed. I’d done exactly as I was told. I hoped to be rewarded more satisfactorily this time. I knew this was a risk, for us both. I had yet to spill my secret, I’d yet to reveal this new development.

Which added to the excitement, I guess.

No-one was aware of our arrangement.

It was just between us.

I didn’t know if he’d spoken to others about me, but I’d kept quiet. I wasn’t ready to share him with the world yet, and I knew it would’ve been difficult to explain this choice I’d made.

The door opening still startled me, though I’d heard the gate. I took a deep breath, preparing myself for his touch. But he kept me waiting. I fought the urge to turn, to see what he was doing. The sliding of his belt made my imagination wild; unsure if I was imagining it.

Wishing it.

His fingertip met my spine, and I shook. His body close, but not close enough to touch. His other hand wrapped my hair, inhaled it. Then both hands dropped, ghosting my limbs, my hips.

‘Well done, perfect,’ he remarked, after measuring the square.

The blindfold was secured, rope tied around my ankles.

I paced my breath, tried to keep control. The pressure of his body beside mine, despite the distance, made me hotter, wetter. I yearned to have his lips on my fevered skin, his fingers grab my breasts, his cock inside me.

His hands took mine, pulling them behind me to grate metal around each wrist. His kiss on each finger made me sigh.

‘I didn’t expect such a professional set of cuffs; you’ve excelled,’ he whispered into my ear, wrapping his belt around the metal.

The warmth of his words made my body taut. Tense. I stood taller, swallowing the moan building in my chest.

Then, he moved away.

I heard him sit on the sofa. I heard him breathe. I heard the clock tick and a car pass outside. A bird sing. I tried to focus on the sounds, each one snaring my attention briefly, my senses racing.

He moved.

His hands met my hips, tracing the lace before dipping inside. His fingertips skimming my clit caused my body to vibrate. My breath to catch. The pressured circles he formed, teasing my opening, coated him in my essence and increased my anticipation.

Only to leave me empty.

On the sofa once more, as he caressed his body with the moisture from mine. Skin on skin he entertained himself. I longed to turn, to watch, to straddle him.

Then his hands were on me.

I tensed. Was this it? Was it finally now? I didn’t care that my lingerie was now in tatters on the floor. The feel of his wet cock against my hip made me frantic. The wrench of the handcuff’s chain to lead me with his belt, veiled, where he wanted me made me uncertain.

Yet, even as the shackles bit, I wanted this. I wanted to know what would happen next. I craved the moment of release he promised me. The promise of the full commitment of our flesh.

He pushed me to my knees and, with his hands, steered my head to his cock. Forced my jaw open. I could taste our mixed arousal, and it was all I’d hoped. It was divine. I was hungry, convinced that it I ate I would be rewarded with his mouth on my needy core.

I caressed him with my tongue.

I gently bit with my teeth.

I sucked on him until he groaned.

Until he was satisfied.

And I remained unfulfilled. In every way.

He left, leaving another set of instructions to follow. And despite how utterly used I felt, I knew I’d follow them to the letter. I lived to make him happy. I lived to make him feel he was teaching me well, and that I was learning. That I was doing all he asked. That I was doing everything to obtain the paradise he promised.

💎💎💎

In his absence, I succumbed to my own desires. It was impossible not to explore my body. I was wound so tightly I needed to unravel. I did not deny myself, and imagined it was him.

It felt dangerous, and wrong.

I expected I would be punished for my disobedience. I assumed he’d figure it out. But I was so ready to be both commended and punished by him. To be praised for all I’d done, and to be disciplined.

When he first arrived at my door, I thought he’d take me in his arms and deliver me from the mess of my world. I was going through life caught up in a disastrous cycle of mistakes. I had little regard for myself, he told me I was too readily willing to participate in the mystical, to seek arcane ritualistic knowledge.

It was a shallow life, I believed.

And I wanted more.

I was certain he could give me more.

In time, he would.

We continued to speak every day, by text. They made me smile, made me blush, made me hot. I’d pass him at work, accidentally brush his arm, and our eyes would meet. I’d have happily have him push me down right there, and I knew he felt the same. The follow up texts we wrote were a blistered version of ecstasy. Images came unhindered into my mind, fuelled by his words, and I’d smile. Bite my lip.

