Page 9 of UnTrained: Volume Two
Morning light filters through my curtains when I open my eyes. For a moment, I'm disoriented, caught in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness where I'm not sure which reality I'll wake into. The facility or my apartment? Captivity or freedom?
Then I see him. Aiden is sitting in the chair by the window, his posture relaxed but alert. He's watching me with those intense blue eyes, and the events of yesterday come rushing back. The phone call, his arrival, the kiss, the gentle commands that felt like freedom rather than control.
The way he held me until I drifted off to sleep.
I didn't expect him to stay all night. The realization that he did—that he watched over me while I slept—sends a complicated flutter through my chest.
"Good morning," he says, his voice deep and steady. "How did you sleep?"
I push myself up to sitting position, suddenly aware of my tangled hair and sleep-creased face. "Better than I have since..." I trail off, not wanting to bring the facility into this moment of peace. "Better. Thank you, Sir."
He smiles, a warm expression that reaches his eyes. "You don't need to call me Sir right now, Lana. We're not in the dynamic unless you want to be."
The distinction catches me off guard. At the facility, submission was a constant state, not something that could be set aside. The idea that I can step in and out of this role—that it's my choice when to surrender control—feels revolutionary.
I’m uncertain how to navigate this shift. "I... I think I'd like to continue. If that's okay.” I pause, feeling suddenly vulnerable. "Is it okay to want that? To keep going?"
Aiden's expression softens. "Of course it is. This is about what you need."
I fiddle with the edge of the blanket, gathering my courage. "Then yes. I'd like to stay in this... dynamic."
The word feels formal, clinical, not capturing the warmth and safety I felt last night under his guidance.
"Then you'll address me as Sir," he says, his voice shifting subtly, taking on that commanding edge that makes my spine straighten automatically. "And I'll continue to give you what you need."
Relief washes through me, followed by something warmer. "Thank you, Sir."
Aiden stands, stretching slightly. He's still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, though they're more rumpled now.Even disheveled, he radiates that quiet authority that makes something inside me want to please him.
"Your first task today is to take care of yourself," he says. "Shower, dress in something that makes you feel good, eat breakfast. I'll join you in the kitchen in thirty minutes."
The clarity of his instructions settles something inside me. I don't have to wonder what to wear or what to eat. The decisions are made for me. It's both a relief and a gift—this small reprieve from the constant anxiety of choice.
"Yes, Sir," I say, sliding out of bed. I pause, suddenly uncertain. "Will you... will you still be here when I'm done?"
The question reveals more of my insecurity than I intended, but Aiden doesn't seem bothered by it. Instead, his expression softens slightly.
"I'll be here, Lana. I promised to help you, and I keep my promises."
The simple reassurance eases the knot of anxiety in my chest. I nod and make my way to the bathroom, closing the door behind me with a soft click.
As I turn on the shower, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look different somehow—my eyes clearer, my posture straighter. One night of decent sleep has already begun to erase some of the shadows beneath my eyes.
The hot water cascades over me, and I sink into the simple pleasure of cleanliness that I still haven't gotten used to again. It feels like a meditation—focusing on this moment, on the steam rising around me, on the scent of my shampoo that smells like me, not like the harsh chemical soap they used at the facility.
When I step out of the shower, I wrap myself in a towel and face the closet. What would make me feel good? The question seems both simple and impossibly complex. I finally select a soft sweater in a deep green color and a pair of comfortable jeans. The outfit feels like me—the old me, the teacher who wore practical clothes with just a touch of style.
I dress carefully, the routine both familiar and strange. As I brush my hair, I study my reflection in the mirror. The woman looking back at me is still thin, still carries shadows under her eyes, but there's something different today. A spark that wasn't there yesterday.
In the kitchen, I find Aiden at the stove, cooking something that fills the apartment with a savory aroma. He turns when I enter, those blue eyes taking me in with an appreciation that makes warmth bloom in my chest.
His eyes linger on my face, then move down to take in my clothes.
"You look nice," he says. "The green suits you."
I feel my cheeks warm at the compliment. It's been so long since anyone said something kind about my appearance without ulterior motives. "Thank you, Sir."
Aiden gestures to the small kitchen table where he's already set out plates and silverware. "Sit. Breakfast is almost ready."
