Becoming by Jourdyn Kelly
FEAR OR HOPE—possibly a combination of the two—had Rebecca’s good eye riveted on Samantha’s chest. She counted. One, two, three… all the way to fifty. There was not one rise or fall. Not one breath, not one beat. Samantha’s eyes were open, but Rebecca could no longer see the hard, brown that seemed to always look right through her.
The phone felt heavy in her hand. Or perhaps that was the guilt weighing down on her. She should have called for help. She should have done something. Right? The problem was, it wasn’t only guilt she felt. There was something else there. It was the unmistakable feeling of relief. Should she feel guilty about that as well?
A sharp, shooting pain caused Rebecca to gasp. Adrenaline began to wane, and agony set in. As the prickly fingers of unconsciousness began to pull her under, Rebecca quickly sent a text to the first person she thought could help.
Need help. 911. Home.
“REBECCA?”
Her head was pounding, her body felt as though she’d been run over by a car. Twice. All she wanted to do was sleep. But someone kept calling her name and touching her.
“Rebecca, can you hear me? I need you to wake up.”
“Don’t want to.”
“With the way you look, I bet you don’t. Come on, sweetheart.”
It took significant effort, but Rebecca managed to open one eye. Recognition of the familiar face in front of her took a moment.
“Lou?”
Detective Lou Chi. One of L.A.’s finest. And one of the club’s most frequent guests. Rebecca had met the man more than a year ago when he stepped in the middle of one of the many arguments between her and Samantha. Of course, Samantha was high, and Lou threatened to bust her for possession. Rebecca, having noticed the man coming from inside the club, offered a deal instead. Look the other way and use of the club would be free. Sex is a powerful negotiating tool. Since then, he became a friend. He never made it a secret that he wasn’t fond of Samantha or the way she treated Rebecca, but he promised to never interfere unless asked. Now, Rebecca was asking.
“Yeah, it’s me. Can you sit up?” Rebecca shook her head. “Okay, that’s okay. I’m going to call for an ambulance.”
“No! Please, don’t.”
“Rebecca, you’re bleeding. You were unconscious when I got here. I’m not a doctor, but I’m pretty sure you have some broken shit. What the hell happened here?”
“Is she dead?”
“Yeah, I checked on her when I got here. There was nothing I could do.” He grabbed a pillow from the bed and gently lifted Rebecca’s head. “That should help a little until the ambo gets here.”
“They’ll ask what happened.”
“I’m asking what happened.” He cut off her response, speaking quickly and precisely into his phone. “Help is on the way. Let’s use this time to work things out. I know it hurts, Rebecca, but I need to know how to fix this.”
It took most of her dwindling strength, but she told him everything that happened. Even the part where she didn’t call for help.
“Okay.” He scrubbed his face. “This is a clear-cut case of abuse and an overdose. You were unconscious, and therefore, unable to administer any type of aid.”
“Texted you instead of calling 911,” Rebecca countered weakly. Her breathing was becoming more labored, and the darkness lurked close by.
“You should have been a damn lawyer,” he grumbled. “You did nothing wrong, Rebecca. You contacted me because you can trust me. I’m a cop. If you were trying to hide something, you’d call someone not involved with the police force.”
Rebecca turned her head slightly in the direction of Samantha’s body. Because her vision was compromised, she couldn’t see her. But she knew she was there. The image was seared into her brain.
“I didn’t help her.”
“Judging by how much pain I’m positive you’re in, you shouldn’t have. Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad, Rebecca? I would have helped you.”
“Couldn’t.” She lost her battle with consciousness then, this time welcoming oblivion.
HER EYE FLUTTEREDopen and was met with bright fluorescent light. Ow. She could hear the beeping and whirring of machines around her. I guess the ambulance showed up, she thought, taking stock of what she could and couldn’t feel. Loopy? Check. Pain? Eleven out of ten. She couldn’t be sure because she couldn’t move her head, but Rebecca was pretty certain she still had all of her limbs.
“Welcome back.”