It was a continual cascade.

I was high on life.

Everything felt perfect. Everything felt right.

I wasn’t doing what the world expected. I was doing what I wanted, what I needed. What I believed I wanted, what I believed I needed. Any stray doubt which surfaced was swiftly crushed.

There were moments, concerns, where I wondered if I was following the right path. If this was merely another hyper-fixation which would only ruin me. This journey of mine, secretive and hidden, was one I continued to resolutely tread.

💎💎💎

The next visit came and went. And he came and went. As was the one after that. And the next. Each visit drew my fever higher, and I was so ready for him to enter me completely. To own me.

Body and soul.

His mouth had explored my flesh, his hands had touched every part of me and yet, I remained unsatisfied. I wanted more. I wanted to have him inside me. He’d bound me, beaten me, whipped me, he’d chained me to my bed and worshipped me.

Wasn’t I inviting enough to fuck?

Was there something wrong with me?

No other man had done as much as we had, yet made me wait so long. It felt strange. It felt different.

And I was unsure if I liked it.

There was an unspoken truth everywhere I went. Though we shared a great deal, no-one knew. No-one knew I’d this new part of my life. They’d seen me change; attitude, behaviour, clothing. I walked taller, I spoke more calmly. I was more demure. My swearing had stopped and I wasn’t as boisterous.

All for him.

For I knew he’d be watching, and I was adamant I’d be the very best I could be, so I’d finally get my reward. He wanted a good girl, and I was proving worthy of this.

His body delighted me. One thought aroused me, knowing he was near would set me on fire. I thought I’d break from the intense delayed pleasure in my core; certain one touch from him would shatter me into a myriad of pieces. Satisfied pieces.

Maybe it was all too good to be true.

The paradise he promised would never happen. It was something he talked about to tempt me. A ruse to draw me in and keep me interested while he got his own sexual gratification at my expense.

A false promise and a lie.

But I had hope.

I was dedicated, to him. Whatever he asked of me, I gave. I did everything without question. I licked every millimetre of his flesh as he commanded. I debased myself and slept, naked, in the cellar of my home, chained to the wall. I curled at the foot of the bed like a dog, with no blanket, hoping for morning.

Hoping for affection.

He requested items be bought, and I bought them. I sold treasured items from my past to fund this new adventure, but I didn’t regret it. I ventured into places I’d never considered before, for him. My home was a sanctuary for us, and it was wonderful. He treated me as a possession, and I allowed it with every breath.

💎💎💎

It was six months into this arrangement, when things changed. The usual text gave me an hour’s notification. I’d had my instructions the day before; I knew what I must wear, I knew what I must prepare. Rope on the foot of the bed, scented oil warmed, and three candles on iron stands on the bedside table. And a ten-centimetre square to wait in, facing the wall.

I heard his key in the door, and tensed. Putting aside any hope, I resolved to enjoy whatever happened. This was still the most exhilarating adventure I’d ever experienced. My previous relationships had never had the same thrill. I’d learnt so much about pleasure and pain, and it all made so much sense to me.

We could delight each other, love each other.

Love.

I wasn’t sure if that is what this was, but it felt good regardless.

His feet on the stairs brought him closer to my trembling body. I was unaware he was already naked, unaware he’d removed every layer of his clothing as he walked to me. I sensed him cross the room, sensed him check how I’d arranged everything.

Anticipation and contentment duelled within me. My body ready and aching for him. I wished, yearned, to have him inside me. To really be a part of him, and he a part of me.

He measured the square before kissing the base of my spine; the usual compliment for good work. I smiled with caught breath. His hands meandered over my body as he stood, his naked form pressing to my lace clad one. It took all my willpower not to collapse into him.

Closing my eyes, I welcomed his embrace, felt his hard length pulse against me. Felt his kisses on my shoulders, my neck warm as he swept my hair to the side, his hands on my breasts. When he turned me to face him my eyes opened to drink him in.

He’d always pleased me; his appearance sparking lust. His body my idea of divinity; muscular, tall, with definition and strength. Neat dark hair and the scent of mint when I buried myself against his neck. He tasted clean and beautiful; I never hesitated to lick, kiss, and bite.

He delighted me, visually.

I hoped he’d say the same about me.

