Rebecca's Lost Journals, Volume 3: His Submissive (Inside Out #1.3)(6)

That was a few minutes ago, and already the feeling has faltered. The instant I sat down behind my desk I found myself staring at the empty wall where the painting had been removed, and I knew it couldn’t be just the art I love, nor could I hide behind it. Taking this job, daring to do what I’d dreamed of, had been, and is, about living life, finding myself.

And there are more parts to me, things I’ve only just discovered, and things I want to discover. I am still the same girl that walked in here: an art enthusiast who was waiting tables, and who dared to make my college major a career. But I am also the woman who’d stood in the coffee shop bathroom and been aroused by a spanking. I want to know all parts of me. I have to know myself to control my life and destiny. But does that mean “he” is the right man to help me make that journey?

That’s what I have to decide.





9:00 p.m.

L

ast night is repeating itself. Hot bath. Pajamas. My own bed. And again I ask, what more could a girl want? The answer is the same. Him. I clearly need to rethink my strategy, as I am in the same place as before. I feel mentally exhausted. I don’t want to think about contracts, or rings, or why it hurt when that ring was given back to me, though I’m pretty sure it means that I haven’t made this about sex and escape—what I vowed last night it had to be, in order to move forward with him.

Now I’ve been spanked, and I liked it. Not every girl can write that in her journal. And on that note, I’m going to bed and to sleep. Tomorrow I’ll figure the rest out. Tomorrow it will make sense.





11:00 p.m.

S

o much for getting some sleep. Josh, the conservative, good-looking, safe investment banker I dated a few times, started calling me over and over right after I lay down to sleep, and he won’t stop. He’s drunk and out of control and I don’t want to call the police, but I’m starting to think I have to. After he showed up at my work a week ago, and now this, I’m feeling very nervous about what he might do next.

I tried to bluff and threatened to call the police if he called again. He called again. I’m fighting the urge to shove things in front of my door for protection. I don’t think Josh would hurt me, but I didn’t think he was capable of anything he’s done either, and we only dated a few times. My phone is ringing again . . .





Friday, March 18, 2011

Late afternoon, home again . . .

I

don’t really know where to begin writing, considering all that has happened since last night and what my plans for tomorrow night involve. But I know I want to get my thoughts down on paper so I can look back at this and know how I was feeling before it took place.

I’ll start with last night, when Josh was calling me and harassing me. I don’t know how it’s possible, but my would-be Master and self-proclaimed keeper of my happiness and safety called right after Josh had just called me a whore and told me he was coming over. The sound of my would-be Master’s voice set something off inside me, and I’d gushed out a confession about what was going on. The next thing I knew, “he” was on his way to pick me up and rescue me from Josh. I didn’t need or want to be rescued, and I regretted telling him about Josh. I didn’t feel ready to see him—not alone, not in his house and his bed. But there’s no fighting him. He’d made a decision to pick me up and I knew he wasn’t going to be stopped.

He arrived at my door fifteen minutes later, with me a nervous wreck. But when I opened the door and found him standing there in jeans and a snug-fitting T-shirt, looking casual and sexy, the power oozing off him, I wanted to wrap my arms around him. I didn’t, though. I knew I couldn’t touch him until he touched me. But his eyes met mine and it’s like he just knew how much I needed to feel him close.

He pulled me into his arms, molding me against his hard body, and buried his face in my hair. I heard him inhale my scent and then he whispered, “I’m here.”

I’m here. The simple words resonated on some deep level I needed them to. No one else was there for me in life. Only him. It scared me that I felt I needed him, when earlier I’d been so certain that I would always want more from him than he would from me. Or, maybe, more on a different level is a better definition. I know he’ll push me to places I might not even think I can go, but I am almost certain I will never have the power to push him to places he wouldn’t otherwise go without me. He won’t ever need me. He will need power, and I think that my need for him is exactly that. His power. His power over me. Standing at my door, I told myself he was just pleasure and an escape, even safety for the evening, and I wanted to believe it, but I knew then, and I know now, that it wasn’t true.

We left my apartment and had just made it to his fancy sports car when Josh showed up.

“Who the hell are you?” Josh demanded of him.

In a flash, Josh was against the car and my would-be Master said something low to him that I couldn’t hear. Josh paled and then said something back before handing over his keys to “him.” I stood there hugging myself, shivering from the cold night air and the intensity of the situation. More low words were exchanged, and when Josh was finally set free he apologized to me, looking like a whipped puppy, before he went to sit in his car.

My would-be Master ushered me into his warm car and, once he joined me, said, “Josh won’t be bothering you again.”