Honey, Honey by Rebel Carter

Chapter Four

HONEY

I climbed the stairs to my apartment with a groan and a roll of my shoulders. I was soaking wet from the early spring downpour I’d gotten caught in and I shook out my drenched hoodie. I hadn’t planned on staying out as long as I had, but there’d been no way around it with the way my jobs had been spaced out that day. Uptown, midtown, hell I had even been clear out in Brooklyn before finally coming home.

Rain had only made it all worse. Rain in the city always made things inconvenient, toss in a couple of shitty shifts I’d picked up on BaristApp and it was downright exhausting. These gigs hadn’t been the highest paying, but I’d been desperate. Usually my week was filled out with a nice selection of shops and shifts to pick from, but for whatever reason today had been a straight up bust.

It hadn’t been the weather. Rain always meant people calling out of work while potential customers looking for a cozy place to wait out the rain went up. I usually made bank on rainy days, but today hadn’t gone to plan. I grimaced looking down at my shoes. Black sneakers with a heavy sole. Perfectly sensible attire for being on my feet all day, but terrible in the rain. They squished with every step, my socks soaked through enough that I wondered if I’d have blisters from my long walk back from my subway stop.

The tips hadn’t even been worth it. Between four shops I had barely managed to pull in sixty dollars, which was unheard of. Sixty dollars was my usual take from one shop on a slow day. Today hadn’t just been slow though. Today had sucked. I shoved my key into my door and turned it with a jerk of my hand.

“I just want to lay down,” I murmured, shouldering open the door and slipping inside with a sigh of relief. I kicked the door shut and slid the lock home before I started yanking off my shoes. I kicked them aside and stripped off my soaking hoodie, tossing it onto the coat rack by the door.

“I need tea.” I made a beeline for the kitchen, hopping out of my jeans as I went and before long I was standing in my kitchen in my underwear and putting on a kettle to boil. “I need to get dry,” I whispered a second later when I had gotten the kettle nice and piping hot. In my hurry to get dry, I hadn’t exactly thought about staying warm. I turned, dashing towards the thermostat and flipped it on, the ancient furnace kicking to life with a rumble that told me I’d soon enough have a semi-warm apartment.

I was luckier than most with an apartment as old as I had, the damn thing had been built in the early thirties as tenement apartments but had been thoroughly renovated, not enough to give me creature comforts like central air, shiny appliances or floorboards that didn’t creak and groan with every step, or you know windows that weren’t prone to drafts—but I did have a pretty reliable and powerful heating system that went beyond wall radiators. So what if the crown molding was missing in some spots or if the paint was a little chipped here and there? Scuffed floorboards and doors that didn’t quite shut when closed were small potatoes when it came to living in this city. What my apartment did offer me was a warm and dry place---a safe warm and dry place where I could rest easy knowing my neighbors weren’t going to break in and take what little valuables I did have.

There was a sweet older Mexican woman, Juana Mendoza, that had lived in these apartments since she was a young newlywed. She always kept a watchful eye on me when I was late coming home and I could always count on her coming round to invite me over for coffee or fresh tortillas when she was cooking on a Sunday. Juana helped alleviate the touch of homesickness I hadn’t really realized I carried with me. My mother might have never given me a home, but I did miss South Texas from time to time. Then there was the nice family at the end of the hall that always had a friendly smile and chit chatted while we used the common laundry room. I loved their pre-teens Molly and Evan, and Elaina, their mother, always ate up whatever gossip I could offer her. She worked long hours at the nearby hospital as a RN and would take any sense of a little normality she could vicariously live through.

“You’re young. You should be out partying and dating every good looking man within 15 city blocks,” she had insisted one day.

It was a nice place to live, even if it was older, and I was glad to have it. Hell, it was even a decent sized space for the rent. I made a decent amount on my current work schedule but rent in New York was not for the faint of heart and for what I was paying I should be living in something more around the size of a postage stamp. Instead, I got a sprawling-ish loft with drafty windows and semi-decent heating. I even had neighbors I liked. For New York City, I was practically living in the lap of luxury. The size of the apartment wasn’t even a huge deal to me, It wasn't like I had a ton of possessions to store anyways.

