Mephisto wondered how much of Clayton’s fortune Molly had managed to lose or burn through in the last month and a half. Not too much, he hoped. He shouldn’t have left her alone, even though she sent him away. He realized that now.
“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” Screams turned to whines and whines turned to whimpers and then she was all raged out and there was only her vicious glare. He studied the slim metal circlet between his fingers, remembering better times. She followed him with her eyes as he stood and crossed the room to lay her collar on top of his chest of drawers. Such a beautiful, delicate work of art. He remembered when Clayton had first showed it to him. He’d had it specially made for her.
“It would have killed him to see you this way,” Mephisto said. Not to her, because she was in no state to listen. He just said it because it was the dismal truth.
*** *** ***
Molly woke to dark blurry lines in front of her face. Bars. She was in jail. She’d figured it would happen eventually. She turned over with a moan to focus on a dark gaze beyond the black lines.
No, not jail. She was in Mephisto’s cage.
She’d been here before, in another lifetime. In her old life, which revolted her now. Her hands moved to her neck. Bare. She vaguely remembered Mephisto taking off her collar last night.
A wry voice. “Good morning, starshine.” The noise hurt her head.
“Let me out of here. I need a drink.”
“Of water, right?”
She banged the bars, which hurt her head worse. “Just let me out. I’m sober now.”
He came over and knelt by the cage, working the padlock with quick fingers. “Hello, Molly. Nice to see you again.”
She lifted her chin and crawled out, struggling to her feet. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, I haven’t seen you in a while. The crazy, insane Molly I used to know. Wait, maybe it’s not so nice to see you again. Maybe you barged in here last night high as a kite and screamed at me while you almost took your own head off trying to rip off your collar. Oh yeah, that’s what happened.”
“Why don’t you shut up?” Molly was weaving on her feet. Mephisto grabbed her and led her to his bed, an iron monstrosity with a “bad girl” cage underneath.
“Sit. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He stalked out, and Molly would have fled if she could have. Giving orders already. That’s what men like him always did, how they got off. Just like her Master. She would have torn out of that room, through the dungeon and out to freedom. Freedom from men who liked to boss her and control her. Unfortunately, she could barely stay upright in a sitting position, much less stand. Mephisto returned, holding out two pills and a glass of water.
“What is this?”
“You should have asked that question to someone last night,” he said. “It’s arsenic. Take it.”
Molly’s brain shuddered and kicked into gear. Arsenic? No, it wasn’t really arsenic. He was being sarcastic, which didn’t do much to improve her mood or the pain in her head. She held out her hand for the medicine and took it with a whole glass of water. She was so thirsty. So tired. He reached out to her and she flinched.
“I was just going to take the glass back. Give it to me.” She handed it over and flinched again as he reached for her. He shook his head. “Relax, would you? I need to check your neck.”
He brushed her hair back and traced light fingers just above her collarbone and at her nape. He gave a low whistle. “Jesus. You’re black and blue.”
She glared at him. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
He sat down on the bed beside her, but he didn’t touch her again, and he didn’t speak anymore, thank God. She gazed over at the cage, wondering what she was doing here. Wondering if she’d come here high on drugs because she subconsciously knew it was the only safe place for her to go. The only place she’d be kept safe from herself, by the only person who wouldn’t put up with her shit. Her headache lessened, replaced by this disturbing thought: She wanted to go back in his cage.
She lurched to her feet. “Oh, God.”
“What is it?”
“I have to go. I have to go right now. I have to—”
“You’re not going anywhere yet.”
She reeled over to the low, solid cage and leaned against it. She was so afraid. So confused.
“You want to get back in, don’t you?” he asked. “It’s okay if you do.”
“No, it’s not!”
“Why? Because it’s disgusting?”
She turned on him. “Because I don’t want that. I don’t want what I had before. I don’t want cages and collars and crawling around and...and subjugating myself, especially not to you.”
“Okay.” Mephisto held up his hands and smiled. “See? That’s how you start a conversation about it. You decide what you don’t want. You decide what you do want. You explain it to the person you’re in a relationship with.”
“I’m not in a relationship with you.” Her hands made fists at her sides. No, you don’t want him. No. Stupid slave idiot. “I don’t want a relationship with you. I don’t.” She sounded so much like she was trying to convince herself. He looked at her like she’d lost leave of her senses.
“Uh, excuse me, but I never said you did. I said ‘the person you’re in a relationship with.’”
“I don’t want a relationship with anyone. Especially not you.”
He was still giving her the psycho stare. “Okay,” he said. “Why don’t you come sit down again? Or come with me to the kitchen to get something to eat? Something besides drugs of dubious origin.” She hated the way he looked at her, like she was broken. Messed up. Shameful. “I want to ask what you’ve been up to the last couple months, but I’m afraid of what you’ll say.” The final dig. Nice.
Molly grumbled and said she wasn’t hungry, but a short while later, after a shower and change of clothes from Mephisto’s spare room, she was sitting at the table in his gleaming kitchen, which was doubtless cleaned and spit-polished weekly by one of his many adoring slaves. She’d cleaned it too, several times. She’d knelt at his feet and let him feed her, not once, not twice, but for a whole week. She put that memory out of her head, but so many others crowded back to her in vivid detail. Two years had done nothing to dull the memory of her time with him—the good parts and the bad.
He put food in front of her and she ate it mechanically, because in some part of her brain she knew she had to eat or not survive. Since her Mast—Mr. Copela—Clayton had died, she’d gone whole days without eating anything, wondering why she was so hungry while she lay in bed. Oh, I forgot to eat. Again.
While she ate, Mephisto plied her with questions. She knew how his whole questioning thing worked. Always casual on the surface, while ruthlessly seeking information underneath. Talking to him sometimes felt like being interrogated, even though he never moved or raised his voice. It was his eyes that stripped her bare. She had no defenses, even now, even as a free, non-kinky person trying to reinvent herself. Under Mephisto’s gaze, his quiet questions, she revealed exactly what she meant to hide from him. From everyone. She wasn’t reinventing herself at all. She was
falling back into the bedlam of her past, which terrified her. Oh, God help me. What am I going to do?
“Molly.”
She didn’t even realize she’d buried her face in her hands. “What?” she asked from between her fingers.
“I can call someone if you like. A counselor. Someone who helps people with grief.”
“No.”
“I know kink-friendly mental health professionals.”
“No, nothing’s wrong with me.” She dropped her hands to the table and looked off over his shoulder, wishing she could make him understand. “I’m just sad. Confused. I need time.”
“I understand that, but I don’t think you’re dealing with your sadness in an appropriate way.”
“Thanks for the newsflash. I know I’m not.”
He moved his chair closer to hers. “Where are you going to go when you leave here? What are you going to do?”
Great questions. Molly didn’t have any answers. She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I mean, what does your day look like? You wake up, you have breakfast, and then you do...what?”
She scowled. “I usually wake up around three or four in the afternoon, get dressed, go out for a drink, and then...stay out until four A.M. or so.”
Mephisto was silent. She swallowed hard and stuck her chin out.
“Partying. I party until 4 A.M. or so.”
“Yeah, I figured.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “And does that make you feel better?”
“Yes. It dulls the pain.” She put her face in her hands again. She was so tired. So exhausted from fighting and trying to make her own way in the world, when all she was doing was falling back into bad habits. Hurting herself. She wanted her Master back, to fix things, to tell her what to do. To make her feel better again, to feel safety and contentment instead of this eviscerating grief.