NSFW. This part is more serious in tone, and therefore its depiction of an abusive relationship is genuinely upsetting. If you find a character who doesn't know her own mind maddening, this chapter may make you want to throw your laptop or phone through a window. There are also allusions to marital infidelity and poor BDSM practices.

TEN

After Lucifer's outburst at the end of his story, where he'd threatened to tell Christian about our conversation that day himself, I'd been terrified at what I'd done. Christian could not find out, I told myself, and so I'd worked hard to placate Lucifer. I'd soothed him with the thought that if he kept the peace, I would uphold my end of the promise. He'd be able to enjoy his life of voyeurism the way he wanted to, with no further questions from me, and I wouldn't speak to him about his stories again. No doubt that was exactly what he'd wanted, I thought bitterly. I'd been played, and so easily. I winced in shame at what I'd done, at how I'd turned from threatening him with telling my husband about his actions to being threatened by his challenge that he'd dare to tell Christian himself, and would reveal my enthusiasm to hear his stories.

How had I fallen for this idea, that my husband might trust an employee over his own wife? I flushed with anger, but then reminded myself that I wasn't innocent, either. I'd just spent hours alone with a man talking about our mutual desires, and that, at the very least, constituted emotional cheating. I was being unfaithful to my husband, the man I promised I'd never betray. And Christian had never once cheated on me.

The realization hit me in a rush, and I sank to the ground, sobbing. As I brushed tears from my face, I fumbled in my pocket for my phone. I owed Christian my honesty, I realized. I vowed that I'd tell him myself, tell him we couldn't play with bondage and punishment anymore until we resolved what was wrong with us, and until I begged for his forgiveness and he'd granted it, this time, without hurting me in recompense.

But first, I needed advice. I felt at sea, and clutched at the thought of a sympathetic and impartial stranger to guide me through this storm of my own making. I knew of a counseling service, I thought to myself, as I reached for my phone. I didn't know whether this relative stranger's organization was my best option or not, but in that moment, I didn't care; I was desperate, and Christian had burned our bridges with every other therapist we'd ever seen.

I opened Athena's Instagram profile on my phone, and, with shaking, tear-dampened fingers, typed the number of the crisis counseling center she worked for into the dialing screen. I hadn't dared to save this number, in case Christian should go through my phone looking for new contacts, as he regularly did. As I waited for someone to answer, I recalled that only days ago, I'd told myself that it would take weeks, months, maybe, to even consider this as an option, and yet here I was. It was too soon for all this, I thought. I was overreacting. I pulled the phone from my ear and hovered over the hang-up button.

"Hello?" called out a voice I thought I recognized, though it surpassed coincidence that she could be on the other end of the line.

"Athena?" I said, bringing the phone back to my ear. "Is that you?"

"Yes," she replied, puzzled. "You sound familiar - Do I know you?"

I reminded her of where we'd met, the day she unsuccessfully pitched her novel to me, and she exclaimed that of course she remembered me. Her voice contained no sense of lingering upset, though I felt discomfort at my request considering I'd already let her down. "This is awkward," I said, trying to regain my composure. "But I'm having some… problems. I was wondering if I might speak to someone about them."

"Of course," she said. "This is an unusual situation, though. We're not really supposed to counsel people we know, even socially."

"Oh," I said, sniffling; I fumbled around my pockets for a tissue and then gave up with a sigh. "It's not urgent – I don't think. Maybe someone else can call me back, later."

"Absolutely," she said. Her voice was warm and comforting, and it reassured me. "Why don't you just tell me, super generally, what you wanted to talk about, and I'll leave a message for one of the other counselors?"

I told her everything. It came pouring out of me in a torrent of words. I'd offered, repeatedly, to hang up and tell the story to someone else, later, but she wouldn't let me go. "Damn," she muttered. "There is literally no one else available right now – our two other volunteers are in the middle of crisis situations. I'm sorry, but I think we have to keep going." I'd pressed on, telling her about Lucifer, about my relationship with my husband, about how I'd been unfaithful today, about how I was afraid.

"Do you mean to say," she told me, when I'd finished, her voice rising, "that you practice BDSM with your husband, and he regularly disregards your safe words?"

"Yes," I said, sniffing. "But that's his thing, you know – it comes with the territory of this kind of relationship."

"NO," she said, her voice staccato. "No, it absolutely does not. What good is a safe word, if it won't be obeyed?"

"It's another thing to give him a thrill," I said, sighing through my tears. "It's another line to cross. I know he won't ever seriously hurt me. I know he couldn't do that to me."

"Oh really," said Athena, her tone derisive. "Tell me, do you ever say no, outside of the context of your BDSM practice, and find he doesn't listen to you?"

"Yes," I said, my voice catching in my throat. "Yes, all the time."

"Does he hit you, outside of doing a scene?"

"No," I said, with relief. "No, he hasn't hurt me outside the room. That means things aren't so bad, right?"

"But he has hurt you inside the room?"

"Only unintentionally," I protested.