‘Undress, then lay on the bed, on your back,’ he whispered into my ear before kissing my neck once more.

His hands trailing.

Once I’d completed the command, he climbed over me. The rope teasing my skin slowly before he tied one wrist to the bed post. Repeated with my other, to pull my arms apart above my head. The restraints dug deep, and I loved it. His mouth and tongue a serenade to my skin as he sunk down my body.

The aromatic oil was warm as he massaged it into my flesh, his hands tender. He knew how to treat me like a queen, even as he treated me like a slave. When he’d finished working from my toes to my neck, he undid the restraints to flip me onto my chest. The rope retied. My spine inscribed with slick patterns, my legs marked with his touch.

His retreat almost unnoticed in my blissful state.

The hot wax on my lower back made me cry out.

Unexpected pain that made me arch, contract. His kisses on my shoulder soothing. The wax dripping steadily, creating an external rib cage. It cracked whenever I moved, stretching to respond to his touch.

Snapping when he forced me higher, onto my knees.

My forearms taking most of my weight, I was prone. He gripped my hair and roughly brought my head upwards, twisting to meet his carnal stare. The bed shifting. My moan delicious when he finally provided what I’d yearned for.

What I’d craved.

His body in mine.

I embraced it, clung to it, pushing my hips against his.

Each thrust, each desperately syncopated act, ripped apart any last shred of doubt I had. Broke me. My body taken to a higher state of tension and then shattered. His touch causing me to crash over the edge time and again.

His body dominated mine; he was selfish but oh how he could make that such an exquisitely tortured delight.

Then he was gone.

His hands ran over my limbs, the knots around my wrists untied and my body turned. Placed in his lap, cradling my body, face to face. My eyes locked on his, our bodies joined, and I believed nothing could beat this rapture.

I believed in paradise.

And once he succumbed to his own pressures, we curled up on the sheets. In his arms, I felt safe. I felt like this is where I belonged. During the night, his hands clawed my body, and I clawed at his, and we enjoyed each other. When dawn broke, we moved in gentle rhythm to welcome the day. I never wanted this perfection to end.

💎💎💎

Despite this connection, this act, this release, I was silent. Such beautiful fulfilment of fantasy remained denied. It was his request, and I obeyed without question. I wanted to speak of him, to scream of this joy.

I didn’t know how people would react, but I didn’t care. I was smitten, his name on my heart. I wanted people to know why I was happy. We had our first real argument over that.

He was vehement I could never tell anyone; that this was only ours. To keep the precious nature of our trysts, to keep the mystique, to keep the intrigue, we had to keep it a secret.

If no-one knew but us, then it remained dangerous.

It remained a thrill.

I tried to explain that it wouldn’t change anything, but I acquiesced. I always did. He was right. He was in charge. And I humbly accepted his instruction.

💎💎💎

We continued our dance. He was mine; he moved me, he directed me, he led me down his path. And I meekly followed. It was worth it. I was hooked on his poison. He let me drink it down and with every sip I only wanted more.

He had me addicted, and I loved it.

At seven months into our feast, he was regularly visiting me each Friday night. And staying until Saturday afternoon. This may not seem a lot, but it was enough.

It fulfilled my craving; I wanted more, of course I wanted more, but this… this was beautiful.

The nights were exquisite. Pleasure and pain; he manipulated my body and left me broken. Drenched with satisfied delight. My skin marked from his touch, my soul glowing with satisfaction.

Lying together, our hearts in tune, was all I needed. It was sheer bliss. My every dream come true. And in the mornings, after those gentle caresses which always led to more, he would leave my bed to make a rich breakfast to replenish me.

I felt so loved.

This was proof it was more than a game.

More than just sex.

There was a connection; and I could do nothing but smile.

💎💎💎

The smile broke around eight months into this adventure. I was well past the point of no return by then, and I’d no idea how I could get back even if I’d wanted to.

I don’t know how I figured it out. I knew I felt different, something was not quite right. Something I’d never felt before. When I sat and really considered it, I realised. And I was hysterical.

My body, one I’d come to know so well, had betrayed me. My period was late. My stomach had a hard lump where it should be soft. And I felt sick. Really, really sick. My body was tender. I flinched at every touch.

I didn’t tell him my fears.

I hid my sobs and worry.

I saw him at work and acted nonchalant.

