Page 66 of Dark Angel

Yesterday marked our "love you" anniversary—a date Rayne insists is an occasion worth making a big deal of, whether I'm inclined to or not.

"I've set this day aside just for you, Jaden. It's been the best year of my life." For once, in what I considered my previously worthless existence, I did the actual work of making the reservations myself. Rayne, as she always does, inspired me to be a better person.

"You’ve set the day aside for me… Now, I truly feel special. I hope I can live up to it.

Happy Anniversary!!

I know exactly how I want to celebrate. Since the day is also mine, I get to love you… My way! …But of course, just for you.

Check out the fridge! J."

Rayne reciprocated the sentiment with a note that snapped another tangled strand in the web of my existence, forging another solid link in the chain of love that anchors me to her. Whenever I'm hit with insecurity about what she possibly sees in me, Rayne is more than happy to elaborate on how I anchor her, ground her. Yet, the truth is, she's my anchor and my buffer against the horrors of this world. She has reclaimed my heart, making it forever hers. Her short note offers me the reassurance that brightens each day to the extent that, some days, the shroud of darkness is completely absent.

"You are more than special, CC. You are my one. My only until death do us part.

And the cheesecake—how lovely. I adore your card!

Spending time with you, in any way life allows, is all I wish for! You have nothing to 'live up' to. That I know for sure.

Happy Anniversary!"

The realization that Rayne sometimes fears I might leave her for someone "better" stings. It’s a thread of insecurity that occasionally pulses through our soul bond, stubborn and persistent. No amount of reassurances or grand gestures seems to fully convince her otherwise. And yet, she’s the one who completes me. On some days, I’m still floored by the fact that she actually needs me as much as I need her.

But with time, we’re learning to settle into the comfort of 'us.' It's like we’re shedding layers of armor, finding that vulnerability isn't so frightening when it's shared. Our time together has become a sanctuary, a retreat from the world where we can be our true selves.

We're finding that 'together' isn’t just a physical space—it’s a state of being where we’re safest and strongest. It’s funny how love works, how it can make a shield and a refuge out of something as intangible as the space between two people.

Then she’d given me the best present possible right there in black and white so I can’t deny they exist. I hold the piece of notepaper close to the heart she just freed with just five words—until death do us part. Words that give me all the time I need to show her I’m hers forever. That she’s my one.

Last night was a celebration of the only anniversary that truly belongs to me, to us. She had instructed me to keep my day open without divulging any details. Anticipating she had something special planned, I surprised her by taking her to the Hazelton Hotel and booking a suite. The hotel holds a special place in Rayne's heart, not for its price but for its quality. "I don’t give a shit how much it costs, CC. It has the best bathroom, and you love the bed," she'd say. That's my Rayne—although she appreciates the finer things, money is never the priority. Our comfort is. My comfort is. That’s what I love about her.

After a delightful afternoon where Rayne led me through several of her favorite boutiques, we returned to the hotel. I sent Rayne off to prepare for our evening. Hearing her sing in the bath, I called the front desk to arrange a dinner spread of ribeye steak with all the trimmings, king crab legs, twice-baked potatoes, queso mac and cheese, truffle fries, and spinach salad, accompanied by several house sauces—a feast fit for my little dragon before a night of debauchery.

And that's precisely what we indulged in: over two hours of nonstop passionate fuckery. I had witnessed Rayne slip into subspace once before, yet I was still amazed at how quickly, a few minutes into light flogging, she descended into deep subspace. I felt the euphoric rush and followed her, disconnecting from everything but our shared reality, entering Dom space myself.

The hours flew by, filled with assorted fucking and sucking—lovemaking as we basked in our mutual ecstasy, surrendering ourselves to each other, body and soul.

I’d drawn orgasm after orgasm from my insatiable little dragon before allowing my release to combine our power. Pulling her into a one-armed embrace after I joined her in a mind-blowing, earth-shattering climax. Never have I experienced something so powerful, so all-consuming, as what I share with this woman. She understands and accepts the effort it takes for me to maintain even this limited contact after we make love. But the more I opened up, the more I realized she has similar, if not identical, issues. She often breaks contact first, excusing herself to clean up.

Yet, she always returns minutes later, curling up beside me, sometimes, like tonight, with one small hand scratching my arm as she drifts to sleep.

"That was the best," she whispered. "You were simply marvelous, CC!"

Her smile infused our bond, making me swell with pride while I feigned nonchalance.

"Only because you are the best!" I replied, my hand finding its home on her ass. Peace, and gratitude wash over me as my power nudges me toward sleep.

Lingering in that peculiar state between sleep and wakefulness, the hypnagogic state as they called it in medical school, where we experience and remember sensory perceptions vividly, I was just about to drop into sleep when Rayne starts to moan and writhe beside me. As my consciousness bends to vault into wakefulness, something yanks me hard. For several seconds, disorientation envelopes me, but find myself in a strange theatre, sitting beside Rayne, both of us staring intently at the stage below.

Teenage Rayne is being dragged through the woods by a man whose arm is clenched around her neck. Her terror, so raw, nearly slices through me as sharply as the knife he's brandishing at her throat. A torrent of tears threatens to break free, yet her indomitable will clamps them back. No fucking way will he see me break. As he shoves her onto the tracks, commanding her to undress, the internal battle rages within her—to fight or to yield.

"Fight the bastard," Rayne's ethereal form whispers beside me, her gaze piercing into mine. "She needs to fight. How do I make her understand?" Her voice, laden with years of unshed tears, lowers even further. "If I'd fought, nobody could blame me. But they did. ES said I asked for it, even made me apologize to that monster." Her eyes flicker back to her younger self. "Fight him. Aim for his balls.”

The anguish in Rayne's ethereal voice nearly shatters me, yet a stark clarity emerges amidst the pain. I reach out to her with the full force of my will, drawing her attention. "No, she can't fight him, little dragon. Look closely." I gesture towards the man, his figure wavering between drunkenness and madness, knife gleaming ominously. I’d seen that look too many times in the ER and it meant one thing.

"He's on the brink. Any resistance and he might have done something catastrophic.” Stress makes me slip into doctor-speak.

As we continue to watch, her younger self's mind recoils so strongly it clamps shut her vagina making it impossible for him to penetrate her. So, he cuts her, doing his own version of an episiotomy. The dream blurs into a maelstrom of pain, terror and violence as he tries to enter her again and again. Her fury and self-disgust threaten to eject us from the dreamscape.

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