"Which is why you're calling me right now in a state of crisis." she said curtly. "Ana. You need to leave the situation before it escalates further. Think up some excuse. A family emergency. Get on a plane – your finances and belongings are one thing, but at this point, your life is more important. Lie to him. Absolutely do not confess the details of your emotional affair without a witness present. He has threatened to hurt you."

"But he wouldn't," I said, swallowing my tears. "And if he did, it would be my fault, because I'd pushed him too far. I just need you to give me the right words to say to him, so that won't happen."

"Ana," she said, softly now. "Ana, it's foolishness to think that I can give you magic words to protect yourself. This is on him."

I sighed, and wept, and said nothing.

"Come in for an emergency session, at least, where you can speak to someone about this for a bit longer," she implored.

"I can't," I sniffed. "Christian will be home tonight. He'll expect me to be here. If I'm not, he'll be furious."

"Let's speak again by phone, then- even for five minutes, just to check in and make sure you're all right."

"I don't know how I would explain that to him," I said, haltingly.

"Pretend it's a friend calling you. I'll play along. I'm good at that stuff."

"I don't have any friends left," I said, sighing, thinking of Christian's estranged brother, married to my former best friend. He'd even cut me off from his own family when they started to question my frequent bruises and injuries, when my sister-in-law Katherine had taken it upon herself to research BDSM and inform me that we were doing it all wrong.

"Pretend it's your mom, then, and that she's lost her phone and has borrowed some stranger's," Athena suggested. "If you don't call me back at ten, just to say you're ok, I'm sending over the police. All right?"

"All right," I gasped into the phone, scarcely believing I was agreeing to this.

"I just need your address," she said. "I can be there in ten minutes if you need me to be, remember."

I dictated it over the phone to her, with a shaking voice, along with the passcodes to get through our household security.

It was eight in the evening by the time I hung up, and I was distraught, shaking, and starving. I'd barely eaten a thing all day, and I'd burrowed myself deep in my walk-in closet to make this call, out of the hearing range of the cleaning staff who might be roaming the house. I hadn't heard any sign of Christian walk through the door, but I doubted he was here. He usually called out for me as soon as he walked into the apartment, and expected me to come running to him, and I usually did. I wiped my tear-drenched face as I headed to the kitchen to rummage through our fridge for a snack, wondering if I should just pour myself a bowl of cereal instead, because if he weren't here already, he'd probably eaten dinner elsewhere.

As I walked into the dark kitchen and paced towards the fridge, not bothering to flick on the light switch, my skin pricked with the sensation of being watched. There was an unnatural depth to the darkness, and a looming shape which shouldn't have been present played at the corners of my vision. As I strained my eyes staring into the far corner of the room, a form materialized as my pupils gradually adjusted to the darkness.

It was a man. The dark outline of his broad shoulders emerged against the white cupboards as I stared at him. A man was there, silently waiting in the darkness. It was for me he waited. I froze in fear, my heart pounding.

Without saying a word, he rose upwards, slowly and menacingly, and leaned towards me. He filled my field of vision, threatening to swallow the entire room in the darkness of his shadow.

No, I screamed, my heart leaping to my throat, and I turned on my heels, running for my life.

He's found out, I thought, panicked, streaking towards the front door, screaming and hysterical. Christian's found out, and he's hired a man to kill me. My hands wrenched open the front door, and I flung myself into the hallway, desperately mashing my fist against the elevator call button as I sobbed.

"ANA," bellowed a voice from inside the apartment. "Ana. It's just me."

I turned, and, gasping for breath, saw Christian, arms outstretched, standing in the doorway. He was smiling, no, laughing at me at my distress, and I felt a twinge of utter fury through my tears. How dare he be amused by my panic? I thought. I stood by the elevator, shaking, and glared at him. The car arrived, and the partition opened with a ding. I glanced towards it, and, for a second, contemplated stepping through its open door. I could go downstairs and speak with security. I could tell them that I was in danger. I could leave here right now.

"Darling," he said, still grinning, taking a step towards me, "Aren't you happy to see me?"

"You scared me," I blurted, then I hiccupped; evidently the combination of fear, adrenaline, and crying had wreaked havoc on my central nervous system. "God, did you ever scare me." I forced a smile onto my face and padded towards him. "Why were you sitting there in the dark?"

"I wanted to surprise you," he said, smiling, still holding out his arms as I reached for him. "It didn't quite go the way I thought it would. I thought you would turn on the kitchen light first, and then I'd be sitting there with five bouquets of flowers in front of me, and ask you where you wanted to go for dinner."

"Oh," I said, my brow creasing with distress. How foolish of me, to think the worst of him, that he'd wanted to scare me like that. I was obviously mistaken to think I should be afraid of him at all. I felt silly now, embarrassed at my own hysteria, as I clutched Christian to me and felt the warm comfort of his arms envelop my body.

"Oh, Christian," I sobbed into his shoulder. "I'm sorry, darling. I missed you so much."

"It's all right," he soothed, kissing my hair. "Let's order takeout. I'll feed it to you myself, and then we'll go to bed together."

"Yes," I murmured, wrapping him in my arms. "That sounds absolutely perfect."