It was later that day, unable to eat my lunch, I gave in and took a test. And when that test told me what I already knew, my heart broke. A baby did not fit into this. It wasn’t what I wanted; not now.

It was too soon. We were only just building our relationship, only just settling into our routine. And no-one even knew about him. How could I possibly explain a pregnancy?

I sat in silent tears, rocking. I was inconsolable because I knew I’d disappointed him. And I knew I had to fix it. But what could I do? How could I tell him this?

This wasn’t in his plan.

But it could be in mine. This could be what finally meant all of this would be revealed. My happiness could be shared. The tears subsided and I felt a new resolve. Ok, so it wasn’t planned.

But then so little of life can be.

💎💎💎

‘It has to go,’ he hissed. The meeting room deathly silent.

That was about all he said about it. His dark eyes flashing, angry and disgusted in me. I pleaded. I asked him how he could be so decisively cruel about our child, our creation.

And that is when my world completely fell apart.

‘Because my wife and children are the only family I need.’

💎💎💎

Everything had been a lie. He’d lied to me. He’d baited me. He’d laid out promises of a future with no intention of ever delivering it. He’d deceived me, and I’d fallen for it. I was humiliated, yet still I crawled to him.

Still, I allowed him to manipulate me.

He stood over me while I made the doctor’s appointment. He sat in the car outside, to prevent me changing my mind, waiting for me to make arrangements when I attended it. I was a fool, and I let him dictate to me what I could do with my own body.

My own child.

I couldn’t afford to think that way.

I was in too deep. I’d made a commitment to his lifestyle, to him, and I couldn’t just switch those feelings off. I’d pledged to be his plaything; I couldn’t break that pact. Not easily.

But his touch no longer thrilled me as much. He also didn’t seem to be as tender. The whipping was more venomous. The bites dug deeper. There was less focus on my pleasure, more on his own.

💎💎💎

The day I killed my baby is one I’ll never forget. Even though the whole day was a numb blur, I still vividly remember the iron grip he had on my arm. Perhaps he thought I’d abscond. His voice in my ear, bundling me into the lift, reminded me of all he’d promised, and that the promise was still there, as long as I did what I was told.

He said he loved me.

He said he’d tried everything he could not to fall for me.

And to prevent me falling for him.

The lift was a tomb. I was burying my child with each step. I vaguely recall signing the papers. There was no last-minute discussion to try and alter my decision.

Only a scan.

Only instructions.

I was familiar with instructions.

Remove the clothes from your lower half, lie on the bed, open your legs. Swallow one tablet, the other to be inserted vaginally. It may feel a little uncomfortable. You will bleed heavily. You will experience cramps and intense pain.

I’d already accepted I’d feel guilty; despite how necessary such procedures are. But I was surprised when those emotions didn’t really come. Not then, not really later, and certainly not now when I think back. I’ll never forget, but I don’t feel guilt.

Loss, anguish, and unbearable sadness sometimes, yes.

There had been life. And I’d halted it before those small cells truly had chance to develop. That is all it was, cells. Not a child, not then. It had been a thought. A possibility. A lie.

What had he done to me? What had he turned me into?

I was a machine programmed for his pleasure. A machine which gave him his paradise while ruining mine. I think this is the point where something in me also died. Something which made me start to question what the hell I was doing.

He was considerate enough, taking my arm and steering me to the car after I descended from the clinic. He held my hand while he drove, as sweat began to pour from me. As pain spiked. An intense knife grinding in my womb.

His compassion was back, because I’d complied.

I didn’t know what to feel about that. My point of balance had been knocked. I knew the truth; he’d played me. He had a family he’d hidden from me, which is why he’d insisted on keeping me secret. And yet, my body still responded to his. Though in pain, and bleeding, I still relished the touch of his hand on mine.

It still felt like it belonged there.

💎💎💎

I bled for weeks. I’d no idea if that was normal or not. I couldn’t bear the thought of returning to the doctor. I felt ashamed. And dirty. Which was irrational, but my brain was still a mess. My heart ached.

This hadn’t been my choice. Yet, I’d allowed it to happen; I hadn’t fought back. With the pregnancy, or anything else we’d been through. I’d allowed him to dominate, as he did with everything else.

I was drowning.