Rebecca’s head automatically turned towards the smooth tone. An extremely attractive, kind-looking woman in a white coat stood close by. Her vision wasn’t that great, but from what she could see, the woman had shockingly blue eyes.
“I’m Dr. Vale. Do you know where you are?” The woman asked softly as if she knew Rebecca’s head was pounding.
“Hospital.”
“Good.” The doctor wrote something on the chart she held. “Do you know your name?”
“Rebecca.”
Another note with a nod of the head. “Do you remember what happened to you?”
“Beaten.” Rebecca wished she could give more than one-word answers, but it hurt to speak. She had watched enough medical dramas to know the questions were important, especially with head injuries. Unfortunately, in real life, the pain was overwhelming.
Compassion filled the doctor’s eyes. “A cop came in with you. Does that mean the bastard was caught?”
Rebecca closed her eye. “She’s dead.”
She missed the shocked look directed at her. “Good.”
One silver eye popped open. “You’re a doctor.”
Dr. Vale held Rebecca’s gaze unapologetically. “And, I have a patient with broken bones, bruises, and who just spent hours in surgery. Anyone who can do that to another human being deserves what they get.”
“Hours?What…?”
“There was some internal bleeding. We had to go in and remove a couple of things. But, we’ll talk more about that when you’re a little more lucid.”
When Rebecca reached up in an attempt to touch her face and access the damage, Dr. Vale stopped her with a gentle touch.
“Try not to move around too much or disturb the bandages.”
“Will I?” Will I be scarred for life? Will my face be maimed? Is this what I deserve?
“The scars on your face will fade,” Dr. Vale answered, correctly guessing Rebecca’s concerns. “I’m that good,” she smiled kindly. Her smile faded, and she looked at Rebecca seriously. “If you would like to talk about the scars on your back at a later date, we can.”
Rebecca nodded slightly.
“Is there someone I can call for you?”
Rebecca scoffed. How the hell was she going to explain this to her aunt? “Would you want anyone you loved to see you like this?” She sighed tiredly. God, pain really took a lot out of you.
“I would want to be surrounded by people who loved me,” the doctor answered with a gentleness Rebecca wasn’t used to these days.
“My fault. I stayed.” Even though her voice was merely a rasp of a whisper, the defeat was clear.
The tall doctor gingerly sat on the edge of Rebecca’s bed and took her hand. “Rebecca, abuse like this is never the victim’s fault. Whether you stayed or not, you are not to blame. However, if you’d rather, I could call someone to evaluate your emotional state.”
“A shrink?”
“A psychiatrist, yes.”
Rebecca smiled for the first time. “My aunt. Built-in shrink.”
Dr. Vale chuckled. “Is she your emergency contact?” Rebecca nodded. The doctor reached over to grab the call cord. “I’ll have Patty give her a call. She’s the head nurse around here and runs a tight ship. If you need anything at all, just press this button and she’ll be here. I’ll be back during my rounds to check up on you.”
“Thank you, Dr. Vale.”
“REBECCA, ARE YOUsure you’re ready?” Dr. Willamena Woodrow paced around the hospital room. Her normally well-groomed chestnut hair was mussed, most likely due to being driven crazy by her head-strong niece.
Willamena was barely in her twenties when her older sister died, and Willamena was entrusted with the care of her young niece. Despite the closeness in age—just ten years—Willamena took Rebecca under her wing and raised her in a way she hoped her sister would be proud of. It wasn’t always easy, and right now was one of those times.
“I’m sure. Hunter has cleared me, Aunt Wills.” Rebecca continued to pack the things her aunt had brought her during her stay. She’d been cooped up in this place for almost two weeks and she was ready to get out. It wasn’t all bad, of course. She had gotten to know Dr. Hunter Vale better, as well as Nurse Patty and her wife Mo (also a nurse). But, if she didn’t get out of this room soon, she was going to go crazy. Though if she said those words to her aunt, she would get “the look.”
“Maybe I should talk to this Hunter person. Why haven’t I, by the way? Isn’t she your doctor?”
