As She’s Told

I knelt in the front hall one October afternoon waiting for Anders, leashed by my collar to the bench. It was his preferred spot for this purpose; he liked me there to greet him there at the door, maybe one time in three.

I’d scrubbed the pots, tied up the newspapers, vacuumed the rugs and polished the chains and bridles. I’d also managed to get through a chapter of The Time Traveller’s Wife. Lately Anders had allowed me to sit by my bookcase in the afternoons and read, if there was time between my chores and four o’clock, when I had to be tethered and waiting for him. He’d noticed me lingering as I dusted there, and very kindly put two and two together.

Not that I had been anywhere close to presuming to ask for such a favour, but it was true that I had longed for books.

I wasn’t allowed to read on the journey to and from work; he hadn’t explained this except to say that it was ‘too normal.’ Truthfully, it might have distracted me from private awareness of my harnessed body. Nor when we were together did he want me focusing on anything but serving him. I was very grateful for the little time he did allow, though I found it bizarre enough, sitting naked and bound and reading about normal people with clothes and freedom and decisions to make. Sometimes I wondered what the characters would think of me, or how the authors would feel if they knew what kind of lap their book was sitting on.

I was still thinking about the book, and musing about fate, free will and intense relationships with a weird twist. Thinking about the lucky protagonists having sex day and night, and trying to ignore the chronic ache of arousal. I hadn’t had an orgasm since the folk festival, and on the question of the next one I remained in ignorance . My butt was moderately sore from a strapping the day before; he’d experimented with an old-fashioned razor stop with me over his knee, not because I’d misbehaved but purely for the fun of it. The fun had been mixed as far as I was concerned, and now I sat gingerly on my heels rather than directly on the floor; nothing new there.

Nikki and I had had lunch the other day, and I’d heard about her planned trip to Boston for the Fetish Fair Fleamarket. ‘Do you ever get out of that house?’ she’d demanded. Did I? I went to work, of course. Anders took me with him to hear music of one sort or another most weeks, out to dinner once in a while. Sometimes afterwards he’d give me a treat and take me to a bookstore. We’d taken some long walks through parks and ravines to see the fall colours, gone to the occasional movie. But I did spend a lot of time locked up at home. And when it was time to go out I felt a curious reluctance. So much time alone was feeding my introversion. The only company I had any real need for was my master’s.

I shifted uncomfortably on my heels, and then took the weight entirely off my rear end by resting face and chest on the floor; another of my usual postures. It was getting late. The one lamp on in the living room left pools of shadow. Anders would be home soon.

It seemed to me that the information centre provided more than enough people for me to deal with. Most of the time I was interacting with strangers or bare acquaintances, and by the end of a few hours I often felt wrung out and ready to be by myself for a while. I was friendly with a couple of the student interns, up to a point. It seemed a bit risky getting close to anyone, given all the secrets I carried around on my body and every other way. But it was better for me to be forced to be among people; in a pure research job I might have become a real recluse. As expected, the centre had become much busier in the fall, but fortunately I’d been able to finish my cataloguing project just after Labour Day and get it out of the way. It had received some positive attention from my supervisor, and had been mentioned at a couple of meetings as a new research tool, with me being acknowledged by name.

This left me feeling reasonably pleased with myself, and reassured that I was more or less competent to do what I was hired to do. I still screwed up on a fairly regular basis, misplacing or mistaking data, forgetting to order supplies in time, procrastinating on unpleasant chores and so on. I’d confess it all to Anders and take my punishment, and try every day to be more organized.

Sharing the work with Vera on the afternoon shift added some frustrating complications. She had her own methods and her own ways of arranging things, and we hardly ever had the time to touch base, as she was never early and I couldn’t stay late. Even if we had been able to overlap, the place was usually too busy at one o’clock for us to work together. Vera actually showed up three or four minutes late now and again, which made me crazy with anxiety. But as an imposition it was so minimal that complaints would be ridiculous.

My stomach growled. I sat up again. I was getting hungry. It was hard to know for sure, not being able to see a clock, but it seemed late to me.

Sometimes Anders got held up by one thing or another; mostly traffic but sometimes the work itself. Obviously he couldn’t phone me to let me know, and he rarely explained unless it was part of some story he wanted to tell. I just had to wait it out.

Time moved on. I tried not to think about my growing hunger, my filling bladder, and a niggling, rising anxiety. Where was he? Delays, accidents…? No. I squeezed down on a hollow little gnaw of unease. My master wasn’t subject to the usual risks of human existence. After all, he was more or less invulnerable, made of tougher stuff, more resilient than mere flesh and blood. Wasn’t he?

