One woman I loved is dead, the second gone, and I want nothing more than to rot away with the first. I resent Kaito for trying to pull me out of it. For reawakening the desires I’ve tried so hard to bury, to force out of myself with punishment and torment.
It feels worse than ever today. Snow fell last night, thicker than usual. Paris is a winter wonderland as I step out, bundled up tightly in a heavy wool overcoat, scarf, fur-lined leather gloves, and heavy boots. Once upon a time, I would have found it beautiful, but now my old wounds in my knees and shoulder ache with pain, and the unhealed one feels worse than ever. The cold feels as if it drives into my bones, my joints hurting with every step, but I force myself to ignore it.I deserve the pain,I tell myself firmly.I deserve to hurt.Especiallyafter last night.
Last night I’d lost control again. I’d tried to look at the picture, to go through my usual nighttime ritual of tormenting myself with the photo of Anastasia, denying myself, but I’d barely begun when thoughts of Noelle crowded my head. I’d known she was in the library—I’m certain my new little pet thinks that she is being sneaky, spending so many hours in there, but I can’t bring myself to take the risk of punishing her. She needs it, sorely—I have no doubt she doesn’t eat on the floor without my supervision, that she chooses how to spend most of her hours, without my supervision. But when I think of the ways I punished Anastasia, of how Ishouldpunish Noelle, lust overtakes me until I can’t think straight. If I made Noelle pleasure herself to denial or spanked her, if I collared her, leashed her, and left her tied on the bed as she slept, I might lose control. And last night only proved that.
The knowledge that she’d been across the hall, in the library, as I touched myself, inflamed me. I’d tried to focus on the picture, on Anastasia, but all I could see as I looked at Anastasia’s delicate face, her soft blonde hair and doll-like rosy mouth, was betrayal. Hurt. Pain.
My mind had replaced that sharp, petite face with a softer one, long pin-straight blonde hair with hair black as night, silky and curling softly at Noelle’s shoulders, a mouth painted red as blood when she’d been kneeling on my doorstep. I’d thought of going, lust-addled and cock hard, into the library and flinging her face-down over the chaise by the window, fucking her hard from behind as she looked out over the snow-drenched city. I’d thought of forcing her to her knees, hand wrapped in her hair, as I painted that snow-white skin and red mouth with my release. I’d thought of taking every inch of her, even the parts Anastasia hadn’t allowed me, of stealing every trace of virginity Noelle has. Of taking what I was gifted, the complete possession of her body, and finally giving myself over to the darkness everyone already believes I’ve already fallen prey to.
No one believes there’s good in me. Even Anastasia couldn’t stay. No one believes that I try to resist, that I don’twantto be the monster they all believe me to be, the sick, warped man that is in their heads.
So why not give in?The voices whispered.There is so much pleasure to be had in the darkness. So much…
Within moments of those thoughts entering my head, only a few hard strokes as I pictured it, I’d been trembling on the verge of release, faster than ever before. I’d thought of her red lips, streaked white with my cum, droplets of it hovering on her tongue, and I’d had to tear my hand away from my cock as if it had burned me to keep myself from climaxing.
It hadn’t worked. I’d tried to stop it, squeezing myself so hard it hurt, clenching my balls in my hand to try to hold it back. Still, the release had forced itself out of me anyway, leaving me to watch helplessly as I came harder than I had in months from the mere thought of my cum on Noelle’s face.
I’d told myself that she was my penance, my chance to do better, my test. A chance to prove that I can resist temptation. But with every day, I fail more and more.
Beautiful things are meant to be looked at, not used.
With that memory in my head, venturing out feels even worse. These excursions outside always make me think of Anastasia, of the days when I took her out into Paris, wearing the special shoes I’d had made for her to ease the pain of walking on her butchered feet, the wonder on her face. I’d watched her slowly come alive again on those trips.
I’d understood her darkness, her fears, her pain, in a way no one else ever truly could. Our souls had understood one another, had reached out through our grief and brokenness, and found a way to begin to heal. It’s why, I believe, she loved me—as I love her still.
But it hadn’t been enough. And in the end, I’d destroyed it all. I’d violated her, not with my own body, but I’d done it nonetheless. The thing I’d sworn I’d never do.
Now, I’m so very close to losing my control with Noelle.
The memories of Anastasia flood me as I walk past the café where I introduced her to Yvette, where I fed her chocolate pastry. I remember the brush of her soft lips against my fingers, the dampness of her tongue brushing the tips of them, and my cock stiffens instantly. The way she’d trusted me throughout that day, that night, as Yvette had pushed her boundaries and mine. The way she’dwantedme.
She’d said she felt alone. She’d touched herself for me in the bath, as I watched. That had been the beginning.
It takes a moment for me to come back to myself from the memories, to realize that I’m standing in the middle of the street, motionless, as the people walking break apart and go around me, fresh flakes of snow falling on my forehead. My heart clenches in my chest because, for a moment, it had felt so real.
It had felt as if I were back there, with Anastasia. When she was mine.
When I was hers.
I want to be grateful for Noelle, to care for her, to do it all right—but I can’t. There are times, like now, when I almost hate her simply for not being Anastasia, even though I know it wasn’t Noelle’s choice to come to me. She never wanted to be here anymore than I wanted her, and yet, I can’t help how I feel.
More than anything, I feel as if I’m going mad, more so than ever before. I’ve always felt the tinges of it in my consciousness, knowing there was something wrong with me, something as broken as the items in my collection. What I did to Anastasia was insanity. What I do to myself, what I’vedoneto myself for so long, is insanity.
I know it is, but I can’t stop. I hate myself for what I did to her, but I can’t change it. I can’t go back.
But I can stop myself from doing it again—or worse.
The thoughts tumble over and over in my head as I go from store to store, getting food and wine. I linger, because a part of me wants to stay out in the world, among people, in the cold and the sunlight. I feel alive in a way that I’ve resisted since I returned, feeling that I don’t deserve it. That all I do deserve is darkness and death.
I’ve felt this once before since I came back to Paris—when I found Noelle on my doorstep. It’s a dangerous feeling, the desire to come back to life. To take what I had before.
I should tell her to leave,I think as I begin the walk back home. Kaito made his threats to take her back, but by now, I feel that he’s likely moved on to something else, forgotten about her. Kaito has always been capricious, easily distracted, mercurial, and given to fits of fixation. By now, he will have found something else to capture his attention.
I know that I’m not capable of being a good master to her. I want her to be someone she can never be, nevershouldbe, and I hate myself for wanting it. For wanting to move on from Anastasia, for desiring someone else, and if I’m not careful, I’ll take that out on Noelle.
She’s been a good pet—as good as she can be, without understanding what that really is, without a good master to train her. She’s taken care of the apartment, followed my most basic rules, and left me in peace. She hasn’t tried to steal from me or escape.She deserves better than this.
“Kaito was wrong,” I murmur aloud to myself as I walk, nearing the apartment. I don’t deserve Noelle, and she isn’t going to heal me.She isn’t mykintsugi,my gold.No one can ever be, now that Anastasia is gone.