She hadn’t been able to just voice her request, so she’d looked to me to do it for her. To give her what she needed.
It was the exact same thing Sage had done two years earlier when he’d been trashing that hotel room in a fit of rage. In that moment when I’d wrestled him to the floor and he’d practically ordered me to fuck him, I’d seen something else.
I’d always wondered if I’d just been projecting my own needs on him, but after everything that had happened between us, I knew that wasn’t the case.
We’d somehow lucked out in finding in each other what we’d both been looking for.
But to have lightning strike twice?
Impossible.
But the proof was currently setting our kitchen table.
I’d thought it was what Sage wanted, but there was no denying how much he was struggling. And I wasn’t in a position to give him what he needed. Giving him an occasional order when Daisy was outside of hearing distance wasn’t enough to quell whatever was burning inside of him. But I couldn’t risk exposing our unique lifestyle to Daisy.
She’d go running for sure.
But the more I watched Sage, the more I knew I’d monumentally fucked up. I’d seen Daisy as some kind of balm for him, but he couldn’t let go of his fear long enough to even interact with her. I’d thought being around her might offer some kind of shift for him, but I was wrong.
Having her around didn’t make him need me any less.
She didn’t tip the scales enough that he no longer needed the dynamics of our relationship.
Which left me to wonder what I’d managed to even accomplish by bringing Daisy home with us.
An uncomfortable silence fell over the kitchen as Daisy and I both got caught up in Sage’s uncharacteristic silence. I knew Daisy had to be completely confused, since Sage wasn’t acting anything like he normally did with her. I’d need to talk to her, to explain and maybe try to find a way to make her understand what Sage needed from me.
I glanced over my shoulder at Daisy and saw her staring at Sage’s back with open concern. Her eyes met mine. She didn’t even try to hide her worry.
Maybe now was the perfect time to sit her down and explain things…
I put down the knife I’d been using to cut up the roast we were having for dinner and turned to Sage to ask him to go sit down at the table.
And froze at the sight of the knife he had pressed against the inside of his forearm.
“Sage,” I said softly, though my heart was in my throat.
His unseeing eyes were staring straight ahead at absolutely nothing.
“I’m sorry, Mouse,” I heard him whisper, then he pressed the knife into his skin. I was on him in a flash and I grabbed his wrist to stop him.
And then he was coming after me.
Only he wasn’t seeing me.
“No! You leave her alone! You leave us alone!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. I was dimly aware of a dish breaking behind us, presumably one that Daisy had dropped, but I didn’t give a shit about anything in that moment but Sage.
“Sage!” I yelled. “Open your eyes!”
His eyes were actually open, but they were blank and I knew that wherever he was, they were closed. I managed to get him to drop the knife, but he continued to fight me as if I were the devil himself.
I slammed Sage backwards against the refrigerator and held him there. The blow seemed to knock him from his daze because his eyes cleared.
“Cash?” he asked in confusion.
“Sage, talk to me,” I said, as I loosened my hold on him. Blood was dripping down his arm. When he saw it, he stiffened.
“Let me go,” he said, his voice thick. His eyes shifted to something over my shoulder and he went pale.
Daisy.
“Let go, Cash!” he screamed at me.
This time it was all him and he was most definitely seeing me.
His fear and frustration were like a living thing beneath his skin and he once again became the caged animal he’d been the night he’d trashed the hotel room.
“Sage—”
“Let me the fuck go!” he snarled as he tried to shove me away.
“Knock it off!” I bit back, but I released him just the same.
Because I knew what needed to happen next.
Predictably, he jerked away from me and started to leave the room. But before he even got two feet, I said, “On your knees.”
I knew it was my tone and not the words that stopped him in his tracks.
Because he was wired to respond to it.
He didn’t know why, and neither did I, but we’d long ago learned to stop questioning it. I knew we could probably spend years sitting in various therapists’ and psychologists’ offices trying to find the answer, but it didn’t matter. Having the answers wouldn’t change the needs that drove each of us.