I glanced around my apartment while I waited for it to warm up. It was sparsely furnished, something I insisted was because I was a minimalist and definitely, not at all, because I was afraid as hell to set down any kind of roots that would require me to actually have to plan and coordinate a move. I liked knowing I could grab a bag, stuff it with essentials and be gone before anyone even thought to wonder where I’d gone.

You are your mother’s daughter.

The ugly whisper came before I could stop it and I squeezed my eyes shut, sucking in a deep breath through my nose. We’d moved around a lot when I was a kid, even more when I was a teenager, and it had become second nature for me to keep a bag close by my bed. My thoughts were always leaving my present situation, always skipping ahead to the next thing or place. How I might start over in whatever new place my mother dragged us to—how it might, if I was lucky, be the last place we moved.

Except that it was all hopeful wishing. It was never the last place. We never stopped moving. And somewhere along the way I picked up the habit of always having an escape plan. Ready to go, even when I had exactly zero plans to leave the life I had built behind. I wasn’t going to be moving. Not today, not tomorrow, not at all.

This was home.

“No, I am not. I am not like her,” I whispered, eyes still closed. I had to shut that little voice down and I had to do it now. If it took hold...if it took hold, there was no telling where I would go, and I was not about to tempt fate.

The room was big and open, the windows that normally flooded the space with light showing me the dark and gloomy silhouette of the city. A television was at one end of the room, against the wall and a nice modern couch that I had picked out one day while wandering around the swap meets in Brooklyn, sat opposite of it. There was a bookcase that was filled to the brim---I had always thought about getting another one, but instead had just started stacking books on the floor beside the bookcase instead. I had a few stacks at about hip height leaning precariously against the wall. A small two person dining table and a pair of matching teal chairs were behind the couch in a makeshift dining room that spilled over into the kitchen. My tea kettle was rattling merrily along on the stove and I swallowed hard looking at the small kitchen that was cute, homey, but still didn’t possess the same lived in quality that Elaina and Juana’s kitchens did. Those spaces were alive and warm, while mine was just occupied.

A gust of wind threw another wave of rainwater at the windows and I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. The rain had been nearly knocking me sideways before I’d managed to get inside. I hurried into my bedroom to grab a hoodie and socks. Standing around in my wet underwear was doing absolutely shit for keeping me dry. I dressed quickly and went to the bathroom, splashing warm water on my face and drying my hair out in a towel.

I stopped and looked at myself in the mirror. “You are not your mother’s daughter. This is home.” I insisted once more, staring at my reflection as if I could will it to come to life and agree with me, agree with me or I didn’t know, fight me. Argue and tell me I was lying. Anything to fill the quiet of the apartment and the words that sounded too thin on my lips.

If this was home then why did I refuse to put art up on the walls? I had lived in this place for two years and so far had only managed to buy one small print that I had hastily taped to my fridge, because no place in the apartment seemed right. My bedroom was just a bedroom, not a place to rest, it was where I slept, nothing more.

It wasn’t right. None of this was right. When was I going-

EEEEE!!!

The shriek of the tea kettle made me jump and I turned on my heel, striding into the kitchen to turn it off. I was grateful for the distraction and set about making myself a cup of tea--cherry blossom plum--to settle my nerves. I turned off the stove and reached for the cupboard to the left of it. The second I pulled open the heavy wooden cupboard doors the scent of flowers and herbs hit my nose and I smiled, taking in a deep breath. I might not have a lot in the way of furniture or art, but tea?

Oh, I had that.

Green, black, herbal. Bitter, sweet and savory. Caffeinated and not, It didn't matter, I wanted to try it, and had even begun blending my own teas. I’d found an apothecary in town that offered classes and made sure to take as many as I could, usually one a month to keep learning about the herbs and teas available to brew. I liked learning the different temperature requirements, how to store and care for the prettiest rolled flower teas and what might happen when I added a dash of citrus to some--the answer was that sometimes it turned blue like a potion out of a fairytale, and sometimes it was just a mistake I couldn’t drink.

