19. Katja

I need to leave.I need to get out of this bed – the most comfortable bed I have ever slept in with the crispest cotton sheets – and I need to get out of this luxurious apartment. I need to go back to my life. Or rather, I need to go start my new life.

Lost somewhere in the middle of the bed, I practically have to climb a mountain of duvet and satin pillows to reach the bedside table and find my phone.

Lighting up the screen I see it's just past nine o'clock, which means I have less than five hours to get the train I have tickets booked for. I also see texts from Radia and Chloe in our group chat.

Radia

Are you alive? We just brought you coffee and an egg sandwich from Rita's but you didn't answer the door. Are you dead? That would be very inconsiderate after we packed up your whole kitchen yesterday.

Chloe

What Radia means to say is, are you okay, Katja? We're a bit worried you didn't answer your door. Can you let us know ASAP?

Radia

Fine. Yes. Please don't be dead. That would mean even more packing for us to do.

Chloe

Radia!

I smile to myself and have my thumbs poised to reply, but then I hold still. What on Earth am I going to say to Radia and Chloe? Hey, yes, I am alive but I'm currently sleeping in my clients' bed. Yes, both of them. And in case you're wondering, yes, I did fuck them both. P.S. I think I am in love with them too.

No. That's not going to work. But I do need to let them know I'm okay.

Katja

Work finished late so I stayed at a friend's house. I am alive and well. Back in an hour or so.

And there I have my exit plan. It won't matter if I'm a little late – Chloe and Radia never expect me on time – but they will expect me. They want to say goodbye to me and I suddenly feel the need to be close to them, to be close to people who know me.

Because Wren and Amara don't know me. Whatever last night was, they don't know the real me. They know the domineering, put-together version of myself that I like to occupy when I have a pretty little sub – or, sigh, two – ready to please me. They know the Katja who pretends to have her shit together, not the middle-aged woman about to turn her life upside down to try and find some purpose, some peace after years and years of hustling to make ends meet and putting up with a sub-average relationship.

I am not the Katja they saw last night. Not all the time. I'm the woman who runs late for nearly everything. I'm the woman who doesn't know where her next paycheque is coming from. I'm the woman who fell asleep last night fantasizing that these two beautiful humans loved me, because it was too depressing reminding myself that last night was just one night.

But I've slept now. It's morning and I have a train to catch. I have a new life to begin.

And yet, my limbs are heavy as they climb out of bed. My arms almost ache with weight as I find the pile of my clothes that I asked Wren to find, fold and bring up for me last night. My legs are cumbersome and slow as they step into my underwear and jeans.

It's like my body doesn't want me to leave.

As I button up my chef's shirt, I glance at a photograph tucked into the corner of Amara's dressing table mirror. At least, I think it's Amara's dressing table, because I can't imagine Wren sitting in the cushioned high back chair for a second, and all the jewellery – large, colourful statement pieces – and make-up on display screams Amara and her love of colour and bold design. It's a photo of Wren and Amara together, a selfie that Wren is taking on account of their outstretched arm. Behind them, golden sunshine breaks through an olive tree, and I would hazard a guess the photo was taken on holiday. Possibly Tuscany, on that trip Amara talked about last night. They're beaming at the camera and Amara's arms wrap around Wren, her hands digging into their shoulder. My God, they look so happy.

And so perfect together.

I check nobody is at the bedroom door before I reach my finger up and stroke their faces. I only go to do it once, twice, but somehow my finger stays there, stroking their smiling faces until I feel pinned in place, my heart aching in my chest and a ball of tears lodged in my throat.

"Wahnsinn." I blink away the first tears to surface. I turn my back on the photo – and even that comes with a new slicing pain that makes my temples pulse – and I continue with my buttons.

I'm about to search for my shoes when the door opens.

"Oh, you're not still in bed," Amara says looking genuinely disappointed. "We wanted to make you breakfast in bed!"

I cough, suddenly unsure if words will come without my voice cracking. "I need to go."

"No," Amara says, stepping towards me. "You can't go."

"She can go," Wren says and they appear behind her, carrying a mug of coffee, which they extend to me. I take it gratefully.

"Not before breakfast!" Amara protests, but when she turns back to me her voice is softer. "We want to make you breakfast to say thank you for dinner last night."

"The payment of your invoice to Elite will be thanks enough," I reply.

Amara's face falls and Wren bites their bottom lip.

"God, sorry, that was… rude," I admit.

"It was quite funny, actually." Wren gives me a wry smile.

"You don't… You don't have to pay your invoice. I mean, last night wasn't exactly perfect."

"Katja, no, it was perfect. It was so, so perfect."

"I spilt the sushi I made you make. And I made you serve yourselves dessert."

"And you saved our marriage," Amara adds and it shouldn't be such a killer blow, it shouldn't gut me and wind me all at the same time.

"I didn't?—"

"You did, Katja, you saved our marriage and you opened our eyes to what our future could be." Amara takes another step closer and I can smell her again, all lemons and limes and grapefruit. I move to the side, to try and escape the intoxicating way her scent makes my resolve start to melt. But that's a mistake because it brings me closer to Wren who stands strong and firm like a wall, and although I'm sure it's not intentional, they're practically blocking my view of the door, of my escape.

Schei?e. Why can't this just be a bit easier? A bit simpler? Why can't I just walk away with my head held high, and then mourn the loss of them both for the rest of my life in the comfort of my own solitude and maybe the rescue dog I've been promising myself since I split up with Bev.

And then comes another question. A question I shouldn't ask myself, but I do.

Why do they want me to stay? The question clings to the tip of my tongue but I don't ask it. I swallow it down. Because if they want to suggest we do this again, that I become their plaything for every now and then, I don't want to hear it. If they're going to offer me the occasional taste of honey, of them, I think there's a good chance I'll implode. If they're going to offer to pay for my train up to London every other weekend, if they're going to ask me to teach Amara how to become a good Dominant, it will physically pain me more than I can stand, and I am already aching quite enough.

"The least we can do is make you breakfast," Amara says again.

I pull in a deep breath. So they're not offering me that. They're offering me breakfast. And my stomach hasn't stopped churning since I woke, and I know it's not only because I'm feeling so reluctant to say goodbye to Amara and Wren; it's also because I'm starving.

"Okay," I say. "I'll stay for breakfast."

"She'll stay!" Amara claps her hands.

"For breakfast," Wren and I say at the same time.