Fallin out of hell

Chp1. FALLIN out of HEll V1.

Christian pov

June 1 1900 Wednesday

The rain washed down the floor to ceiling windows of the great room. Rivulets forming bars, tears of sorrow and shame I cannot make. My fortress had become my prison. My world had struck to nothing. Money, power have become meaningless traps, an illusion. Where will I end up, Marley chains & boxes about my neck? Regrets piling up, by the bucket full. Control, the more I focused on controlling my world, the more it slips thru my fingers. The more uncontrolled my life gets. It had been six months since I was in my playroom, had a sub, or fucked. The last sub, number 8, was a waste of effort and time. She liked the extreme PAIN, the perks and nothing else.

Six month pervious

The last sub as left me impotent. She sucked the joy and stress release from me. Cold and alone I've become my mother, the crack whore. I've become the Pimp, brutal, sadistic, driven to hurt, careless pain to everyone. Alcohol my only escape. My workouts have become death marches of endurance and pain. Even as I start another run, I've already run 20 miles today.

I was jogging a circuit to the Curio shop along the Sound. A simple 5-mile jog, less than an hour, but shattering to me. There on a bench was a young couple counting change for a snack, huddle together from the lite rain. I stopped and stared. Their cheap cloths and battered shoes could no hide the aura of love and bliss, like some shield from the world. Adversity written in their faces, the cloth, the very air around them, but love and commitment. Love, pure and clean. I'm trapped in my track, unable to leave. Lock into a mind looping

Why not me, why not me! Fuck, Grey your not loveable, your bad and fucked up, fifty shade of fucked up and twenty five.

June 1

I've just come from work. Ros is elated the Bismarck deal is done. GEH is sky rocketing and all I feel is nothing. The dead ache of nothing matters, exists, no future. I need to get out of here. The bullshit blackmail letters with the photo from my Harvard day at club Le Clair, is nothing. Let them publish it. I just can't raise the effort to protect my family, my parents. I'm so fucking dead inside. Not even the humiliation, my mother will face can make me care.

"Taylor! I going for a drive. Alone!"

"Sir, I advise against it." Taylor tries to reason with me.

"Here is the latest blackmail letter, hunt them down and fix this" stuffing the first letter in my jacket pocket.

I grab the R8 keys and walk out of Escala. The I5 south traffic is light and I let loose the horses, fuck the world, the cops, myself. I stop for gas near Portland, buy two bottle of Jack, and box of twinks. I speed into the night, unloved and uncaring.