Chapter Eleven

The problem with making a dramatic exit is that you must have a clear destination in mind, or you just stand there dithering and wringing your hands and looking foolish. I had no clue where to go.

If I went to get changed into my other clothes, Michael would know exactly where to find me in minutes if he came looking, and I simply wasn't up to a long heartfelt discussion. Not just then. I simply couldn't face him at the moment. Even if I made it out of there before he found me, where could I possibly go that he wouldn't track me down eventually? My apartment would be the first place he'd look, and I didn't have the money for a hotel.

What I wanted more than anything was a dark room, Fozzy and maybe my thumb, but that just wasn't going to happen. My things were tucked away in a bag inside a closet at Michael's condo, so they might as well have been on the moon. I settled for a bathroom stall to hide in. Once I thought I heard someone come in quickly and check the stalls, but I had my feet raised up and kept as quiet as I could. They finally left.

I was heartsick and sad, and I needed comfort, because in my mind, at least, I'd just lost the most important person in my life. Oh, Michael would say all the right things when I saw him. He would try to comfort me and tell me I misinterpreted what I'd seen and that he didn't have to have that in his life if I objected that strongly to it. He'd also say I rushed to a decision, and I guess I did. But I'd seen his face, and that look in his eyes and I knew better.

On the other hand, it could go the other way, and Michael could tell me he'd basically had enough. He could say that he needed a sub who was a real submissive and not just playing at it. That he felt disrespected as a Dom and that if I couldn't trust him with my real feelings, then we had nothing between us.

The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that he would say exactly that.

This just wasn't going to work, no matter how long we danced around it. Surely Michael saw that now and saw that it was better to make a quick, clean break. Maybe he'd try to think of a way to let me down easy, or maybe he'd pack up my things and take me home and then ghost me again like he did before.

No, probably not. He was far too kind for that. He'd keep trying and I'd keep failing and this would become a tired, sad Merry-Go-Round in a circus in hell.

Was I being a touch overly dramatic? Probably. Okay, yes, definitely, but I was feeling pretty stressed and that was my go-to. No, I'd have to find some way to get my things from Michael's condo and get out of there as soon as I could. I knew Michael wouldn't throw me out but what was the point of my being there now? It would be so awkward and this thing between us wasn't going to work.

It would be better if I just left. Quicker, like pulling off a Band-Aid all at once.

I came out of the bathroom stall and went over to wash my hands and splash water in my face. I stared into the mirror for a moment, thinking about how much I wanted to be back at my apartment. If I just had a magic wand I could wave, so that all this would be over and done. If I was home, then I could put on one of my special outfits, grab Fozzy, and just veg out in front of one of my movies. I wouldn't have to think or worry about Michael coming to look for me or do anything really. I could zone out, curl my hair around my finger and maybe even suck my thumb. It sounded so good.

There was one place I could go close by though. One place where others liked the same kinds of things I did, and I didn't feel like I was all alone in my feelings. I opened the door and eased out of the rest room and down the hallway toward the office. I was looking for the back stairs—the one that would lead me to the rear entrance of the Littles room, without being exposed to the people who might look up from below. I found it and climbed quickly to the large loft area. I stood outside for a long time at the back door, trying to gather my nerve. Then I gathered my courage and boldly stepped inside.

There were twenty or more people inside, or maybe ten Littles and their Daddies, a good number for the Littles room, but then again it was Friday night, which tended to be busy. There was a small group on the floor, playing with some Legos, and a couple more putting together a toy fire truck. A few were in front of the television, watching cartoons. One of them had a sippy cup and the other a small blanket he was holding close to his chest. At least two others were sitting by their Daddies, quietly talking to them. All of them looked up at me curiously as I came into the room.

I remembered—too late—that I was dressed as a sub, with my tight hot-pants outfit and the leather harness. A few of the Daddies frowned at me and one near the door stood up and came over to speak to me. He didn't look angry, just more puzzled as to why I was there, like maybe he thought I'd taken a wrong turn going to the bathroom. I recognized some of the ones inside, and I could see they were confused as to why I was there too. If they saw me or one of the other guys at all during the evening hours, it was because of some spill or other small emergency and that was not exactly common. Besides, if that had been why I was there, I wouldn't have been wearing such an outfit.

"You're Cruz, aren't you?" the tall Daddy said, keeping his voice low and calm. He was an older guy, with gray hair at his temples. He was handsome and he looked so nice. He reminded me a little of a teacher I had in school once. I was pretty sure his name was Ben. The guy, not the teacher.

I nodded in answer to his question, wondering why I'd come here in the first place. "I-I'm sorry—I should go."

