Part 13 (1/2)
Thoughts about all the times in her life that self-defense skills would have come in handy flitted through her mind as if someone were flipping the pages of a book in front of her face.
”Sandra?”
She jumped, feeling as if she'd just been caught, but caught doing what, she wasn't quite sure. ”Sorry. My mind wandered a little.”
”Not a problem.” He gestured with his chin toward the large window beside them. ”That view would make anyone turn a bit introspective. Terrific, isn't it?”
She met his smile with one of her own. ”It's amazing. I've always wondered what it was like in here.” She squeezed his hand. ”Thank you so much for bringing me. And thank you for introducing me to Gary.” She felt another rambling speech coming on and bit her tongue to stop it.
His too perceptive gaze raked over her, making her feel as if he could see every secret she tried to keep carefully hidden inside.
”You're literally glowing with excitement. It's nice to see.” Brent took a sip of his wine and gestured toward her waiting gla.s.s. ”And there are still great things in store today.”
She nodded as antic.i.p.ation marched through her.
Chapter 14.
The moment she was dreading came as they finished lunch and waited for the delivery of the fruit tart Brent had ordered for dessert.
”Sandra.” He laid his large hand over hers, and even the strength and warmth pulsing from the contact couldn't warm the core of ice that had formed in her belly. ”Who hit you?”
She'd known it was coming, but even so, she flinched as if she'd been struck, her mouth and throat went dry, and tears brimmed in her eyes.
He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand, and she looked up to meet his gaze before she could catch herself. She always had the feeling that Brent could see way too much when he looked into her eyes. But it was too late now.
What she saw in them made her already shaky breathing hitch. There was concern, but also a fierce protectiveness on her behalf that she'd never seen so intensely from anyone.
A thick silence fell as she tried to form words to explain away or deflect the discussion she knew was coming. Through it all, Brent's gentle yet firm gaze held her captive, and she had to resist the urge to run away to avoid this conversation.
When she thought she couldn't stand another second of the tension and dread building deep inside her belly, she pushed out one word that wasn't exactly a lie, but wasn't the entire truth either. ”Diego.” She tried her best to make it sound like she was surprised he didn't already know.
His gaze never faltered, but his head c.o.c.ked slightly to the side, those deep blue eyes still pinning her in place.
”Who else before Diego?”
Before she could think better of it, she sucked in a small breath that sounded loud in the thick silence that Brent allowed to hang between them.
He knew.
”Do you remember what I told you?” he asked gently.
Her mind scrambled to find the relevant conversation, but nothing came to her. Brent must have read that in her expression, because he continued.
”I told you that I would decide what's relevant and what's not that could affect what happens on the dungeon floor.” His gaze softened a small fraction but still didn't waver from her. ”Because of the very nature of the play we engage in, as your Dom, it's my responsibility to not only protect you, but guide you toward your pleasure and your deepest desires and needs. I can't do that if I don't know what happened.” He paused, and his entire demeanor changed as he turned to allow the waiter to set the tart between them and then retreat.
Sandra hadn't even noticed the man was there until the tart plate clinked softly against the table. But Brent had easily and effectively let her save face by making it seem they were so caught up in each other that they wanted as much privacy as they could get. A swell of grat.i.tude rose, and she closed her eyes, steeling herself against what she knew was still to come.
He gave her a small smile of support. ”It's all right. I know in the past that Diego used things like this to hurt and manipulate you. I can only try to earn your trust over time and prove I won't do the same. But I can't risk hurting you with any more play until I know the situation.”
The knot of ice in her stomach tightened and the first tear slipped down her cheek. She knew Master Brent wasn't trying to blackmail her using her craving for play to get what he wanted, and she could even see the logic in his statement. But that didn't make it any easier to discuss the subject she'd been instinctively hiding since she was ten years old.
She straightened her spine and raised her chin. All of that was in the past and had no place in her new life, so maybe it was time to vanquish it. To finally admit it to someone other than Child Protective Services, and even possibly deal with it with the help of a therapist. But first, she had to see if she could even tell Brent.
She took a fortifying breath and steeled herself before diving in. ”My father left us when I was ten.” The memory still sliced deep, and the familiar pain in her heart broke the control she'd been holding on to with the last shred of her willpower. Hot tears flowed freely down her cheeks. ”My mother resented me as an unwelcome reminder of what she'd lost when he left, and she turned to alcohol.” Sandra tried to find the words to explain the rest, but she already felt hollowed out from even that admission. She'd held it inside for so long that it had become a constant part of her, and it felt odd to have set it free.