“Yes. I think she’s avoiding you,” Rebecca answered truthfully with a touch of mirth. It was true, however. Whenever her aunt was around, Hunter tended to disappear. In the short amount of time Rebecca had known the doctor, she sensed there was something going on in her life that she may not be ready to face. Maybe Hunter was afraid Aunt Wills would see that and begin shrinking her. Rebecca chuckled silently at the thought.
“Story of my life,” Willamena muttered playfully. “Fine, I realize I can’t stop you from leaving.” She ignored her niece’s sarcastic “thank you,” and continued. “But, please tell me you’re not going back to that place.” She had been horrified to learn what Rebecca had been going through. Guilt settled in all nice and cozy. She should have noticed something. She was a psychiatrist for chrissake. Once again, she sent up heartfelt apologies to her sister.
Rebecca’s actions faltered slightly. “No. It was Samantha’s place.” And it was filled with ghosts of the past. “While being stuck in here with nothing to do, I was able to find a small bungalow to move into.”
“I wish you would come home to New York with me.” So, I can keep an eye on you, Willamena added silently.
“Aunt Wills,” Rebecca warned softly. They had had this conversation countless times since her aunt showed up. She could see that her aunt felt the weight of responsibility on her shoulders, and that bothered her. Rebecca had done a remarkable job of hiding what was happening. Nothing that happened to her was her aunt’s fault. “She can’t hurt me anymore and I’m not running from a ghost. Besides, I still have the club.”
Another subject of conflict. Wills wanted Rebecca to sell the club and be done with everything having to do with Samantha. Rebecca, on the other hand, had more than one reason to keep the club. None of which she wanted to discuss with her aunt at the moment.
“You are the most stubborn person. Your mother…”
“Would be proud?” Rebecca finished with a laugh. “You know I get it from her.”
“I believe even she would have issues with this decision, Becca. Especially after all you’ve been through.”
“Which is exactly why I have to stay and do this, Aunt Wills. If I run and hide, she wins anyway.”
“There’s no shame in taking some time to recuperate your body and soul, Becca. You’ve been on the go since, well since you were born. Take a sabbatical. Travel around the world. Do something for just you.”
Rebecca sighed and sat down on the bed. She couldn’t deny that what Aunt Wills was suggesting sounded wonderful. Especially since she could still feel the effects of the beating. On the one hand, she had been lucky enough that the only things broken were her nose, eye socket, and ribs. She had been afraid her arm was broken, but it had turned out to be a dislocated shoulder. Even so, she was still weak, and it took her a moment longer than normal to catch her breath due to the lung that had been punctured. Sutures from the surgery to remove her spleen—and mend other things inside—ached. Mentally, she was trying to come to terms with everything she had lost.
“The problem with that is it gives me time to think. If I think, I’ll wonder why I wasn’t strong enough to leave her.” She held up her hand when Wills began to argue. “I know how you feel, okay. And, maybe one day I’ll get there. I have a lot to learn about myself, but I think I need to do it in my own way. Not by traveling, but by taking back control of my life.”
Wills studied her niece. Something told her she probably wasn’t going to like what Rebecca had in mind, but she would stand by her nonetheless. In fact, she would do whatever it took to make up for not being there.
“How do you plan on doing that?”
“By doing things on my terms now. The club is mine and I intend to start doing things my way. Samantha’s hold on that place—and me—is… over, Aunt Wills. I need to know I can do this.”
Wills nodded. That was something she could understand. “Very well. I can take a couple more weeks off, stay here until you’re set.”
“Not necessary.” Rebecca hopped off the bed and immediately regretted it. Her ribs still hurt like a bitch. She shook it off and walked over to her aunt, taking her hands. “I know you want to protect me, Aunt Wills. We can talk every day or email, but I have to do this myself. You have to let me do this myself.”
“You’re asking me to go against all of my training, and my instincts, Becca.”
“I know.”
Wills sighed. “All right. On one condition. I hear from you daily, at least in the beginning. And, if something like this happens again, you tell me immediately. And, I want weekly sessions with you.”