I didn’t usually allow myself to entertain this kind of foolishness without at least a barb or two of ironic self-awareness. Tonight for some reason I was diving straight into pulp fiction. My attention fixed itself on the doorway, which stubbornly refused to produce him. There was no mechanical clock to tick; nothing to time but my own breath and heartbeat. Suddenly I was sure it was very late. Fear began to chew my guts in earnest.

I stared up at the webcam as if I could find him there. My eyes searched the shadowy room beside me, as if he might already be home after all, as if I’d mistaken the hour or the day. I held my breath and listened: silence. The top of the faceless, blank outer door was visible through the glass of the inner one. Neither opened. My invulnerability fantasies were cracking at the fault lines; someone had gotten out the kryptonite. Awful visions burst over me: Anders lying broken under a pile of fallen bricks. Anders crushed on the road on his way home to me. Anders doubled over somewhere with a knife in his guts, having tried with superman altruism to protect the weak.

I squeezed my eyes shut. No. Not so. Stop it. Stop it! None of this is true! But unbidden came the image of my own body, discovered months from now, skeleton and hide, neck bones rattling in their collar and chain. I was completely helpless where I was. He took such good care of me that I’d never before doubted my safety. My stomach gripped more sharply, with hunger or terror or both. Then I forced myself to settle back onto the floor with my face on one arm, gnawing on a knuckle and trying not to think.

I listened to my breath, and felt the fast-growing panic divide and multiply in my guts, felt it spill into my bloodstream, infuse itself into all my cells, sublimate into the air around me in a dense cloud till I was breathing it directly, painfully into my lungs. From there it returned to my tissues in ever increasing concentrations. Please…please be all right. Please come home.

More time passed.

A rattle. The key in the door. I reared up as if I’d been shot. Thank god!

But my eyes searched higher than the face that came in. The figure behind the glass was too short. The vestibule door opened, and a man stepped through. My heart thudded to a stop. It wasn’t my master; it was no one I’d ever laid eyes on before.

Appalled, I stared up at this stranger, clutched myself tightly and backed up to the end of my chain, unable to breathe or scream.

‘Maia, it’s okay,’ the man said. ‘Anders sent me.’

My heart started again, pounding like a jackhammer in my throat and ears. The back of my neck hurt where the collar was digging into it. The man stayed by the door, concern and embarrassment evident on his face.

I tried to speak, and managed on the second try. ‘Who…?’

‘I’m Graham. Did he tell you about me? I’m a friend of his. Sorry to scare you. Anders called and asked me to come; he’s had a small accident, and had to wait for the police.”

“Oh, no,’ I whispered. The grisly visions gathered for the leap. ‘Is he –

?’

‘He’s fine. Someone ran a red light and hit him at an intersection. The truck’s banged up, but he’s not hurt.’ He pulled out a phone and pressed buttons. ‘Here, you can talk to him.’ A pause. ‘Anders? I just got to your place. Sorry; I got here as fast as I could. She’s okay, but she’s pretty scared; here.’

He handed the phone to me.

‘Hello?’ My voice shook.

‘Hey, sweetheart.’

‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine, love. The truck’s a bit of a mess, and I lost some buckets of fixative at Don Mills and Sheppard, but it’s nothing the street cleaners can’t scrape up. Are you all right?”

“Yes.’

‘I should be home in an hour or two. Graham will look after you. Don’t worry; he’s a good guy.’

‘All right.’

‘Give the phone back to him now.’

Graham listened and made ‘mm-hmm’ noises, his glance flicking at me and away.

The relief had made me break into a sweat. Anders was all right. He would come home. The world hadn’t ended.

I stared covertly at the man in front of me. Stocky, medium height. A face all circles and bumps: short blunt nose, cleft chin, dark hair in curly rounds all over his head. Trustworthy looking, for whatever that was worth.

Anders had mentioned him. He’d helped make my chastity shield, for god’s sake. I hugged myself, trying to distance from the humiliation of being seen like this. My master was okay; nothing else mattered.

Pocketing his phone, Graham said gently, ‘He asked me to look after you till he can get here. I’m going to unlock you, okay?’ Dumbly, I nodded.

Unfamiliar hands fumbled with the padlock under my chin. ‘I got here as soon as I could; sorry, you must have been getting worried.’