Brent gently squeezed her hand, compa.s.sion and understanding strong in his gaze. ”Alcohol can often cause people who are holding on to pain and anger to lash out, especially toward those who are closest to them.”
His words and calm, understanding tone seemed to break open the last of her barriers to that part of her life, and words tumbled out of her.
”It started only a week after my dad left us. Mom dressed up in a slinky party dress that showed her b.o.o.bs, slathered on too much makeup and perfume, and told me there were TV dinners in the freezer as she walked out the door.” Sandra closed her eyes against the sharp memory, but her words wouldn't stop. ”I had been home alone many times before that, but since my dad's leaving was still so fresh, I was terrified that my mom had left me too. That I was alone in the world. And in a way, I was from that moment on.”
She took a small sip of her wine, welcoming the moisture onto her dry tongue. ”As soon as Mom's car pulled out of the driveway, I broke down and sobbed until I felt hollow and empty.”
She was surprised to realize Brent had moved his chair closer and she was pulled tight against him. When had that happened?
The familiar raw pain and fear came back and she sobbed against Master Brent's chest.
He threaded his fingers through her hair, gently ma.s.saging her scalp, a sense of comfort melting the edges of that remembered pain.
As he held her, Sandra continued. ”Hours later, Mom came home drunk, although at the time I didn't quite understand that. Neither of my parents ever drank in front of me, and I had never seen anyone drunk, not even on TV. When I first heard her car pull into the driveway, relief rushed through me, and all I could think about was that I would feel safe again. She had come back. She wasn't abandoning me like Dad.”
Sandra sucked in a breath so she could continue. ”I ripped open the front door and ran out to meet her, wanting to feel her arms around me and hear her tell me that she would never leave me, and that she loved me. Instead, she raised her arm and backhanded me so hard I was knocked off my feet. I fell on the ground, hard, my lower lip bleeding, and pain ripping open my heart all over again from my dad leaving. I had never been hit by anyone before that, and the pure fact that it was from my mother made it so much worse.”
She spared a glance at Brent and found him looking at her, concern and protectiveness apparent in his gaze. He took one of the cloth napkins from the table and gently brushed away her tears while still holding her and offering her his silent strength.
Sandra licked her lips, tasting the salt from her tears. ”It became a routine after that. When I heard the car pull into the driveway I would hide, hoping she would pa.s.s out and forget all about me until morning, but she rarely did. She would slam into the house and come looking for me. It didn't matter where I hid-she always found me.”
Sandra rubbed her hands self-consciously over both arms, remembering having to wear long sleeves even in the summer. ”It became almost second nature to conceal the bruises. If someone did notice, it was effortless to lie about them and hope my mom never found out that I had let someone know our horrible secret.”
She shook her head, remembering the frustrating cycle that had been her life. ”A few times people did see my bruises, and I paid dearly for not being careful enough.”
Brent's body stiffened just enough that Sandra could tell he'd reacted to her words. So when his low rumble came, it didn't surprise her. ”CPS never removed you from the situation?”
Sandra shook her head, staring at Brent's cheek or chin rather than be caught in his gaze once again. ”I would be called out of cla.s.s to report to the counselor's office. The school counselor and a CPS worker would be waiting. They would ask me about the bruises, or whatever report they had gotten from the neighbors or my teachers, and I would either tell them the truth or blatantly lie and defend Mom-it never made a difference.”
She tightened her hands into fists at the frustration that still burned through her that those appointed to protect her never had.
”They would tell me it would be all right and not to worry. Then before I got home from school they had already gone to speak to my mother. She'd tell them how hard it was without my dad and how difficult it was to raise a 'problem' child while working full time. Then she would promise never to do it again, or lie and tell them that I had come home with the bruises and wouldn't tell her how I had gotten them. In the end, I would return home to another beating, sometimes so severe I wasn't able to go to school for a week until the bruises faded and I didn't wince every time I spoke or moved.”
She sniffled, noticing the tears were slowing. ”After a while I prayed that CPS would just stop intervening. I could weather the original beatings. I had grown almost used to them. But the ones after their visits to her were brutal. I'm still surprised there is no lasting physical damage.”
She shook her head, anger welling for the first time in a long while at the situation. ”Throughout all of it I kept expecting them to take me and put me into foster care somewhere. That's why they exist. Or so I thought. But they never did take me. Unless a minor ends up in the ER, they continue to let things slide.” She fisted her hands so tight her nails caused little pinp.r.i.c.ks of pain against her palms. ”I hope it's not that way anymore, but back then it definitely was, at least here in Arizona.”