Page 19 of UnTrained: Volume Two
Mochi slinks into the kitchen, his yellow eyes wary as he assesses Aiden. To my surprise, after a moment of consideration, he approaches and winds himself around Aiden's ankles.
"Well, look at that," I say, unable to keep the wonder from my voice. "He hasn't let anyone touch him since I got back. Not even me."
Aiden crouches down, offering his hand to the cat. Mochi sniffs his fingers cautiously before butting his head against them. "Animals can sense things about people," he says, scratching behind Mochi's ears. "They know who's safe."
Aiden's gentle handling of Mochi strikes me as symbolic somehow. The cat who wouldn't let me near him for days now purrs under this man's touch.
I watch as Mochi arches his back, leaning into Aiden's fingers with obvious pleasure.
Am I jealous of a cat? I push the thought away.
"Maybe he can sense you're helping me," I say softly. "Animals are supposed to be intuitive that way."
Aiden smiles up at me, still scratching Mochi's ears. "Or maybe he just knows I'm not a threat. That he can trust me not to hurt him."
I move to the coffee pot, pouring myself a cup. The familiar ritual feels different this morning—richer, more meaningful. I breathe in the aroma, letting it fill my lungs. Such a simple pleasure that was denied me for so long.
"Do you think I'll ever feel normal again?" I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop it.
Aiden straightens, turning back to the stove to slide eggs onto plates. "Define normal," he says, his voice thoughtful rather than dismissive. "The life you had before? No. But you'll find a new normal. One that incorporates everything you've experienced, everything you've survived."
His words settle over me, a truth I haven't been ready to face. A new normal. Not reclaiming what was, but building something different with the pieces I have left.
"I think I'm afraid of that," I admit, wrapping my hands around the warm mug. "Building something new means accepting that what happened to me is part of me now."
Aiden sets our plates on the small kitchen table and pulls out a chair for me. "It's part of your story, yes. But it doesn't define you."
I sit, watching as he takes the seat across from me. The eggs steam gently on my plate, the toast perfectly browned.Such ordinary perfection feels almost surreal after months of nutritional gruel that tasted like nothing.
"How do you know so much about this?" I ask, lifting my fork. "About trauma and recovery?"
Something shifts in his expression—a shadow crossing his features so quickly I almost miss it. "Experience," he says simply. "Both professional and personal."
I want to ask more, to know what shadows lurk in his past, but the guarded look in his eyes stops me. We all have our stories, our scars. Maybe someday he'll trust me enough to share them, the way I'm slowly learning to trust him with mine.
"Thank you," I say instead, cutting into my eggs. The bright yellow yolk spills across the plate, and I drag a piece of toast through it. "For all of this."
"You don't need to thank me," Aiden says, his voice gentle. "This is what people do for each other when they care."
Care. The word settles in my chest, warm and terrifying all at once. I'm not sure I'm ready to examine what it means that Aiden cares for me, or what I feel for him in return. It's too new, too fragile.
We eat in comfortable silence, the only sounds the clink of forks against plates and Mochi's purring as he settles between our feet. It feels domestic, ordinary in the best possible way.
"What happens next?" I ask when we've finished, gathering our plates to carry to the sink.
Aiden leans back in his chair, watching me. "What would you like to happen next?"
The question hangs in the air between us. What do I want? It's been so long since anyone asked me that question—since I've allowed myself to consider what I truly desire rather than just surviving moment to moment.
"I want..." I start, then pause, searching for the right words. "I want to feel like myself again. But I'm not sure who that is anymore."
Aiden rises from his chair and moves to stand behind me at the sink. His hands settle on my shoulders, a gentle weight that grounds me rather than restrains me.
"Maybe that's the first step," he says, his voice close to my ear. "Discovering who you are now, after everything. And maybe in that, you’ll find the person you were all along."
Something about the way he says it speaks to a piece of me that I buried deep down inside of me.
I’ve told Aiden about my interest in being submissive, and he took it in stride. Maybe—just maybe—he’s someone I could trust with all of my desires. All those things that I thought were taboo, that I’ve mostly kept to myself.
