Page 22 of Bound To Me

He sat up and sighed. “That’s his name? Michael?” he asked, looking over at me, his face still serious, a mix of concern and anger etched in his features.

I laughed, the idea of Elliott hurtinganyonebizarre to me, but his face never softened.

“Elliott, he doesn’t matter anymore. He’s out of my life.” I shook my head and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, trying to reassure him.

He took a moment to respond, his head hanging low. “Thinking of anyone hurting you makes me…” he trailed off.

I pressed my mouth gently on his cheek, the light stubble tickling my lips. “Let’s talk about something else.”

He nodded. “Okay,” he whispered.

“What was your wife like? Is that okay to talk about?” I asked, sitting down next to him and putting my hand on his muscular thigh. I wondered when I would get over how hot he was.

Elliott looked over at me and smiled. “Yeah, I don’t mind.” He paused for a moment and linked his fingers with mine. “We were married for fourteen years. We bought this house together. She was an actress.” His eyes lit up as he looked at me. “She wasvery kind and she loved art. She did this piece here.” He gestured to the painting above his bed.

I eyed it with admiration. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

He was quiet again before he spoke, his eyes on the floor. “She, um… she had cancer—pancreatic cancer. She died a year after the diagnosis.”

My heart dropped. I immediately began to tear up. Why wasIcrying? “Fuck, I’m so sorry.” I shook my head. He immediately looked over at me and gave me a sad smile.

“She had your dirty mouth too,” he said, eyeing me fondly.

Every time he looked at me like that, my heart grew wider and softer. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and surveyed my face.

“Is it too soon to ask you to stay the night? I haven’t done this in…almost twenty years.” He grinned, almost looking embarrassed.

Holy shit; I kept forgetting he was eighteen years older than me. And the fact that he wanted me to stay the night meant more to me than the sex. Of course, the sex was amazing, but I wanted connection. I wanted to be wanted.

“I would love to stay the night,” I replied.

We cuddled in bed, my first time actually intimately cuddling, and I fell asleep in his arms knowing that deep down, obsessive Jackie was on the horizon.

Then

Something in me changed when Michael cut and scarred my body. I hated him but I loved him. I never wanted to be without him but I didn’t want to stay. I wanted to please him but I wanted him to fuck off.

He knew he had me right where he wanted me. He made it so I could never leave him, even if he left me. He wanted me bound to him only for his benefit. I had nothing on him. He could literally push me to the curb, and I would have nothing to fight with, nothing to show for.

The abuse continued, but I begged to stay with him every night. I could tell he was getting tired of me. I could see him rolling his eyes, somehow bored while I sat on my knees with his cock in my mouth. I knew he was going to stop caring about me soon, and I didn’t know how to keep him. I was desperate for him to just fucking love me. I was desperate for his undivided attention.

I don’t know why I thought trying to kill myself would suddenly make him realize that he was in love with me. But after one of our sessions, after he cleaned me in the bath and while I was supposed to get dressed, I decided to go into his kitchen drawer and find the sharpest knife I could find. I waited until he finished in the bathroom and came walking into the kitchen.

He scolded me right away as I held the knife to my wrist. “Jackie!”

“I don’t want to live if you don’t love me,” I cried, pressing the knife to my skin.

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic. Put the knife down. Now!” He was angry and inching closer to me.

Do it, Jackie! Make him love you or die.

I quickly sliced the knife down my wrist and blood immediately started pouring out. He lunged toward me and grabbed a kitchen towel, pressing it against my wound as I fell to my knees and slumped back against the cabinet.

He doesn’t want me to die.

“You fucking idiot, Jackie!”

I started getting lightheaded as I heard him yelling something. My eyes began fluttering shut as his voice became clearer: “She’s losing a lot of blood. But I think she’s dangerous—I’m going to need the police here as well.”

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