I turned to run out and maybe it was the gleam of panic in my eye or how breathless I was, or the fact that I was really close to falling apart that spoke to the Daddy or caregiver in him, because he stopped me with just his tone.

"No, stop. Wait a minute. Don't go yet. Cruz, are you okay?"

I nodded, without ever raising my head or looking at him.

"Are you sure?" he asked, in a calming, steady voice, and I meant to say yes and just go. I really did. But I could feel my shoulders heaving, and I shook my head instead. I tried to say, "I'll be all right," but it came out like in strangled sobs.

I was so embarrassed. I threw my hands over my face and sank to the floor. I wanted to die right there—just melt into a puddle of tears on the floor and stay there until everyone had gone home for the night.

He reached over and took my shoulders, gently drawing me back to my feet. "Come and sit down for a minute, Cruz," he said. "It's going to be all right. You're safe here with us. Let me help you."

He led me to a seat and suddenly I realized I was surrounded by Daddy energy. I guess the tears brought their protective instincts flying to the surface. Even the other Littles came flocking over to pat my back and tell me it was going to be okay. A strong arm went around my shoulders and I looked up to see Lawrence beside me, looking worried.

"Cruz, are you hurt in any way?" he asked me gently. "Do we need to get you to a doctor?"

I shook my head emphatically. Oh God, now they thought I'd been in a bad scene with someone, and the only someone I was ever with was Michael, so this was about as bad as it could get. Not only was I embarrassing myself, but I was embarrassing him.

"No, nothing like that. I-I just got overwhelmed. I don't know why." I dissolved into tears again and began hugging myself and rocking my body a little.

Lawrence squeezed me tight. "Should we find Master Michael for you?"

"No," I said, panicking and trying to stand up to run. But Lawrence had me in a strong grip—I never realized how strong he was—and he wasn't letting me go. I felt a pat on my knee and looked down to see Jerry, the club manager and Lawrence's…what was he exactly? His Little? His boy? I didn't even know the correct terminology. Jerry was staring up at me and I could see in his eyes that he may have been here to play, but he was now in full employer mode. I had pulled him right out of whatever space he was in before I arrived, and instead of being angry about it, he was concerned about me. That made me start crying even harder.

"Jerry," I said, "I'm so sorry. I just need to go, okay?"

"Let me take you to the office, Cruz. There's no one in there and Lawrence can come too if it will make you feel better."

I nodded. "Yes, that would be better. That would be nice," I said, or I tried to. I was shocked to hear how breathless my voice sounded. And why couldn't I stop trembling? I was scared because my heart was pounding and racing too, and I was beginning to feel like I couldn't take in any oxygen.

I got to my feet and my knees went out, so that both Lawrence and Jerry had to support me. I don't remember much about the trip over to the office, but once we got there, Lawrence took me over to a big easy chair and sat me down. Jerry got me a bottle of water from somewhere, and I could hear him and Lawrence having a low-voiced conversation, but I had no idea what they were saying.

Meanwhile, I was getting concerned about not being able to draw in a good breath. I clutched at Jerry's arm and gasped out, "Tell…Michael…I…" and then I couldn't go on.

Lawrence knelt beside me and kept talking to me. "I think this is a panic attack, Cruz, and I know it's scary, but you're going to be fine. I won't leave you and neither will Jerry. Do you need anything? Just tell us and we'll get it for you."

"R-Michael. I n-need Michael."

Why did I say that when I'd just been running from him? Because at that moment I kind of thought I might be dying, and I needed him with me. It was crazy, but I still loved him and wanted him, and if anyone could make the Grim Reaper back off, it would be my mean Dom. I felt so foolish and ashamed for running from him and hiding like a little kid. Maybe I really was crazy.

Jerry left to find Michael, I thought, or maybe to get dressed first because he was wearing something like Spiderman pajamas. Anyway, he grabbed his phone from his desk before he left, so I guess he was going to call him. Meanwhile, Lawrence kept telling me everything was going to be all right and he even breathed with me to slow my own breathing down. I was leaning on his shoulder, with my heart finally not pounding in my chest when the door flew open, and Michael came rushing in.

I turned and held out my arms to him, like a dying Greta Garbo in that old, late-night movie, Camille —I watched a lot of really old movies. Anyway, he came to me right away, picked me up and put me in his lap. Then he petted my hair and spoke softly to me, telling me I was going to be fine and all I needed was to rest. I put my head down on his shoulder, and Lawrence and Jerry went to the door, but never left the room. I really had to find a way to tell Lawrence how much I appreciated him for all he'd done for me.