It was an art, a ritual that worked to calm my mind, chase away that voice I hated. That infuriating voice that I carried around. The one that surreptitiously reminded me that it didn’t matter how many places I moved, or didn’t move, how many days and years I spent trying to be someone else. That I would, inevitably, slip up. I frowned, grabbed down the jar I wanted to use and flipped open the top, taking a deep breath of the familiar floral and tart smell the cherry blossom and plum mixture offered me. I had worked on this one just last weekend and it was my current obsession when I was feeling a little tense, which apparently right now I was.

I sucked in another deep breath and held it for a beat before I released it and opened my eyes. “That’s better, now unlock your damn jaw,” I ordered myself while I forced my shoulders down from around my ears. I never failed to get twitchy whenever my thoughts got away from me. But that didn’t matter. Because I was here, and I was happy. Or at least, I was okay. I was definitely okay. I looked back up at the tea on the shelves in front of me and ran a finger along the glass jars that held the blends and herbs I had stocked my home with.

“No one can be unhappy with this kind of tea hoard,” I said, nodding at my words. It was true. You just couldn’t be unhappy with this kind of stash, and this wasn’t even counting my coffee collection. I had a whole other cupboard dedicated to that. Beans of different origins and roasts, my fancy little drip cold brew maker, my Aeropress, the beautiful espresso machine I had sprung for was all neatly tucked away on the corner of the counter and I ran a hand over it lovingly. No, I might not have a ton of possessions but if I ever had to leave I’d mourn the loss of my tea and coffee hoard.

This kind of beverage power just left a woman blissed out and happy.

“And I am happy,” I told myself, pouring the water over the tea leaves with a nod. The gentle floral smell of cherry blossoms wafted up to me, and I smiled. Yeah, this was better, much fucking better all right. I leaned a hip against the counter and rolled my shoulders and stretched my arms over my head with another deep breath.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

My shoulders dropped and I nodded in approval. I was relaxed, dry, had a cup of tea brewing and my apartment was semi-warm. It didn’t really get better than this after a lackluster day. I picked my cup up and made my way to my couch where I settled, balancing the cup on the arm of the couch while I picked up my phone and began scrolling mindlessly through sites and social media I didn’t keep up with in the slightest.

It was here that I was hit with a little shock that popped the bubble of relaxation I was weaving around myself.

“She’s my girl.”

Lawson Sokolov makes records with newest acquisition. Will he continue to defy the odds?

I swallowed hard, staring at the screen I held. Right there on my phone was a picture of the man in question. It was a good photo, capturing him in profile with his gaze to the side. My eyes moved along the strong line of his nose and over his full lips, and down to his jaw. The man had a great jawline, sharp and strong, just the kind that made me weak in my knees. Again, I swallowed, fingers moving away from the screen of my phone to grip the tea mug beside me. I could see Lawson’s jaw, plain as day, clenching in anger in the coffee shop before he turned to face down the blonde woman that had gone after me. I sipped from my tea, the hot liquid burning down my throat because I hadn’t bothered to wait to let it cool.

I closed my eyes, focusing on the tea induced ache in my throat. Anything other than think about him, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed in anger, the morning sunlight glinting off his hair that was a mix of brown and gold, the sides shorn short with a peppering of gray adding silver to his profile. He’d been on the warpath when he’d told off the woman, but then...but then he’d been there defending me, making up a lie about me being his fiancée to save me. God, he was absolutely beautiful, even when he was angry. Then there had been the way he’d looked at me when he’d turned to me.

“I’m really sorry about that.”

He’d spoken to me in a gentle tone, his voice a sharp departure from the way he’d talked to the blonde. This was intimate as a whisper between lovers and he’d come close, one big hand resting on the counter between us. His eyes had been soft on me. Dark hazel with ocher flecks in them that I kept seeing everywhere I went. Under normal circumstances that would be pretty stupid, but under these? A made up fiancé? A swooping in and saving my ass like a knight in shining armor? It was absolutely ridiculous and cringe worthy, but god, if there wasn’t a woman alive that wouldn’t understand me and what my imagination was forcing on me.