I purposefully distanced myself from him. Which was quite easy; he didn’t keep as close a contact as before. After he’d dropped me back home, after the procedure, he’d left. And that was that. Not a text, not one glance in my direction at work, and certainly no visit.

It gave me too much time to think.

I dwelled on every memory, every hope.

What had I done?

He’d surely never really loved me. He’d said he did, and yet he’d happily concealed me. He’d carried me in his heart, alongside a wife and children I’d had no idea even existed.

I’d have never started down this road if I’d known.

That was not the woman I was.

I did not, and would never, steal another woman’s man.

And yet, that’s exactly what I’d done.

I disgusted myself.

He’d changed me, in so many ways; my body, my clothes, my likes, my dislikes. My language. My morals. But I’d allowed it.

Enough was enough.

I decided to leave. To walk away. To remove myself from every false promise he’d made. Every lie. The paradise he’d promised would always be ruined, it would be stained with lies and betrayal.

He was a hypocrite. He’d insisted on my faithfulness, my obedience, my honesty, my servitude, yet he’d not met one of those characteristics himself. He had served me sexually, I supposed, but he always got something out of that.

He’d indoctrinated me.

I’d been steered along a path of his choosing. And at first it was bliss. Everything had been new, perfect. Full of hope. I’d felt connection and a true sense of belonging.

But now, all I had was lies. Everything he’d shown me, told me, was a fiction. A fable and veil which hid reality. He could never deliver me any of it. Instead, all I had was a hell I’d never escape. A life suffused in the memory of how I’d been played.

A daily reminder of what had been, of what could have been, and what the result was. A broken paradise.

I returned to my old loves, the things that gave me strength. Things I’d resisted selling. I smiled when I returned them to the light; optimism slowly infusing my soul. The warmth of the amethyst reminding me of the possibility of love. The smooth smoky quartz providing security.

A protection which brought peace.

Even as my eyes continued to remain dull. My spark lost.

Colleagues asked if I was ok, I smiled and said yes. How could I ever begin to explain? I’d be damned if I did.

💎💎💎

I kept to myself. I was quiet, but old habits were creeping back. I’d allow the odd swear word to slip. I’d browse articles I shouldn’t online and watched films I knew he’d never have approved of. It felt dangerous, but I’d been abandoned. I was alone.

Old routines, my old self, brought comfort.

I relied on them.

The silence was destroying me; gnawing me from the inside. I so earnestly wanted to seek help, to find support, but I feared judgement. I was terrified of how, what few, friends remained would react; I’d become isolated in those months spent with him. My family, gone. My friends, not to his standard.

If I begged, if I told them the truth, would they accept me?

Would it break them to know I’d let them down so much?

My actions weren’t what they expected of me. They weren’t what I expected of myself. But I’d made my choices. I should have walked away earlier, I should have listened to the misgivings in my heart, but some other part of me had dragged me further along his path.

How could I explain to people, people who knew me, or thought they knew me, what I was really like? How disgusting I was? How fake I’d been? For I’d put on another mask, for him. I’d allowed myself to be used, turned into another puppet, by him.

I now faced the results of my failure.

My weakness.

The weight of my dilemma only caused more sorrow. I was merely waiting, in limbo. Scared to betray what had happened, scared to reach out. I was distanced from everyone, isolated and still… I adored him. I missed him.

That was the real problem.

I still sought his desk, I still listened for his voice. I longed to have him appear at my door. I craved to have him wrap his body around me and tell me it’d all be ok, that we had a future.

I’d become what I’d always hated.

I knew I should walk away. I knew I had to acknowledge my own fault in all this. He had manipulated me, yes, but I’d continued. I’d continued with the feelings even though I knew the truth. He was married, he had a family. I needed to end this. No matter how I felt, no matter what last vestiges of lust still stirred in me, he needed to be told he was free of me and could return to his family in faith I’d never reveal his sins.

💎💎💎

I buried the feelings. I buried the desire. I stopped looking for him. My body learned to react less and less as time went on. It got easier. The pain diminished. I’d thought life would be harder without him, that I’d break beyond repair, but I was getting stronger.

However, I didn’t tell him. I couldn’t tell him. I just stopped responding to his texts until he resorted to arriving at my home. I hid, again. Holding my breath until he slammed the garden gate. He’d wanted me to pretend I didn’t know him.