When I finally began to feel calmer, I must have come down hard and I never knew when I went to sleep. One minute I was in Michael's arms, and he was saying a lot of sweet things to me and the next thing I knew, it was lights out.

I woke up some time later as Michael was taking me to the car. He had his arm tightly wrapped around me and was half-carrying me out of the office, as somebody—Lawrence maybe—walked on the other side and supported me by holding onto my elbow. I felt drunk, in a way. I was aware of what was going on, but I was so drained and exhausted I didn't really care anymore. I just wanted this night to be over.

****

When I woke up the next morning, I could tell it was late. Since I didn't get in most nights until after ten, and then by the time I talked to Michael and unwound, it was close to midnight, I didn't normally get up until around nine or ten in the morning. But this was even later than that. I was alone in bed, so I got up quickly, wondering where Michael was and what he'd have to say to me this morning. To say I was nervous was a serious understatement.

I was also feeling embarrassed, with no idea what to say or do when I spoke to Michael. I was thinking I should just go for a clean break. Tell him this wasn't working and that I needed to get out of his life and leave him alone.

Maybe he could arrange to be out of the club for a week or so. I'd need to work a notice, though, so it might stretch into two weeks, assuming everything went as planned. I pulled on a robe and followed the sound of his voice out to the living room. He sounded like he was on a business call, his voice clipped and serious as he stood in front of the balcony glass doors and looked out at the ocean below. A couple of days ago, I would have walked up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist.

But that would only confuse things now. I went over to the coffee maker and poured myself a cup of coffee and then sat down at the bar to wait. He was aware of me there, because he glanced over at me once, but I dropped my eyes, so I didn't have to acknowledge him quite yet. My hands were shaking as I raised the coffee cup to my lips.

I knew Michael wouldn't ask me to leave. He'd be sweet about it and tell me I could stay as long as I liked, and that I didn't have to find another job. Michael got off the phone and came over to sit down beside me at the bar. He was half-turned to face me, and he gently put a hand on my leg.

"How are you feeling, baby?"

"I-I'm fine. Embarrassed, but fine."

"I wish you had talked to me before you got to the point where you felt so overwhelmed."

"I wasn't feeling overwhelmed, exactly. I was feeling…like I didn't belong in that situation."

I turned to face him. "I don't belong in the club as a submissive, Michael. I didn't see it before—or if I did, I talked myself out of it, because I l-love you so much."

"Honey…"

"No, let me finish, please. I wanted to be what you needed, but I just can't do it. When I saw you with Toby…"

"Cruz, Toby doesn't mean anything to me. You told me to go do that scene."

"I know. And at the time, I meant it. I was jealous, yeah, but I don't want to keep you from doing what you need just because I can't be the one to give it to you. I thought I'd be fine. Then we got there, and you and Toby started the scene and it-it just hit me. All at once. Toby is a masochist, isn't he? He was enjoying everything you did to him. He wanted it. As opposed to me, who's just a damn poser. I'd been just pretending and playing at being a submissive. Wearing the outfit and the collar and flirting with you. I don't have any true submission inside me, and we both know it. I hate pain and I-I resent people giving me orders and I just can't do it. So, what do I do with that? With my usual great decision-making ability, I chose to lead you on and have you as a boyfriend and make you think I could be what you needed. You of all people—a sadist ." A bitter little laugh bubbled out of me, and Michael squeezed my leg.

"You're being too hard on yourself, as usual. I pursued you, and I wouldn't take no for an answer. I asked you for more than you could give, and I'm sorry for that."

Shocked, I looked into those beautiful eyes of his for the first time that morning.

"What? No, I should have told you about myself a long time ago."

"It's not too late, baby. Tell me now."

That old familiar feeling of panic hit me, and I tried to jump to my feet, but Michael pulled me back down. "There's nothing you could tell me that would change my feelings for you. I think—after seeing where you ran to when you were having that panic attack last night—I think I know what you're about to say."

I forced my eyes back up to his and looked at him for a few crucial minutes of reprieve. I knew in my head that he would accept me, but my heart didn't quite believe it.

"All right," I said, taking a deep breath. "I'll tell you about it. And after that, I'll get my things packed and leave."

He started to say something, but I put my hand gently over his mouth. "No, don't say anything. I know what a good person you are, and I know you'll say all the right things and tell me it doesn't matter. But it matters to me, Michael. I want your happiness as much as I want my own."

He pushed my hand down, looking a little exasperated. "Just tell me, Cruz. Are you attracted to being a Little? Are you a Little?"

"I-I don't know what I am."