‘What time is it?’ This was definitely the weirdest normal conversation I’d ever had, with a stranger whose hand was hovering above my naked, harnessed breasts. ‘Seven-forty.’

Not as late as I’d thought. Terror does strange things to your head. I saw a bunch of keys like my master’s, but on a different keychain. They had little tags on them. Unlocked, I got hesitantly to my feet. Graham backed away to give me space, but I couldn’t help noticing the bulge at his groin. I felt a little panicky at this, but at the same time oddly relieved; evidently he wasn’t completely disgusted at the sight of me. Pride clutches at weird little straws.

‘Anders said to let you use the toilet and then to feed you.’ The wording suggested that I didn’t have to use the litter box. Surely this concession was for Graham’s benefit; there must be some limit to what Anders wanted him to be subjected to. I walked to the bathroom, aware I was displaying the welts on my rear, and actually shut the door behind me. A new experience, being in that room with the door closed. If this got me in trouble, so be it. I looked up at the webcam, and thought about my masters’ protective eyes all over the house; at least this man couldn’t do anything to me without Anders knowing eventually. I peed (and peed and peed), and then rinsed my face and hands with cool water, trying to recover.

When I emerged, arms across my chest, he looked away politely. ‘I’d give you a blanket or something, but Anders said not to. Said we’d both survive.’ I shook my head, wiped a hand across my face and blurted a little laugh. He gave me a glance and joined in. Then he turned to the kitchen. ‘I –

would you mind if I waited – I can’t eat right now – ‘

Graham looked at me with concern. I was still shaky with adrenaline.

‘Sit down,’ he said. I sat on the rug. He went to the kitchen and came back with a glass of water. ‘Drink this.’ Slowly I sipped, and began feeling a little better.

I was turned a bit away from him, using my knees to hide my breasts.

At least his shield was providing a tiny bit of decency. Should I be trying to make conversation? Making him coffee? I huddled where I was; the poor man was probably turned on enough by my helplessly extravagant display.

‘Have – have you eaten?’

‘Oh, yes. I was just finishing when Anders called.’

‘How bad is the truck?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen it.’

‘But – his keys – how did you…?’

‘Oh, I had those already,’ he explained. ‘That’s what took me so long; I had to go back to the shop to get them. Anders gave them to me back in May, in case something like this happened. He’s, um, got me in his wallet as his emergency number. So, you know, I’d be notified if…. I’d know to look after you, just in case.’ Tears came to my eyes at the bare thought of Anders making these arrangements: gratitude, and a vivid imagined grief. How close we’d come. ‘You didn’t know?’ I shook my head, and hurriedly wiped my eyes.

My colour apparently looked better; Graham began rummaging through the fridge, looking through the Tupperware. Resignedly I saw he had the red bowl out; instructions had evidently been detailed. Apparently he could also survive the way I ate. He even locked my wrists behind me and put the bowl down in the usual corner. To my infinite relief he didn’t watch me; he went back into the living room and sat down.

By the time I’d finished it was eight-ten by the oven clock. Graham approached me cloth in hand, looking hesitant, but swabbed my face competently enough, like a parent with a toddler. Something told me he had kids.

I was helped up with a hand on my arm, my wrists still locked, and taken back to the living room. No more huddling for me, evidently.

Mortified, my eyes tried to drop to the floor, but instead were caught by my tits bulging through their harness, nipple rings glinting. I gave up; there was nowhere to hide, literally or figuratively. My glance flicked to the man holding my arm. He tore his eyes away from my breasts and moved them to my face, looking flushed.

‘He wants me to lock you up again, to some ring under the rug…?’

Wordlessly I pointed my toe at the spot, and knelt by it on the floor. Graham unlocked the chain from the hall bench and didn’t fumble this time; a locksmith, after all. Though the bulge in his pants was visible, he made no move that wasn’t required for the job. But once back in Anders’ chair he looked me over, frankly now. ‘Anders said you’d feel better this way; is that true?’

I thought a minute, feeling the weight of the chain on my collar. ‘Yes. I feel safer in a way. I know it’s crazy.’

He smiled. ‘That’s okay. It’s a crazy night.’

I felt some compunction for putting him through all this. Like any good, card-carrying heterosexual male, the sight of a naked woman turned him on; that didn’t mean he cared to see her in chains and leather with welts on her ass. ‘For you, too.’ He laughed. ‘A night to remember.’

‘I’m sorry – this must be – ‘ I turned my head away. ‘I hope it’s not horribly – ridiculous and offensive.’