Rebecca raised a blonde brow. “That’s three conditions. Is it ethical to counsel a family member?”
“Screw semantics and ethics. I want to make sure you’re okay. I know you, Becca. You won’t go to another therapist, so you’re stuck with me.”
Rebecca laughed softly. “I agree with calling, texting, or emailing you daily. I won’t allow anything like this to ever happen again.” I’ve learned my lesson. “And, I only agree to weekly therapy sessions if I get the family discount.”
Willamena’s lips twitched. “You’re quite the negotiator.” She held her hand out to Rebecca. “Deal.”
Rebecca took her aunt’s hand, shook it once, and pulled her in for a hug. “Thank you.”
Willamena pushed her back enough to frame her face with her hands and look her in the eyes. One iris was still red from the burst blood vessels, and both eyes were underlined by fading bruises. Even with the blemishes, Rebecca was beautiful and captivating.
“Please, don’t shut me out again, Becca.”
“I promise.”
REBECCA SAT INher newly renovated office. It was here that she dominated over everything she had re-built. The once small, semi-profitable club was now a two-story, high-end lounge where entrance was by application and invitation only. Yes, it still held much of Samantha’s BDSM vision, but gone was the old staff, mediocre vendors, and greedy investors. In their place were professionals that were meticulously vetted by Rebecca before they were even brought in for an interview. She had strict rules, and if they were not adhered to, there were no second chances. None of them met the real Rebecca Cuinn. Instead, they encountered leather-clad, mask-wearing Mistress. It was a mystery to them who she really was, and that’s exactly what Rebecca wanted.
Another major change was Rebecca’s demeanor. Being a sub was buried with her past. Mistress—now a Dom—was born out of the necessity to take charge of her life again. She also had the idea to show subs in the BDSM world that what they may have thought of the lifestyle didn’t have to be so black and white. It was why she chose the pink room as her personal room. Each person she had in that room—also carefully investigated before Mistress would allow them in—saw a different side of BDSM. A side where the Submissive had just as much power as the Dominant.
The main difference between Mistress and the other Doms in the club was Mistress never had sex with her clients. Sex certainly wasn’t something she wanted to be paid for. Not to mention, she didn’t feel sexy underneath the leather. Underneath the mask. Scars still branded her back, and though the scars on her face were gone, she felt them nevertheless. Even without the sex, Mistress was the most sought-after Dominant in the club. They all wanted to be whipped, bound, and punished by Mistress. Just having her in the room was enough of a sexual experience for them.
It was enough for Rebecca to get her confidence back. Not just the dominance over others, but the success of the club. Samantha had worn her down so much, told her she was stupid so often, that she wasn’t sure she had the same business mind anymore. But with Samantha gone, everything that Rebecca touched seemed to turn to gold. That’s not to say she didn’t have problems. She most certainly did. At times it took double therapy sessions with her aunt just to pause the nightmares.
As the years wore on, Rebecca became tired of the tedium of her life. Time in the pink room did nothing for her anymore. She merely went through the motions with clients who never lost the novelty of being dominated by the small woman. The effect on her, though, wasn’t the same as it was before. With her confidence high, sexless domination over her clients got… boring. Unfortunately, as of yet, no one had intrigued her enough to go down that road again. Or, perhaps, she was lying to herself about being too scared to bring sex into it. What if she found out that she would be just as bad as Samantha if she let herself go?
In order to suppress temptation, Mistress closed the pink room, indefinitely. Clients and staff both were disappointed in the decision, but her staff was astute enough not to argue with Mistress. Clients begged, threatened, and begged some more for Mistress to keep seeing them. However, per their binding contract, they had no choice but to let her go. They were more than welcome, however, to choose a new Dom if they wanted to continue their patronage at the club.