I can play that game, I thought.

I must’ve played it well, because eventually I didn’t hear from him.

To placate my broken heart, I continued my reinvention. My return to past obsessions. I’d fallen, yes, but I was getting back up. He was only a chapter in my book, not my whole bible. He’d destroyed a part of me. He had shown me a side of myself I’d be forever ashamed of.

Not the sex, not those exploits. They’d been delicious fun.

But that I’d had sex with a married man, a father, and effectively lied about it. And I’d allowed myself to be manipulated and misled. I despised myself for those acts.

I vowed to learn from them. I could rise from those ashes. I could be accountable for my mistakes, I could cherish the lessons they gave, and I could retrieve my balance. I could find my peace.

It was time to move away from these games of his. Time to move away from the lies and hypocrisy. I needed to reclaim my spark, I needed to repair my heart. My morals. My strength.

And as the months passed, I felt happier.

Able to face anything.

Anything.

💎💎💎

Except him.

It was my own fault. I’d opened the door without checking, and there he was. Standing on my path, with some flowers and a card. His gaze directly focused on me, with earnest hope in his eyes.

‘I know this doesn’t make up for what happened. I’m sorry, truly, I screwed up. You deserved better.’

‘Damn right I deserved better,’ I said. ‘You lied to me.’

‘May I come in?’

And there it was. My chance. My opportunity to seal the end of this ridiculous charade. To turn him away and let him know it was time to leave me. Now and for all time. That it was over, that I knew he had never really loved me. Not even once.

‘Ok,’ I whispered.

I was pathetic.

He sat down without invitation, in the spot he always had. I stood, arms folded, and cursed myself for allowing this. He still had the flowers and card cradled in his arms. The red and white roses mixed with white tulips proclaiming his love and his request for forgiveness.

I remained quiet, biting my tongue. I felt hurt grow in my throat, tears gathering in my eyes. My breathing becoming heavy.

‘I never wanted to hurt you.’

I raised an eyebrow.

‘Not like that… please…,’ he said. ‘You’re all I can think about. My life’s so empty without you. I know I lied to you, but I never meant to. It’s just, everything was so perfect for us, and I didn’t want to ruin it. I wanted to be sure, to know you were the one before I could truly commit. Before I could leave my wife. For you.’

‘What, and I proved that by obeying your every wish?’

‘I feel so guilty… I should’ve never forced you to have the abortion; I know that ruined everything.’ He hung his head.

There was silence. I used to love that; the sound of our breathing in the stillness. I swallowed the memory, closing my eyes and feeling a tear roll down my cheek. Then a rustle of paper, and movement, and I was in his arms again.

At first, awkward, I remained reluctantly stiff.

Until I mellowed and fell into his chest and wept.

He stroked my hair, and I remembered how good that had felt. How things had been before the lies. Before the hurt. He moved his hands to wipe away my tears, tilting my head up to look me in the eye.

‘I love you.’

I shook my head, closed my eyes.

Tried to pull away, finally succeeded.

‘That means so little, don’t you see? You promised me so much and destroyed every single thing. I kept your secrets, but I obviously meant so little to you that you were happy to use me for what you wanted. This was never about me. Only about you. Only ever about you.’ I collapsed onto the sofa.

My head in my hands.

‘Things are different now. I’ll never hurt you again, I promise. Please give me another chance.’ He was on his knees.

Not with some open box, but with his hands grasping mine and with imploring eyes. He looked so broken.

I said nothing.

‘I know you’ll struggle with this, and I know I’ve a lot of work to do to prove myself. But, please, let me try. I’m living on my own, in a hotel; I’ve been there a few months. I choose you.’ He raised my hands to his lips, kissing them. ‘I won’t ever let you down again. Things will be different, I promise. No more games; just me and you, together.’

💎💎💎

He left shortly after that, after assuring me he’d allow me time. So many words, so many promises. Could I trust him now? My mind was in fragile turmoil. He’d left his wife. He wanted to start over.

He loved me.

I didn’t know what to do.

My heart and my body, though broken by him, still responded to his touch. It still spoke to me, told me he’d fix all the pain. His lips on my skin still blistered. Could he truly rebuild my fractured soul?