I kept seeing his beautiful face everywhere I went. Anytime I saw a man in a dark suit with a slightly rumpled air, I wondered if it was him and I felt my heart rise up in my chest, forcing its way up and up until it was lodged in my throat. I knew that if it was him, I wouldn’t fucking know what to say. I’d just smile and blush, the words getting all confused and twisted in my mouth while my brain spun furiously, trying to put my feelings in the right order. Things like that never came easily to me. I’d been shaking when Lawson had left the coffee shop, the words I had managed to get out to him a blessing. But then the man would turn my way and it wasn’t him. Never Lawson. It was just some man. Not Lawson, larger than life and calling me his girl.

His girl.

Why the fuck did I like that so much? I didn’t even know the man.

“Because I’m borderline pathetic and don’t own any furniture,” I muttered, taking another sip of scalding hot tea and wincing. I had even taken another shift at A Different Brew just yesterday, a whole two days since I’d first seen Lawson, which was honestly huge for me. I didn’t take repeat jobs in the same neighborhoods in the same week, let alone the same shop, but there I was working the espresso bar with Tiff while I hoped I would run into Lawson again. I sighed, letting my head fall back against my couch because I’d watched the front door the entire day like a hawk, but each and every time someone entered the shop it hadn’t been Lawson. It was so bad that Tiffany had taken to teasing me about “having it bad for my man,” but I couldn’t really say much in my defense, because it was obvious that I was looking for him. And besides, she thought he was my fiancé, so why would I even try to rebuff something like that?

The short answer was that I couldn’t, so I did what any self-respecting modern woman did when faced with such a situation: I continued to lie.

I didn’t like lying, especially to someone that had the potential to be a friend. A real and honest one at that, but there was really no way to tell Tiff that I’d lied the first time when she asked. I could have come clean then, but I hadn’t. My bed was made and now it was time for me to lay the hell down in it and figure the rest out.

I huffed out a laugh. “What the hell was I thinking?” I asked the empty room, but there was no answer. Only the tapping of the rain against my windows and the rumble of thunder. I took another quick drink of my tea, eyes going back to the phone in my lap, back to Lawson’s photo.

The man really was gorgeous. There was no way anyone was really reading this article to learn how he was making deals, not when they could look at his face. I sighed, ready to settle in for a night of staring longingly at Lawson’s photo when my phone buzzed in my hand with a message.

See you at eight tonight. Bring your stretchy pants.

I laughed seeing the message from Tiffany and swiped up, opening it so that I could answer her. Messaging Tiffany was good. If I was doing that then I wasn’t staring at the article on Lawson like it was the latest Teen Beat. I’d agreed to dinner at Korean barbecue earlier that week and today was the day. Even if it was pouring outside I was up for braving the storm for a chance to see Tiff. The woman made me smile, genuinely made me happy, I knew that a night stuffing my face with her was the thing to get me out of lingering over Lawson for too long.

Consider it done. See ya then! :)

I sent the text, closed the browser with Lawson’s stupidly handsome face and saw that I had exactly enough time to get dressed, finish my tea and get my ass in gear to meet Tiffany. The place she had picked was just down the block from me and it wouldn’t take me very long to get there, which was a blessing considering the storm that was still raging.

I hopped off the couch tossing my phone behind me and made for my bedroom with my cup of tea in hand. I sipped at my tea, my mind already skipping ahead to dinner while I dressed. When I was done getting ready and yanked on my rain boots, Lawson Sokolov was the furthest thing from my mind. I made sure to double check my phone, keys, wallet, the routine of it working to further center me in the now. Once I was sure I was good, I left my apartment already feeling lighter. I waved at Juana, who was on her way home for the evening.

She raised an eyebrow at me when we passed but waved back all the same. “Where are you going in this rain? And at night too,” she asked, and I grinned at her question. Some people might find it nosey, but I didn’t. It felt nice to have someone looking out for me while I was coming and going in the city. I didn’t have family to do it, which made a nosey neighbor more than welcome.

