Taking the Fall (1-4)

I jump up and run towards the door, but before I can grab the handle I hear the lock click into place. This is getting old. Every morning after my wake-up orgasm he slips into the bathroom to take care of himself. He has to know I know what’s going on in there, though I have no clue what he does with my underwear. It’s not like he’s exactly quiet about it. Why else would he be saying my name over and over again? He’s also taken all kinds of naked pictures of me with an old Polaroid camera, pictures that I know for a fact are in the bathroom drawer. When I first asked him about it, all he said was, “I want some pictures, and I’m not taking pictures with a phone. I know that shit can get hacked. No one sees you naked but me.” He seemed to get agitated about the idea of naked pictures of me on the internet so I let it drop. Then yesterday when I was looking for a hair tie, I saw them in the drawer.

Plopping back down on the bed I wait for him to come out. No point banging on the door, because he’ll just come out berating me about upsetting the baby.

I look down and play with my engagement ring. I woke up in the hospital with it on my finger and couldn’t do anything but smile at it. Typical Carter, he just put it on me without even asking. It was beautiful but simple: a platinum band with a solitaire oval-shaped diamond. Classic and perfect.

When I asked him about it he told me the ring was his promise to always do whatever was best for me even when I fought him on it. It was a promise that we’d be together, free of everything. That he had a plan for us. And when that plan was carried out, he would ask me to be the light to his darkness, to give him a taste of happiness he knows no one but I could give him. He wanted the ring on my finger so every day I saw it I knew he was fighting for us, for our family. I didn’t need a ring to remind me, but I knew he liked seeing it on me. I’ve caught him a couple of times running his fingers along it.

I haven’t said anything to him yet about how he’s been acting since we’ve been home from the hospital, but I’ve tried other things. I tried inviting him to take a shower with me, and then I complained I was horny. He tied me to the bed and ate me out until I passed out. I didn’t know the human body was capable of that many orgasms in a thirty-minute period.

When the bathroom door opens I sit up and look at him. He stands there and just stares at me before mumbling something to himself.

“What?” I ask.

“Just maybe you should put some clothes on.”

I look down at myself. I hadn’t even thought about getting dressed. I always sleep naked, and it hurts a little that he would suggest I cover myself up. The hurt must show on my face because he quickly follows it up. “I just mean I don’t want you to get cold.”

Rolling my eyes, I push off the bed and walk past him on my way to the bathroom, but I make sure I don’t touch him.

“Go fuck yourself, Carter. No wait, I guess you already did that, didn’t you,” I snap before slamming the bathroom door and locking it.

I wait a beat and expect to hear him yell but there’s nothing. Not even a “watch your mouth, Cherry.” I swallow the lump that I feel in my throat and sit down on the toilet lid.

A moment later I hear him through the door. “I’m going downstairs to make you breakfast, baby. Hurry so it doesn’t get cold.” There’s a pause, and I begin to think he’s gone. “Don’t make me take the door off the hinges.” I knew I wasn’t getting away that easily.

I sigh and can’t help myself from childishly mimicking his words. Please take the door off the hinges, I think to myself. Then you can’t hide in here and jerk off every morning.

I know when I woke up in the hospital a few weeks ago the doctor said to take it easy for a few days. Those few days were up ten day ago…not that I’m counting or anything. The baby was fine, and I was fine, but I’ll never forget the look on Carter’s face when I came to. Just thinking about it made my heart hurt. I know he’s scared. Hell, I’m still scared. But I’m not sure Carter has really experienced true fear before, and I see it all over his face. I know he’s seen me hurt before but to have a family back in his grasp and to have it slip through his fingers? I’m sure that prospect has to mess with his head. Carter loves control, and he lost it for eight years. He is so afraid it will be ripped from him again.

I close my eyes, tilt my head back to rest it on the cool, tiled wall and get myself under control. Acting like a spoiled brat isn’t going to help anything right now. Carter is hurting which in turn is making me hurt, and I don’t think he gets that. He thinks that by just tending to my needs and keeping me in this little bubble he’s protecting me and the baby. I’m starting to worry he’s trying to protect us from himself. Carter might not trust himself fully but I do. I never feel safer than when I’m with him.

Maybe it’s time to really test his control. The guy won’t even let me try to take care of his needs. I dropped to my knees in his office yesterday and all but fought with his pants before he ran from the room. He acted like he was on fire and blurted something about needing to talk to Saint. It’s almost funny to think about my giant Carter running from little me. I might be the only thing he’s ever run from in his life.