I check my calendar to verify I don’t have any more meetings today and quickly change into some workout attire before heading to the company gym. An hour sweating with heavy weights and nothing but how to count by forty-fives on my mind is a blessing. By the time I’m done, I feel sore but invigorated as well.
I consider the cleansing routine my trainer has me go through twice a year to rid my body of toxin buildup. Two weeks of strict diet, exercise, and a concoction of supplements to clean out my system. It’s a pain in the ass, but I always end up feeling great afterward. I wonder if there’s a similar method for renewing one’s mind.
Back to the office. Paperwork and returning emails until I can’t hold my eyes open any longer. Down to the lobby. Hail a cab. Lean my head back as the driver babbles about traffic and terrorists.
My mind keeps wandering back to where it all went wrong.
Home isn’t far, and soon I’m heading up the elevator to the top of yet another high-rise. My apartment is large by New York City standards and decorated straight out of a designer magazine. I have no flair for such things and don’t really care as long as it’s all clean, straight lines, and earth tones.
I pull out a stack of delivery menus from a basket on the breakfast island, but nothing appeals to me. Instead, I find and toss into the oven one of the frozen casseroles my mother made and left for me during her last visit.
Like the delivered food options, nothing on the television captures my attention. I glance through the music at my disposal but can’t find anything I want to hear. I find myself glancing at the clock on the oven every couple of minutes as time crawls by.
A highly successful businessman like myself really ought to be better at finding distractions and delving into various hobbies, but I’m not. I only golf because it is good for business, go to see Broadway shows because it’s the place to be seen, and sit in the box seats at Yankees games because they’re heated, and it’s a good place to talk about capital ventures.
I’ve only ever had one pastime I truly enjoy—tying women up, whipping their asses, and fucking them senseless. When that backfired on me, I was left with nothing. I lean against the breakfast bar and press my first knuckle against my lips as my thoughts wander inward.
“How many times have you been warned?”
Crack!
“I’m sorry, Master! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
“I don’t recall giving you permission to speak!”
Crack!
“One simple thing for you to learn, and you screw it up every time!”
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
“Please, Master!”
“Silence!”
Crack!
“You will take your punishment like you take my cock.”
Crack!
I squeeze my eyes shut as my skin chills. I grip the edge of the breakfast bar with
one hand until my knuckles turn white.
“Jesus, Lily! Why didn’t you safe-word?”
“I…I…I didn’t…I didn’t think…”
“Holy shit, baby. God, I’m sorry! I didn’t know! Lily, babe, I gotta get you to the ER.”
I shake my head, but the images don’t fade until the timer on the oven goes off, breaking through my memories. I swallow, release the edge of the bar, and pull dinner from the oven, burning my hand as I do so.
“Fuck me,” I mutter to myself as I hold my hand under cold water from the faucet.