“To dinner with a friend. Just over at Sik Gaek,” I told her, stopping at the top of the stairs.

Juana hummed, a hand going to her hip. “Is it a date?” she asked, not even trying to hide her curiosity. She was always wanting me to find a “good man to settle down with,” so her question was one I wasn’t surprised to hear in the slightest.

I grinned and shook my head at her. “No, it’s a friend, I swear. A girl I work with.”

“Girls can be more than friends too,” Juana insisted, apparently not willing to give up on her hopes of me finding myself someone.

I laughed. “Not this one. She’s just a friend. Pinky swear, Juana.”

She sighed at me and then waved a hand at me. “Come here.”

I walked forward without hesitation but still asked, “Why? What’s up?”

“You need an umbrella,” Juana pointed out, already moving into her apartment.

“Oh I’m okay. It’s not that far and-”

“Honey.” I could tell by the way she held on to my name Juana was not going to be arguing on this one. It was going to be easier to take the umbrella in the long run.

“Okay, okay,” I sighed, coming forward to follow her into her apartment. The space was cozy with pale yellow walls that warmed the big loft in a way mine lacked. Juana had plants filling every available space, rugs covering the floors and the familiar smell of spices—cloves and cinnamon—filled my nose the second I crossed the threshold. It was a happy place, somewhere I knew I was welcome anytime and I grinned watching her rifle through her closet until she emerged with a pink umbrella triumphantly.

“Here’s an extra that I don’t need anymore,” she said, holding it out to me with a smile.

“I’ll bring it back,” I hedged, taking the pale pink umbrella that looked as long as my arm. A flouncy bow could be seen peeking out from the bottom of it and I turned it over, seeing there were more bows circling the bottom of it. This thing couldn’t have been meant for anyone over the age of twelve, but even so my soul sang at the sight of all that pink. The bows made me want to run my fingers over them, twisting the material around my forefinger and thumb until it cut into my skin. It would be soft, I knew that. It was a perfect umbrella really, but that didn’t change the fact that it was meant for a child.

Not a grown woman. Which I was.

I looked at Juana nervously, wondering why she had given me this umbrella. The old woman saw more than she let on and a finger of fear crept up my spine and made me wonder exactly what it was that she saw in me that made her give me a pink bowed cupcake of an umbrella.

Juana rolled her eyes at me. “That’s your umbrella now, Honey. I’ve had it for years, it’s not like anyone will use it, so don’t tell me that you can’t take it when it’s just taking up space in my closet.” The fear that had touched my skin vanished and I let out the breath I had been holding. She didn’t know. It was all a coincidence. “Now come here, give me a hug and go eat, and make sure to eat seconds. You don’t eat enough.”

I opened my mouth to protest but right on cue my stomach growled. Traitor. It was true I did skip meals but it was just because I was so...scattered. I didn’t know where the time went, or where I was when the time went, but my mind was somewhere else. Lost on a thought or busy thinking about what I needed to do later, that I just forgot about what I needed to do right now.

“Oh, all right,” I sighed, obediently hugging her. Juana was a small woman, short and slight, her body felt light against mine and I closed my eyes when she squeezed with more strength than her small body indicated she had. She patted my back and leaned back, smiling broadly at me.

“I’ll keep an ear out for you when you get back. Be careful crossing Queens Boulevard, you know how they drive. Todo loco,” she said with a shake of her gray head.

I smiled and leaned in close to her, pressing my lips to her cheek. “I know, I’ll be careful.”

“Have fun.”

“I will.” I raised the umbrella and gave her another smile. “Thank you for this, Juana. I mean it.”

“De nada, mija,” she said, and then shooed me towards the door, “now get a move on, or you’ll be late for dinner.”

I left Juana’s apartment, my footsteps sounding loud on the wooden stairs as I descended to the street level. When I shouldered open the heavy metal door I was hit with a wave of chilly wet air that had me frowning and opening my umbrella with a jerk of my hand. It unfurled, the great big whoosh of it’s canopy extending above me making me jump. The pink material of it was...well, it was fucking great, and I smiled watching the pink bows bounce merrily along as I walked.

