By His Command (House of Submission 2)

‘It’s about letting ourselves out, don’t you think?’

I watched the streets of once grand houses, now reduced to multiple occupancy and weedy front drives, glide past behind the rain-spotted window.

‘We keep so much under control,’ I agreed. ‘But you exercise freedom by being even more in control. That’s weird.’

‘Not really. I think you’re the weird one. Why would you let me do all that stuff to you?’ He laughed; then settled his tone into something more serious again. ‘I let myself out when I’m with you, because you accept who I am. You like who I am.’

‘Doesn’t everyone?’

‘I don’t think so. I don’t always like who I am.’

‘Everyone feels like that sometimes.’

‘You stop me feeling like it. You’re not a sticking plaster, either. You make it OK.’

‘Jasper.’ I put my hand over his on the steering wheel.

He cocked his head to one side and smiled at me through misty eyes, then swore at the tightness of the parking space in front of my place.

‘You’re used to fitting into tight spaces, aren’t you?’ I teased and he gave me a crooked smile.

‘Very. Though I could always use a bit more practice.’

‘Maybe not today, eh?’ I said, clenching my sphincter muscles, which still felt sore and well-used.

He manoeuvred the car into position and sat there for a moment with the engine on, looking out at the rain.

‘Are you sure I can’t take you somewhere and buy you brunch?’ he said.

‘I really do have to get this article written,’ I said. ‘The deadline’s hanging over me.’

‘The Modern Victorianist,’ said Jasper. ‘It’s a good journal.’

‘I know. Which is exactly why I want to get my foot in the door.’

‘Yeah,’ he said, but it sounded so melancholy that I couldn’t help but turn and give him a sympathetic look.

‘What’s up?’

‘You. You’re such a well-balanced individual, aren’t you? There are parts of your life that don’t include me at all and I get … jealous … I suppose.’

‘You’re jealous of a history geek periodical? But Jasper, you’re a history geek too. That’s another thing we share, surely. It’s what brought us together.’

‘You’re right. I’m being pathetic. I suppose I sometimes wish you were an obsessive fuck-up like me. Why don’t you text me eighteen times an hour like other girls do? Why can’t you be needy?’

‘Needy isn’t good. Not for you, not for me.’

‘Damn you and your sanity.’ He leant over and kissed me hard. ‘Ignore me. I’m a twat, that’s all. Enjoy your writing. I hope you’ve got a good cushion for your chair.’

‘Git,’ I said, opening the car door.

‘But you love me,’ he parried.

‘Yes.’ It probably wasn’t the best moment for a declaration, with rain lashing down on the one foot I’d put on the kerb, but I tried to make it count. ‘Yes, I do.’

I shut the door and hurried along the pavement. A few yards in front of me, another car door opened and a woman in a hooded anorak leaped out and waved her arms at me, SOS-style.

‘Mum!’ I stopped short, looking at her, then back at Jasper, who had not yet put the car in gear. ‘What are you doing here?’