Starboard (Anchored 1)

And I can’t stop thinking that I wish I had saved her.

Chapter 7

Christina

It’s not exactly a good week.

I try to avoid Destiny as much as possible at the daycare where we’re both employed, but dodging someone you work with on a regular basis isn’t easy. I’m completely embarrassed she doesn’t want to scene with me anymore. Even though I knew it was bound to happen eventually, the rejection still stings.

I’m still taking it pretty hard.

She’s kind and helpful to me at work, but we’re both careful to avoid even joking about our weekend hobby. I know she’s going to be playing with other people and I’ll have to see them together. Even though I was never in love with Destiny, I can’t help feeling a little bit replaced.

I can’t help feeling like I wasn’t quite good enough.

Somehow, I make it through five days of work. On Friday night, Susan drops off Amelia. It’s her date night with Jim and they’re going to go to a dinner theater and spend the night at a hotel.

“You look lovely,” I tell Susan honestly when she drops off Bennett. “Seriously.” She’s wearing a dark blue evening gown and her hair is curled and pinned up. Her makeup is perfectly done. I haven’t seen her look this good in a really, really long time. Susan is beautiful, but she’s like me: a tired mother. She usually only has time for simple hairstyles and makeup, but tonight she went all out.

“Thank you,” she tells me. “It’s our three month anniversary, so I wanted to dress up.”

“He’s going to love it,” I tell her. “And take your time picking up Bennett tomorrow. No need to rush.” We have an agreement that we pick up our child by noon the next day, but tonight is special. If Susan wants extra time with Jim, I totally understand, and I’m happy to help her out.

“Thank you!” Susan squeals and wraps me up in a surprise hug. “I really appreciate you, Christina. Thanks for helping me out tonight.”

“Anything for you,” I tell her. “You know that.”

Susan hugs her daughter goodbye and gives me a few more instructions. Then she sets Amelia’s backpack on the counter and heads back to her car. She’s going to pick Jim up at his place and they’ll drive to the theater in her car tonight. As I watch her pull out of the driveway, I can’t help but yearn for what she has.

And suddenly, I miss Cameron so deeply that I feel like I might burst into tears.

I set the girls up with a movie and popcorn in the living room. Then I head to my bedroom to have a few minutes to myself before I have a huge emotional breakdown in front of my daughter.

“You can’t freak out,” I tell myself. “You can’t lose it. Not tonight. Not ever.”

Having a breakdown isn’t an option when my daughter is around. I know she misses her father, but he died when she was only two years old.

The reality is that Bennett barely remembers Cameron. She’s seen plenty of pictures and we watch home movies together, but she doesn’t remember his smell. She doesn’t remember his laugh. She doesn’t remember the twinkle in his eyes when he told a really stupid joke or the way he liked to tug at my hair when I wore it in braids.

She doesn’t remember the letters he wrote.

She doesn’t remember the visits when he was on deployment.

She doesn’t remember so much, but I do, and I miss him.

I sit in the bed I used to share with my husband and I lay on the pillow. For a long time after he died, I wouldn’t wash the sheets. It’s gross, but I wanted to keep his pillow smelling like him because sometimes, when night came, it was the only solace I had.

When I finally broke down and washed the bedding, it felt like I was losing him all over again.

Now, I feel like he’s gone.

Really gone.

And I am alone.

Part of this, I’ve done to myself. I know that. There are plenty of Dominants at Anchored who would pursue a relationship with me if I were open to that, but I’m not. I’m not ready to love someone so deeply that it hurts. I’m not ready to fall in love with someone and give myself to them.

I’m not ready.