Graham shook his head. ‘No, no. I’m sorry if you’re embarrassed, but really I don’t – um – mind. Not at all.’ His head was down, but I caught a little glint in his eye.

He was into it; now I was sure. I really wasn’t a disgusting object, thank god. ‘You do this too?’

His laugh had a bitter edge to it. ‘Only in my head. I’m married, and it’s a good marriage. But my wife is…’

‘Not interested?’

‘No.’ He put his feet casually on the coffee table. ‘She used to let me play around a little, just for fun. But since the kids…no way.’ I sat silent.

Poor man. At last I said, ‘Is that why you’re a locksmith?’

He blew out an amused breath, and his eyes crinkled up. ‘Aren’t you the clever one? That’s right.’ He told me how his original fascination with locks had translated into a trade, about the work he did on the side for the local fetish scene, and how he and Anders had worked out the designs for the metal I was locked in. He questioned me about the cuffs’ comfort and fit, and had a little look to see how their lining was wearing. I could see he felt safer on his own professional ground; a familiar feeling. Something in his glance told me he would have been happy to have me review the chastity shield if he’d been able to think of a decent way to approach the subject. But I was thankful to be spared that one.

Graham looked at his watch, went into the kitchen and, turning his back, had a brief phone conversation; he said he’d have the repairs finished before long and he’d be home. There was a pause, and then he was saying good night to someone very young.

When he sat down again he focused rather fixedly on the books on the coffee table. There was a large illustrated volume on prehistoric flint tools that he opened and stared at for a while, without turning a page. The silence started to press on my ears; I dipped my head a little just to hear the soft drag of my chain against the rug. Abruptly, Graham shook his head and clapped the book shut.

‘Anders should be here soon. Might as well enjoy looking at you while I can.’ Evidently his guilty conscience had been dealt with. He stood up, and his stare made me shrink. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t touch,’ he said with a grim smile. ‘Look at what a loyal husband I am. Besides, you don’t belong to me.

If you did, believe me, you’d know it.’ He circled me, pausing to take in the view from different angles. Slowly I breathed and looked straight ahead, trying not to shiver, hoping he knew the cameras were there.

‘That chain’s too short for you to stand, but you can kneel up, right?’ I nodded. ‘Would you mind doing that, please? Just as a favour.’

Some favour. Ought I to be obeying this man, displaying myself?

Would my master be angry? Would he be angry if I didn’t? Well, Graham wouldn’t be seeing anything he hadn’t already seen, with my master’s prior consent. I knelt up.

He circled and gazed even longer this time. From behind me he said,

‘That must have hurt. What was it?’

‘A razor strop,’ I whispered.

‘And that harness – he’s got it very tight – it must be hard to breathe.”

“I’m used to it.’ I love it.

He sat back down in the chair, adjusted himself surreptitiously and made a sound that was more groan than chuckle. ‘It’s a good thing we’re on camera. You’re not the easiest thing to resist.’ I settled back down on my heels, but was unable to do anything else to reduce his temptation. ‘I’d better read more about banging rocks together,’ he said, ‘and see if I can calm down.’ He didn’t pick up the book, however. Time to turn his thoughts elsewhere.

‘How old are your kids?’

The eyes shifted away from me at last. ‘Three and a half and one.”

“Maybe once they’re older, your wife will be more – ‘

‘Maybe.’ The flat voice had a tone more like ‘yeah, right.’ ‘I don’t ask for much. Some play on weekends, maybe. I’d never go as far as this. Day and night, it’s kind of over the top, isn’t it?’

‘Kind of,’ I smiled. Damn. So much for distracting him.

He sat forward, elbows on knees. ‘I’m curious. What if I’d just told you what happened and unlocked you and gone away again? You’d have survived, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes, of course. I would have been more worried, probably, but I’d have been all right. But he doesn’t want me – just loose, you know. Or looking after myself.’

‘You don’t want to be just loose either. Or you wouldn’t feel safer locked up with a horny wannabe.’

‘That – doesn’t feel all that safe,’ I said carefully. ‘But being locked up and controlled is – normal for me, and so when I’m stressed it feels safer.

Anders knew I’d be upset.’ I studied the pattern of the rug in front of me.

‘Being controlled by him, even by proxy, means – means he’s there to do it, you know?’ The pattern blurred.

He looked at me for a while, considering. ‘He’s making you good and dependent on him.’

I nodded.

‘Kind of risky, isn’t it?’

