ARMAND
This was my favorite thing —after care. We’d been deep in this thing, this arrangement, for like three months now, so deep that I couldn’t remember the last time I slept at the cottage on my mom’s property. If I wasn’t on the road with the Cyclones, I was at Ella’s place, and as much as I loved everything else she did to me, it was the way she took care of me that had my heart and soul wide open.
This time, after bathing me, she wrapped me up in this furry comforter thing and we sat on the sofa together watching a nature show about the coral reef while she fed me some peanut butter cookies she made. They were good as hell, too.
“Either I baked the shit out of these cookies, or they really are your favorite,” Ella said, handing me my bottled water for the tenth time. “Drink some more, baby.”
I took a swig and nodded. “Both, sir.”
She kissed my cheek, and I turned my head to kiss her lips. Then we sat there and stared at each other until she looked away. We had a connection, a real connection that neither of us could deny, but she was fighting it. I guess I understood why, though. For all my therapy and the way BDSM was helping me deal with my stuff, I was still me. If I were her, I’d fight that shit, too. However, I couldn’t fight what I was feeling for her, and I didn’t want to. She made me feel like I was the most important thing in the world to her. Even when she used me for her pleasure, it was still all about me. It took me a minute to realize it, even though I’d run across this truth during my required reading, but I now knew I held the power in our dynamic. I could give consent or revoke it. Ella couldn’t Dominate me unless I submitted to her. She needed me as much as I needed her.
“Sir,” I began, “can I ask you something?”
“You know you can,” she replied, her eyes on the TV.
“I got one good friend in this world, one guy I trust with my life. For a long time, I considered him the brother I never had, and…he’s engaged now. I don’t really know his girl. I’ve only been around her a couple times. I…they invited me over to dinner…and I want you to go with me.”
I watched her, observed the unchanged expression on her face. Ella was an expert at appearing to be blank when I knew that was never the case with her.
“I know how you are about privacy,” I continued, “but this is my boy. If I ask him to keep things confidential, he will. I wouldn’t put you out there like that. I know how crazy motherfuckers can get, and I would kick the whole world’s ass before I let someone hurt you—physically or emotionally. I—”
“Okay,” she softly said.
“What?” I asked, thinking I was for sure hearing things.
Finally facing me, something foreign in her eyes, she repeated, “Okay. I’ll go.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Smiling, she leaned in to kiss me. “You’re welcome, baby.”
We were in bed later that night and she was fast asleep when I realized what I’d seen in her eyes and why it seemed so foreign to me. It was fear, but what exactly was she afraid of?
ELLA
“I’ve been…I’m involved with Armand Daniels,” I blurted into the phone.
In response, Carlos asserted, “Okay…also, grass is green, there’s fish in the ocean, I like dick, two plus two is four, beardless Drake looks like an unfortunate Latino uncle, sugar DOES NOT go on grits—”
“Okay, okay! I get it! I’m stating the obvious!”
“The painfully obvious. I heard you screaming like a white chick in a horror movie the night of his mom’s party. I was like, is he fucking her or killing her, but I wasn’t about to do a wellness check and get my ass beat to death. That’s some good dick, huh?”
“What the hell kind of best friend are you, Carlos?! I’m trying to share a part of me with you that I previously kept private!”
“You avoided the question, so it must be excellent!”
“Carlos!”
“All right, so…you’re opening up about him. That must mean you’ve caught feelings, and if you have, I am not going to judge you…because damn! If you won’t tell me about the dick, at least tell me this, is dude as fine naked as he is with clothes on?”
“He’s a damn work of art. Lean, muscular, always smells good. Even his sweat smells good. He’s…I shouldn’t be doing this. Not with him.”
“Then why are you?”
I sighed. “Full disclosure? I was and am attracted to him. I like…”
“Danger? Insanity? Living on the edge?”
“Apparently so. First Jackson, now Armand. Only difference is everyone thinks Jackson was this noble guy.”
“And you’re letting them continue to believe that because…”
“Because he’s dead. What good would it do to tarnish his legacy?”
“Well, for one, it would stop his rabid-ass fans from cyber bullying you because you missed his memorial months ago. He’s been gone for two years! Damn!”
“I know. I had to block his sister. She kept texting me saying I’m breaking their mom’s heart. His mom hasn’t contacted me since I missed the memorial. I guess I could’ve at least told her I wasn’t coming on the phone rather than texting her…”
“His mom knows the truth. He gaslit her, too. Jackson “On One” Reynolds was a very talented and handsome, drug-abusing narcissist who knew how to play a role for the public. How many times would he hug and kiss on you for the cameras then berate you or worse for not smiling enough or some other bullshit in private…”
As Carlos continued to speak, I let my mind drift back to all the times Jackson made me feel like I wasn’t enough, like I was inferior and lucky to be with him. Things didn’t start out that way because people like him, narcissists, are experts at doing what needs to be done to reel you in. The love-bombing feels like heaven, but they are just as good at gaslighting and being outright cruel. Loving Jackson broke me. Trying to save him nearly destroyed me, and now? Now I had Armand who I cared about and who I believed truly cared about me, but I was scared. Scared of more cyber bullying. Scared of being hurt again, or worse, hurting him.
“…I hate to bring all this shit up, but fuck them folks! Them folks being the fans, Jackson’s family, and even your family if need be. I know they love you, but everyone sees you as a little girl. They ain’t gotta know you like to beat dude’s asses, but eventually, everyone is going to have to understand you’re a grown woman. If being involved with crazy-ass Armand Daniels is a mistake, it’s yours to make. Period!” Carlos finished.
Smiling I said, “And that’s on Mary had a little lamb.”