It was a sweet umbrella. I wouldn’t tell Juana but I loved it far more than she would ever know. I reached out, touching the soft pink end of a ribbon briefly before I adjusted my grip on the surprisingly large and heavy handle. The umbrella was a lot bigger than I had anticipated and I shifted, making sure to hold the curved pink handle with both hands when a man’s shoulder grazed, it but he was effectively bounced back and away by the sturdy umbrella canopy. The pink bows danced merrily and I was only vaguely aware of the man’s frown as I lifted the umbrella to get a look at what had made contact with me. I was going to have to concentrate on navigating the busy street if I wanted to get there without knocking anyone down. But because of its size and height, plus the sheer overwhelming power of it’s bubblegum pinkness, the umbrella did wonders for helping me slice through the crowd. It was a little oversized, the canopy of it forming a pastel bubble around me that kept other walkers a foot away from me. Then I knew why Juana had given me the umbrella. Not for the pink material or the big bouncing bows I loved, but for the distance that it put between me and the other people in the city.

Juana was a smart woman. But not even she had figured out my secret. And that secret was that I was, at the core of me, a Middle.

A Middle with a taste for BDSM and submission.

I shifted, gripping the umbrella tighter. Would Juana like me if she knew? I didn’t know. Probably not. Not that she would ever be let into that part of my life. Not that anyone I ever held in my day-to-day existence would discover the secret about who I was.

Not that it matters on account of how far away you keep everyone, the voice in my head insisted, and I flinched. There were times I hated my thoughts and now was one of them. I hated it when my thoughts told me the truth. I did hold everyone at arm's length, but that didn’t have a thing to do with the person I chose to be when I put myself in the hands of a Daddy Dom. My skin tingled, the blood rushing to the surface in a mix of adrenaline and lust that warmed me through better than any shot of alcohol could ever hope to. I barely felt the cold rainwater sloshing off my umbrella and onto my arm when I turned the corner sharply to avoid careening into a pack of school children gleefully screaming and running down the street.

Daddy.

That one word was enough to make me weak. I bit my lip, fingers gripping the hard plastic handle tighter, checking before I joined the group of pedestrians crossing the street. It had been awhile since I’d played, which probably explained why I was so in my head lately. I needed it. Craved the release of letting someone else have my control, even if only for a few hours. The time spent being a Middle reset me. Let me breathe a little easier when I could let Daddy make the decisions. Although...it wasn’t like I would be docile about it. I made up my mind to play that weekend. There were only so many days a woman could go on like I was, with zero play and all work. I would go to Cairn and put out my feelers for just the right Daddy. Because not just anyone would do. I needed a Dom with a strong hand, but also with a soft spot for brats.

I liked giving it as good as I got. The sassier side of me, the sharper edges I kept carefully hidden away from the world, had no qualms at revealing themselves to those who also participated in the lifestyle. It was easier to reveal all those jagged and raw bits of myself to others who chose to lay themselves just as bare. There was a vulnerability in kink that went unnoticed by much of the public who either didn’t have an interest in, or hadn’t experienced the delicate dance of release through kink. I loved it when I was able to sink into my role as a Middle. I was absent more than not lately with my work schedule and it had only added to my anxiety and general scatteredness.

Tonight with Tiff would help reset me some though. Good people, good food, the closeness of dinner and gossip with a new friend would come close to taking the edge off the ball of anxiety I felt growing in my chest. Tonight would be good. Just what I needed. I knew it. My lips turned up in a smile, steps quickening as I all but set off in a jog to stay with the flood of foot traffic.

Overhead thunder rolled, the crack of it reverberating along the tall buildings and I swore I could feel it shaking up through the concrete as I ran, trying to get out of the rain that didn't seem to be letting up any time soon. Water splashed my legs but I kept going and before long I saw the familiar lights of Sik Gaek come into view. The warm glow of it made me smile as I walked toward the door, and I began to wonder how long Tiffany wanted to stay out—as in how many bottles of Soju I might be able to persuade her to order with me tonight.

With the way I was feeling whoever I played with would have their work cut out for them.

I could not wait.