💎💎💎

I made him wait. And I was good at it. He’d taught me something useful after all. He sent me several texts, and I ignored them. He called and I didn’t answer the phone. The messages said he knew I needed time, and that he was prepared to wait. But that he needed to know.

At work, he seemed to take detours to cross my path, heading places he was never required to be in order to give me a smile. Maybe it was a ploy to remind me that he was still waiting for an answer.

But he did seem different.

I studied him. There was definitely something modified, but I couldn’t quite place what it was. Maybe he really was living in a hotel, alone. I couldn’t ask without betraying our past. And each day, and with each text, I could feel the old heat returning. Could I deny this? Could I really walk away now? Perhaps this was meant to be.

Perhaps he really did love me.

Perhaps this was my one chance, my destiny.

He’d violated every single thing I’d believed in, but I decided to give him one more chance. I was a fool.

A fool who believed in love, I suppose. A fool who thought maybe people do change. I believed in him. In us. I’d already done so much for him, why waste that? Why throw away all we’d built?

💎💎💎

There were no instructions, no cryptic texts telling me what to wear or set up, no flirty replies. Instead, just a simple message to confirm dinner in his hotel; if I was willing.

I said yes.

When the evening came around, another Friday night, I parked up at the hotel and walked in. He was already at the bar, but, I reasoned, he was staying there. He’d already ordered me a drink.

‘You look beautiful,’ he said. ‘Absolutely beautiful.’

I couldn’t help but smile.

And I liked how it felt.

Dinner went well.

We talked.

We acted like any other couple on an awkward first date. Asking questions we probably should’ve asked at the beginning. Discovering things we didn’t know.

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘This has been good.’

‘I’ve loved spending this time with you.’ He paused, looking into my eyes. ‘Is it too soon to ask if you’d like to come to my room… for a drink, nothing more.’

I took a deep breath. Could I trust him?

Could I trust myself?

Maybe it was the wine talking; I already knew I wouldn’t be driving home after the drinks I’d had. ‘Sure.’

I was so weak.

💎💎💎

It was too good, too perfect, to be back in his arms. We’d barely got into the room before his mouth was on mine.

And I loved it.

I grabbed at his clothes, he pulled at mine, and with his hoarse plea and my gentle nod, my dress was removed from my trembling frame. And there, against the hotel room’s wall, I kicked my clothes to the floor and wrapped my legs around his waist. He was inside me, making up for lost time. My back arching against the paint, his arms holding me at the right level to thrust into me over and again.

I’d missed this.

I’d missed him.

I’d missed how he’d filled me. I’d missed how his mouth felt against mine. I’d missed how his chest felt, how his skin felt under my fingertips. How it felt to dig my nails into his rear to push him deeper, and how I’d bite his shoulder to prevent my screams.

‘I’m sorry—’

I put my finger against his lips. Silencing him.

Shaking my head.

He took my hand and we stumbled to the bed and curled into each other. A tangled pair. I slept better than I had in months.

And, as daylight crept through the curtains, we ordered room service and talked. Talked about everything. How badly he’d hurt me. How he’d abandoned me. How he’d lied to me. How every promise he’d made he’d broken.

And for every statement, he had an argument.

A persuasive reason and a sincere apology. He hadn’t meant to hurt me. He hadn’t meant to abandon me. He hadn’t meant to lie. He’d just needed time. Time to figure things out himself when he’d realised how much I meant to him.

And, he said, his marriage was over, but he hadn’t left because of the children. Technically, yes, he’d still been in the family home when we started our dalliance. But emotionally, it was over.

And he was sorry.

He’d realised he wanted to fight for me, wanted to possess me. And not just the way he had before. He wanted to care for me, love me, to provide for me. To make up for everything he’d done. He’d deliver that paradise he’d promised for me, if I let him. If I believed in it and fought for it too.

Would I be prepared to commit to that?

I asked him if people could know.

‘Not yet,’ he said.

That should have made me stop. That should have made me say enough was enough, that the games had to stop, that I had to walk away and find someone real.

But he’d caught me again.

He’d trapped me in his web.

I was his.

He’d won.

💎💎💎

We spent a few weeks seeing each other every day. It was good. More than good. He stayed in my bed, the hotel forgotten for a little while. I was worshipped, adored. Everyday there was something new, something to make me smile. A flower with my breakfast.