These days, Mistress stayed in her office, high above the action, watching. She was getting pretty good at determining which room clients would request. There had been only one time she had been surprised by the gender choice of one sub, but fine-tuning her observance was easy enough. Mistress knew every name, every career, every fetish, every family member of every single person that stepped foot in her building. She refused married people, but allowed couples. She wasn’t in the business of tearing families apart. Mistress preferred showing them exactly what they had with each other.
Mistress picked up a file and flipped it open. The club was hosting a bachelorette party—she checked the clock—starting about now. She had dossiers on everyone attending that party. Each had to sign non-disclosure contracts, fill out applications, and give two forms of ID. It was an arduous task, but it helped Mistress filter out those who weren’t serious about the lifestyle or who wanted to use it as a way to hurt others.
She plucked a sheet from the file. Miranda Loring, bride-to-be—and frequent customer with her fiancé—had submitted a request for time with someone other than her groom and vice-versa. That won’t do, Mistress concluded. They just need a push in the right direction. In lieu of a surrogate, she arranged for the couple to be placed together without them knowing. Blindfolds were wonderful tools if used correctly.
She stood and walked to the window that overlooked the main room and VIP section. One change Mistress loved after her takeover was how diverse the group always was. Yes, they had rules, but in the end, every type of person you could think of could be here at any given time. As long as you followed the guidelines, your race, gender, sexuality, body type, didn’t matter.
Her breath caught, and her chest tightened when she saw one particular club-goer. This was someone she had never seen before, and part of her wished she had missed seeing the tall woman now. Her body’s response was too intense to be good for her. With a shaking hand, she pressed the intercom button on the wall next to her.
“Yes, Mistress?”
“Bring me the files on the entire Loring party.” At least her voice hadn’t betrayed the chaos she felt inside. Less than a minute later, there was a knock at her door. “Enter.”
“The files, Mistress.”
“Thank you, Carlie.” Once she was alone again, she began sifting through the files. “You shouldn’t be doing this,” she told herself. It didn’t stop her. Nothing stopped her until she came to the one photo she was looking for. A scan of the attached copy of the driver’s license gave her the information she was looking for. “Cassidy Giles. Oh God, she’s only twenty-five!”
Mistress tossed the file aside, determined to forget about the incredibly hot, tall, androgynous woman. She couldn’t care less how the black jeans made that ass look. Or how the crisp, white button-up shirt was unbuttoned dangerously low. And, she certainly wasn’t thinking about fisting her hands in that short, dark hair. Nope.
“She’s too young, Rebecca,” she said aloud in an attempt to remind herself to get the gorgeously handsome… “Stop!” Too young. Too young. Too young. She groaned in frustration when that wasn’t working. She walked away from the window, paced for a moment, before sitting back at her desk. She tapped her pale pink tipped nails on the surface, then let curiosity get the best of her.
Mistress activated the monitors in front of her. She had a view of almost every single inch of the club. Except for the private rooms, of course. Those sessions were recorded on an encrypted server that purged itself every forty-eight hours unless a specific order came from the Mistress herself. As with all the cameras around the place, it was purely a safety measure.
But, what she was looking for right now, had nothing to do with safety and everything to do with her aroused libido. “You’re playing with fire,” she told herself, wondering when she started talking to herself. She scanned the area, stopping at the VIP section. “Ah, there you are, Cassidy Giles.” A couple of clicks from the mouse had the camera zooming in on that exquisite face. “Jesus, you’re gorgeous.”
She sat back in her chair with a huff. “Carlie!”
“Yes, Mistress?”
Good lord, does she stand right outside my door?
“Send a shot of Fireball to table one in the VIP section. From me.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
The sprite of a woman disappeared as fast as she appeared, and Mistress shook her head. “Okay, so you sent her a drink. That’s it. Your room is closed, and you will not open it for someone who is young enough to be your…” She stopped talking and banged her head on her desk. “Anyone who makes you talk to yourself should not be messed with,” she muttered.
As if it were on a string, her head lifted in time to see Cassidy Giles look around, raise the glass in salute, then slam back the amber liquid. Consequences be damned, Mistress opened her desk drawer and took out the one thing she never thought she would use again.