"Cruz…"

"Okay, I think maybe I am. I don't want to wear diapers, or drink from a bottle or anything like that. Though there's nothing wrong with it." I glanced up at him defiantly.

"Okay. Agreed. Then what do you want?"

"I want—I want to just be ."

He just blinked at me. "Okay…I think I'm going to need a little more."

I looked down at my hands and started twisting them a little. Why was I so nervous? I took a deep breath and tried again. "You know what happened to me when I was little? About my mother?"

"Yes, honey, of course I do. Go on."

"Well, when I got to the foster home that night, I couldn't stop crying. I was scared and I wanted to go back home, but they said I couldn't. They wouldn't tell me where my mom was. I was so scared."

He covered my hands with his, stopping the wringing motion and took them both in his. "I got you, baby. Just tell me."

"They finally gave me a pacifier and they'd brought out a raggedy old teddy bear that nobody else wanted—Fozzy—and gave him to me to hold onto. And my foster mother rocked me a while. I could finally breathe a little and I fell asleep."

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

I shrugged. "Anyway, I think that started it. I used the pacifier for a while, until it started falling apart, and then they took it away from me. I started using my thumb instead, because they couldn't take that away. They tried to get Fozzy, saying they needed him for the younger kids, but I stole him back and hid him under my mattress. I still have him, though I guess he looks pretty bad now."

"But you've been staying here and sleeping with me the past few weeks, and I haven't seen you do any of this."

"I have Fozzy hidden in my bag in the guest room. Along with a couple of pairs of pajamas I ordered off Amazon. I only wear them when you go away for a few days on your business trips, or when I think you won't be home to see me."

"And why do you think you still need Fozzy?"

"And my thumb. I need it too."

"Okay, sorry. Why do you think you need that?"

"I don't know. Does it matter?"

He looked at me for a moment and then shook his head. "No, I guess not. I'm just trying to understand."

"I tried to read up on it some when I was younger. Nobody really seems to know or at least I couldn't find anything about it that made sense to me. Except that it can be the result of childhood trauma. Kind of like reclaiming a little part of what I lost that day when she locked me in the car, and I lost her. It's not role play, though. It's more like a coping behavior for me. When things get stressful, and I need a safe space to not think about adult responsibilities and things I need to do but just don't have the energy for. It's a little like a place I can go in my mind and just be. It feels good. I can pretend for a little while to be happy."

"Pretend to be happy?"

He pulled me over to kiss me, and even when the kiss was over, he held his forehead next to mine. "Oh, baby. That breaks my heart."

"I don't want you to feel sorry for me."

"No," he said, looking in my eyes. "I don't. You're brave and strong to have survived that. And smart to find a way to deal with it. I just wish I'd been there for you. I just wish I'd known."

I shrugged. "You couldn't have, and I didn't tell you. I was embarrassed, I guess. Most people don't understand."

"This coping mechanism thing sounds a little like subspace."

"Maybe. I've never had that before, exactly, so I don't know. I know it feels good, and it helps me cope with things when they get to be too much. I feel like I'm drifting."

"I'm glad for that, at least. Are you feeling like things are too much now?"

I sighed. "Maybe a little."

"Then why don't you go get your things then? I'm so sorry, but I have to go to the office for a while, if you need privacy. I know the timing is terrible, but at least you'll have the whole place to yourself."

I still couldn't look at him, but I nodded. "Maybe."

"Do I need to do anything for you?"

I shook my head.

"All right, then. I'm going to tell Jerry you aren't coming in tonight. I want you to take the day off and rest, okay?"

I nodded again.

He kissed me once more on the forehead and then he got up to leave. "Just relax today, honey, while I'm gone. Maybe take a drive along the beach and clear your mind if you want to. I want to talk more about this, but I need more information too. I want to understand what's going on with you." He got up and dug in his pocket for a moment, coming up with a set of keys. "Here's the keys to the convertible, in case you want to go for that drive or just need to go somewhere else, but I'd like it if you just tried to rest today."

"Okay. Thanks."

"And you're sure there's nothing you need? Nothing I can get for you?"

I just kept looking down at my hands, and he sighed and kissed the top of my head. "All right, baby. I have to go, but I'll be home soon, and we can talk more. If you're sure there's nothing I can get you?" he asked as he walked toward the door. He seemed to be in a hurry to get out of there and really, could you blame him? I looked up and waved my hand at him and he finally left, closing the door gently behind him.

Could he get me anything?

"A Daddy," I said softly, my voice echoing through the empty apartment. "You could get me one of those."

I picked up the car keys and weighed them in my hand, noticing there were other keys attached to the ring, including one that said, "Beach House."

I slipped off the bar stool and went to put on my shoes.