Page 10 of Own Me

“Are you finished?” Again he brings me out of my own head, and I drop the fork I didn’t realize I was still holding onto. The fork clatters loudly on the table. He looks at the fork, then back at me; his mouth slightly opens like he wants to say something, but instead he stays silent.

I clench my jaw and stay silent as well. Fine. If he doesn’t want to talk, neither do I. I grab my notebook, stand up, and walk away from the table, leaving my tray of food where it sits. Fuck him, I’m going back to my room. I don’t know what he wants from me.

I just want this ‘treatment’ to end already. He’s not doing anything other than pissing me off and wasting my time. Maybe I should talk to Tabitha because I don’t think this is working.

A couple of hours later, my bedroom door opened without warning. Rayne walks in and closes the door behind him. He’s dressed in black slacks and a black dress shirt; much different from any time I’ve seen him. He almost reminds me of Arin.

His arms are crossed across his chest; the tension in the room is so thick I can hardly breathe. Something is different between us. Is he upset? Disappointed? Did I finally strike a nerve after I walked off on him at breakfast?

“Therapy room. 20 minutes. Don’t be late.” His voice is dark, heavy, and commanding. I swallow the lump in my throat and jump out of bed, leaving my notebook behind. I want to freshen myself up before having to meet him in our room.

By the time I came back out, Rayne was gone, and when I looked at my bed, the notebook was gone, too. Shit. My hands became sweaty at the thought of him reading my thoughts. Especially what I’ve written today.

I have to go and face him; I can’t be late. Or else, who knows what he will do.

RAYNE

I should have given her more time so I could go through more of the notebook I took off her bed. She was heated this morning for some reason, so I gave her some space while I thought of how to proceed. Enough with being timid and observant; I have what I need now to move forward with her. She needs structure, rules, and someone to enforce them.

I will teach her how to choose someone who will provide what she needs intimately, emotionally, and physically. She will learn how to give proper consent and how to voice her needs and wants. I don’t want anyone taking advantage of her ever again.

A light knock on the door alerts me that she is here. I look at my watch—she’s right on time. Good.

“Come in,” I say while I go back to reading her notebook. I want her to be nervous while I’m reading this right in front of her. I like the fire she has in her; now I want her to be more vocal about it.

She opens the door and is wearing a different outfit than she was before. A dark red dress that hugs every curve; her curls cascade down her shoulders and onto her chest. She is not looking at me, but at the floor instead. Much like the first time we met.

Eye contact seems to be an issue, so we will work to correct that immediately. “Go and sit on the couch,” I leaf through another page of her notebook, and from the corner of my eye I can see her turn her head to watch me.

I close the journal and put it in my desk drawer that has a lock. In the earlier entries, she expresses her joy of writing and being able to have a voice again. This last one has me concerned. Why does she think he committed suicide? It’s not fair to her to not know the truth, but now is not the time.

“So you hate my rule, huh?” Fabric against leather shifts behind me.

I wish she was wearing nothing instead.

“Answer me, Shay. Enough with being quiet as a mouse and not making eye contact. Rule two: always respond verbally and do not avoid contact with me. I want to see your beautiful brown eyes whenever we are together. Even if they are filled with hate.” I whisper that last part.

“Rule three: You may refer to me as Rayne, Mr. Bauer, or Sir. Your choice.”

“Yes—I understand.” She says quietly.

I swivel around in my chair to face her and am met with chocolate eyes filled with tears. Shit. They’re even more beautiful when she’s crying. My cock can't help but stiffen at the sight of her at this moment.

Focus, Rayne.

“We will meet here every morning at 9:00 am after you’ve had breakfast, of course. We will take a lunch break at 1:00, dinner break at 6:30, and conclude our day at 10:00. Any questions?” We maintain eye contact, and she shakes her head slowly before remembering rule 2.

“No–no questions,” her bottom lip quivers, and a tear rolls down her face.

“What’s the problem?” I snapped at her. I want her to be more vocal about what she doesn’t like.

“Nothing—sir. What else?”

“If you find my rules silly and do not comply, you will be punished. Understood?” I watch as she lifts her head and her eyes make contact with mine.

“Yes.” Her lips barely moved, but I heard her response.

“Keep writing in your journal. I will give it back to you before bedtime each day. You are free to write what you want, but keep in mind I will read your entries.” I stand and walk towards the bookshelf I had placed in here. I pull out one of my favorite novels and hand it to her.