Breakfast brought to my bed, and invariably left to grow cold.

A little note left in my lunch.

The sneaking into the shower to kiss my neck.

He would cook, and we’d eat; food and each other. It was like a true new start. And I was happy. I hadn’t forgotten what he’d done, but I was willing to give him this new chance. And he was working hard. There was no more punishment. I was definitely now in control.

Nothing was too much trouble; he did all he could to please me.

It was truly paradise; and I was desperate to share this.

To proclaim that I knew what love was.

💎💎💎

He’d left before me; we were travelling separately to remove any trace of suspicion. While I finished drying my hair I heard a now familiar ringtone. He’d left his phone on the bedside table. I glanced over and saw his estranged wife’s photo. I ignored it; they had children, of course there would be communication between them.

There was a chime; a text.

I couldn’t help but look.

It broke me. Again.

The message, clear on the screen, asked how the work conference was, and how she and the children were looking forward to his return at the weekend. With two kisses.

The screen faded.

I sat on the bed, sheets still smelling of us. There were no tears. I couldn’t cry. I was beyond it. I was lost, a shell, and done.

He’d played me, again.

I was a pathetic fool.

💎💎💎

‘Thanks babe,’ he said when I handed him his phone.

‘No problem.’ I paused. ‘You’ve a message.’

I walked away. I couldn’t trust myself to stay. I couldn’t trust myself not to break down. I’d held myself together on the drive in, but I now felt the hurt rising. The pain clawing back. Why had he done this?

Why had he made all this effort?

Was this his game?

To make me the object of humiliation.

To give his friends someone to laugh about.

He said he wanted to fight for me, that he loved me, yet… nothing had changed. Still the same lies.

The same deceit.

He caught up with me and pushed me into an empty room.

‘Don’t, just don’t,’ I said.

‘But, please… understand. I didn’t mean to cause you any pain. But, the children… she made me stay for the children.’

‘The hotel?’

‘I booked it for you.’ He looked at the floor.

‘Why? Why did you do this?’ I ran my fingers over the amethyst, the smoky quartz; drawing on the stability they offered.

‘Because I love you.’

‘No, you don’t,’ I said. Calm. ‘If you did, you’d stop lying. You’d have never approached me until you were single and ready for a relationship. All you’ve ever done is made me feel guilty—’

‘That was just—’

‘There’s a huge difference between a sex game and how you treated me!’ I inhaled sharply; the coolness of the gemstones soothing the kick of my chest. ‘You made me feel I wasn’t good enough. You manipulated me. You destroyed me.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You’re not. You came back, you told me you belonged to me. You cared for me, looked after me. But it was all to suit your plan. And I will not follow your path anymore.’

‘Why are you throwing this away?’

‘Me? You threw this away by how you acted. Words mean nothing if you don’t actually act on them. You’ve never truly lived up to the promises you made. Enough is enough. We’re done.’

He grabbed my arm. ‘Please.’

I shook it off. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secrets safe. But don’t ever, ever come near me again.’

My body was heaving, my mind screaming. I didn’t know how I’d been able to maintain my composure. It was so close to crumbling. The very scent of him made it difficult to resist. The way he looked at me a temptation challenging to refuse.

But I needed to think of myself.

I needed to consider my own life, and I couldn’t allow someone else to dictate my happiness. Not anymore. My own self-worth was far more valuable than whatever sham paradise he could provide.

It was time to stand up for myself.

I’d trusted the universe to bring me love; and perhaps, that’s exactly what I’d been given. Only it wasn’t an external love I’d needed. For all he’d given was a deluded lie. I’d been left with emotional scars which I’d always carry, certainly. But the universe had also ensured I’d no child to tie me to him forever.

And despite how that doesn’t ease the memory, nor will it dim how it felt, it made me stronger. I can’t pretend the past doesn’t exist, even if this is the first time I’ve admitted it.

I will never forget.

And I will advocate for me in every single relationship I enter.

It’ll take time, and I know I’ll stumble, but I’ll use every tool I have.

I’ve learned to love myself.

For, ultimately, I am all I have to rely on.

---

You can find this, and other short stories, poetry, and vignettes, in The Menagerie. Or, you can get a feel for the dark vibe of the book with a listen to the playlist.