Page 146 of Don't Leave Me

Hey, how are you lately? I have to talk to you about Hana. Can you call me when you get a chance?I texted Emily. I eagerly waited for her response. An hour later, in the empty gallery, my phone rang: it was Emily.

“Hey, is everything alright?” Emily asked dramatically as soon as I answered.

“Hey, yeah, everything’s fine,” I quickly assured her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to alarm you. I just wanted to ask you what was going on with Hana,” I said in a friendly tone.

There was a pause. “What do you mean?” I could see her brows furrowed in her tone.

God, was she that oblivious?

“I mean, have you talked to her lately? About her and Michael’s break up?” I asked, already irritated with her.

She sighed. “Yeah, she told me. We actually went to dinner with her and Jack the other night. The night after she broke up with Michael,” she explained. “They seem really happy together. I mean, there was just so much going on with her and Michael’s relationship that was clearly just not going to work out. You know?” she rambled.

I dug deeper. “What do you mean?”

Another pause. “Didn’t she tell you? They were into some kinky stuff,” she laughed. “He was basically hermaster,” she emphasized the last word. “The whole dom/submissive thing. I can’t believe she didn’t tell you this,” she laughed again.

I narrowed my eyes. No, she didn’t tell me, but that was none of my business. I grew up in a very liberal family and had no problem talking about of that kind of stuff. I even dabbled with the whole domme thing after college. I liked some pretty kinky shit too – I wasn’t here to judge anyone about that kind of stuff.

“So…what? She just wasn’t into it anymore?”

“No,” she said with disgust. “She never wanted it. She just did it to hang on to him. He was so dominant abouteverythingand she didn’t want that anymore. Like, she had to ask his permission just to see me and stuff. It waswaytoo much,” she went on.

Why had Hana never confided in me? I could see this going either way – Hana getting into something she didn’t really want. But I could see the lure of it – being submissive and being told what to do sounded like a nice break from reality sometimes. And in BDSM, the submissive was in control – s/he had the say in what was or wasn’t allowed. Was this real or was Emily just being dramatic, like she always was?

“So, when you guys got together the other night, how was she?” I questioned, changing the subject; I needed to know if she was behaving as oddly as she was with me.

Emily sighed again, as if this all was totally inconveniencing her. “She was still upset from the breakup, of course. She wasn’t manic or anything if you’re asking.” I could hear her eyes rolling on the other line.

I was starting to get annoyed. “Did she seem…I don’t know, just…off somehow?” I tried to find the right words to say.

There was a pause. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “She seemed nervous or anxious, but I just thought she was tired or something,” she answered, her tone changing.

So there it was. It wasn’t just me making her act strange – even her own cousin saw it.

“I’m just worried about her. I’m gonna try to go to dinner with her this week, see what’s up,” I explained. “But…please don’t mention this to her. I don’t want to make something out of nothing, you know?”

“Yeah,” Emily agreed. “I hope you’re right. But let me know.”

My next step was to talk to Michael.

I went downtown after lunch, making my way to the Financial District and finding the tall, 22-story building that Hana had worked at for years. Sometimes she would point it out in the distance over the river when we were in Brooklyn Heights to watch the sunset, and she would wave to it and say, “Hi work building!” I stared at the directory inside, never having actually been in the building before. Floor 16 – New York Daily. I navigated my way to the elevators and made my way up.

There was a gorgeous view to my left as I stepped off the elevator on the 16thfloor; I could clearly see Dumbo, Brooklyn Heights, Cobble Hill…and oh look, Governor’s Island.

“Hi, may I help you?” I heard a polite woman’s voice to my right.

I whipped my head at her, laughing at myself for getting caught gawking at my gorgeous city. There was a pretty receptionist sitting behind a desk and computer.

“Yeah, sorry. Gorgeous view,” I smiled, walking towards her, and she smiled back pleasantly – she gets it. “My name is Billie Lowe. I’d like to see Michael Barnes,” I continued, putting my professional face on.

“Sure. Take a seat and I’ll ring for him right now,” she motioned to the couch in front of her.

I sat and could hear on the phone. “Mr. Barnes, there’s a Billie Lowe here for you.” A pause. Then she hung up and continued to type on her computer. “He’ll be right with you,” she said, smiling at me again.

I eyed the magazines of New York Daily spread out on a glass table, all neat and untouched. Not even 20 seconds later, Michael came walking out hurriedly, his face worried.

“Billie, is everything alright? Is Hana okay?”

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