Page 19 of Surrender

And if he can house me, feed me and provide an entirely new wardrobe for me, I can have an uncomfortable conversation for him.

Fuck it.

I throw open my bedroom door in frustration. The master is at the end of the hallway, behind two French doors. The master of the house, and the master bedroom. I tip-toe down the hallway, pausing outside of his bedroom door. It's four AM. Surely, he's asleep.

Do I knock? Do I sneak in? Fuck!

I tap my knuckles against the door gently. There! He won't hear me because he's asleep and then I can slink back to my bedroom but tell him I did seek him out like he asked.

"Come in," his voice calls out quietly.

Fuck.

I open one of the doors and slide inside, closing the door as quietly as I can behind me.

"Serenity?"

"Yes, sir."

"What's wrong?" His voice is hard, demanding.

A distant streetlight, or maybe the moon, provides enough illumination that I can barely make out his silhouette. He's shirtless, in bed, but he's sitting up as if alarmed.

"I couldn't sleep, sir. And you told me to come to you... I..."

I what?! I did what you said? I'm a selfish brat? I'm a pain in the ass you weren't asking for?

I don't even know what would help me sleep. Whiskey, like Gary? Or pills, like my mom?

The idea of living like that sends a shudder down my spine.

"Come." The barked order is not friendly or kind. It's angry, demanding. And my instincts tell me to run as fast as I can in the opposite direction. This man is dangerous. He's angry, and domineering, and controlling. Or at least that's what people have said. He's been grumpy and angry with me in the past, but because he'd been afraid for me.

Driving me to and from work, giving me a place to stay, spending thousands on a new wardrobe...none of that wasdangerous. All of that is thoughtful. Can I ignore the image of the man for his actions?

I walk to his bed having no idea what's going to happen. Is he going to lecture me? Scold me? Tell me to go drink some hot milk?

Instead, he does the unthinkable. He shuffles to the far side of the bed and lifts the comforter silently. I hesitate. Surely, he's not asking me to join him.

"Get in," he barks.

I hurry to climb into his bed, still completely unsure of what we're doing here. For a flash I'm terrified he's taking my knocking on his door as an invitation for intimacy. That's not at all what I want. But before I can spiral, he interrupts my thoughts.

"Tell me about it."

We're both laying on our backs in a bed bigger than my room at my mom's.

I hesitate, overthinking what I want to say, before deciding on blunt honesty. I can be honest and still kind, right?

"I saw the new clothes... and the shampoos..."

"And?"

"And... it's a lot. I don't want you to think I'm not grateful, because I am," I turn to look at him, wanting to ensure he sees the honesty on my face. "But it's a lot. It's too much. I can't afford anything like that, and you shouldn't spend your money on me..."

He's silent as he slowly turns his head to me. Unfortunately, this casts his face into shadow so I can't read his reaction.

"Tell me about your life before The Envelope."

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