Page 48 of Designation: Null

“I’m not submissive, Robert. I swear that I’m fine,” he says, and he sort of means it. He’s numb and aching and still a little floaty.

“You released so well that you might feel good for a while. But I’ll come check on you when I’m done.”

“I’m going home.”

“Fine. I’ll check on you there.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

Robert frowns again. “Logan, I have to go, but this isn’t over. I’ll come by your place after work. Just to talk.”

“Well, of course,” he says with a chuckle. What the hell else would a Dominant like Robert want from someone like him? He’s aware that he doesn’t feel the same as he did a few moments ago, that the easy rightness has turned to shame and self-disgust, but that feels so normal that it doesn’t even occur to him that maybe he still isn’t in the right headspace. That he shouldn’t leave Robert after what they did. And that he might be closer to crashing than either of them would expect.

Robert shoves his phone in his pocket and then locks his desk drawer, the one that has the files in it, and steps toward the door but then stops, seeming frozen between leaving and staying with Logan.

Someone knocks on Robert’s door, even tries the handle. “Robert, we have incoming.”

“Fuck.”

“Go. You have a job. Other people need you besides me.”

What a horrible reminder that this wasn’t real.

“This isn’t over,” Robert says, voice hard. Then he opens the door and leaves.

14

Logan gets home, sits on the couch, and time passes. Maybe a lot of time. He doesn’t feel right. He hurts in his heart and his joints. His bones ache. Everything is too bright and too loud, and he’s too slow in both his thoughts and movements.

He can’t protect himself, which is an odd thing to be aware of. If someone attacked him right now, he’d be unable to protect himself because he doesn’t have the coordination or mental dexterity to fight back.

Someone dropped something as he was coming into the building, and he yelped and almost passed out from the shock. He’d made it into his apartment but doesn’t remember getting there. One moment there was a crash and the next thing he remembers he was in his apartment, back against the door and heart pounding.

Robert.

He needs Robert to hold him and tell him what to do. Why didn’t Robert want him?

The better question is why would he? Logan isn’t a submissive. Not really. And even if he did occasionally behave like a submissive and had those urges, it isn’t enough to satisfy a Dominant like Robert.

Robert needs a submissive who’s secure in his designation. Who knows exactly what to do and when. Who can say yes and submit easily.

The last thing Robert would want is a defective submissive pretending to be null, willing to do anything to keep the mask in place. To live the lie. What satisfaction is there in having someone like Logan?

Maybe it’s a good thing they were interrupted before Robert could tell him to leave. Now Logan has the chance to get himself back together, rebuild his facade and try again. Maybe the release and gland work will help even him out, make it easier to get back into the right range.

He should test. One little drop of blood and he’ll know what range he’s in.

Logan is scared to know. What does it matter anyway? He needs to be null or his father will put him away. He’s got a new shipment of drugs to try and so he opens them up and reads the dosages and ingredients, but it’s hard to understand, so he rereads the notes the doctor sent about why they might work for Logan and what he could potentially expect if he took them, in case that helps. It doesn’t. It’s just a lot of drugs he’s supposed to take for reasons and in some order.

Does it matter?

He opens a few bottles at random and swallows them down because it’s probably fine. Suppress his designation, reduce the urges, raise his dominance levels; they all hope to do certain things. He’s just the guinea pig. Half an hour later he’s clear-headed but cold. As if nothing will ever be funny, sad, or emotional ever again. This is better.

Logan goes to the gym in his building and runs on the treadmill. He hits the punching bag until there’s red streaking down the leather and the pain is too jagged to continue.

Which is a nice distraction.

Blood. Pain.

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