‘Not until tonight.’ Suddenly I could see a car racing through traffic, hear brakes squealing, that deadly bang of metal on metal. A chill squeezed my spine. Chance, chaos, randomness… Anders’ anathema. That entropy against which he marshalled so many of his forces. He wasn’t immune, Superman fantasies notwithstanding. ‘Things are what they are,’ I whispered. I wasn’t sure if I was referring to the hazards of life or our symbiotic relationship. Neither was about to change its nature to accommodate the other.

A step in the hallway, and there at long last was my master. Long and rangy, weary and grease-stained. I’d never seen anything so beautiful. He was loaded down with various toolboxes and his laptop, all of which he dumped down so that he could come to me and hold my head hard against his thigh. Graham went out to bring in more stuff, and Anders squatted down, examined my face and kissed my eyes, which were streaming again.

‘It’s okay, baby,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s all right.’

I sniffed, and shook my head a little, trying to jostle some sense into it.

‘Sorry, master. I was okay a minute ago. You’re not hurt?’

‘A few bruises; nothing. Are you okay?’

‘Yes.’

He stroked down my arms, took out his keys and unlocked my wrists. I flexed my shoulders forward. Graham came in lugging a radial arm saw.

‘My pal left your hands locked behind you, I see. You bugger,’ he grinned.

‘You wanted a better look, eh?”

“Hey, I just followed instructions.’ The man’s eyes twinkled.

‘I assumed you’d figure it was while she was eating. That’s okay, fair deal. I owe you one.”

“Not any more. Fair deal, as you say, to get such an eyeful. You are one lucky bastard.’ That night, after a shower, Anders held me in his lap for a long time, deep in the bedroom armchair. I looked at his face, half lit by one bedside lamp; the rest of the house was in darkness. He had his robe on and looked just as usual. But I kept seeing his body as he’d undressed, his left arm covered in huge bruises where it had been flung against the door, his hip marked by the seatbelt. He’d shrugged it off. I stirred in his lap. ‘What happened to the guy who hit you?’

‘The police were consulting with him. I think he would have absconded from the scene if his bumper hadn’t gotten in his way.’

‘God. Was he drunk?’

‘Probably.’ The voice was offhand, only a little grim, but Anders loved that pickup. Knowing him, he’d kept his temper through the whole thing, but he must be furious.

‘How bad is the truck?’

‘Bad enough. Still fixable. Could be worse. It’s all on the right side, toward the back. I tried to speed up to get out of the bastard’s way. Body work, back wheel, axle, god knows what else. The cover’s toast. At least a week in the shop. Good thing my truck was a lot heavier than his car or I’d have been shoved over into the oncoming lane.’ I shuddered and his arms tightened around me. ‘I couldn’t get a decent rental till tomorrow; I’ll have to get over there early to pick it up.”

“Your arm’s going to be stiff in the morning.’

‘Yeah; I’ll supervise more and do less. Don’t worry.’ He stroked my back. ‘Were you scared when I was late?’

I nodded against his shoulder. ‘Not at first, but then – I kept seeing you

– hurt or dead. A car accident being one of the visions.’ I pressed my forehead against his shoulder. ‘The curse of a visual imagination.’

He caressed me in long, unhurried strokes. ‘It would take a lot to get through that truck. And I’m mister safety at work. Don’t let this shake you.

I’ll be here.’ Slowly I nodded.

‘But I have to admit, things can happen. I don’t manage to control everything. Much as I’d prefer it otherwise.’

‘I was thinking the same thing.’ I looked up at him. He was staring bleakly into the shadows. ‘Master?’

‘Mm?’

‘What was it? What happened? That you didn’t control?’

He looked at me, startled, and then his agate eyes went flat. ‘I’ll tell you sometime. Not tonight.’

‘Okay.’ We sat close and silent for a while.

‘What did you think when Graham came in?’ he asked.

‘God. I was terrified. I wish – master, I wish you’d told me – ‘

‘I should have. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to scare you with the idea that something might happen to me, but that was stupid as it turned out, wasn’t it?’

‘It wouldn’t have been quite so bad if it had been Val, say. At least I would have known her. Though – ‘ I imagined Val coming through the door, sizing me up with a sardonic hazel eye. No, that would have been worse, much worse.

‘She has a set of keys, too; she’s first on the list but I couldn’t get hold of her. So it had to be Graham. He’s a bit more predictable about being home after work. And he has a pager.’ Val had keys, too. This was a revelation.

How many people knew how I was kept?

His eye flickered over my face, reading me. ‘Just the two of them so far.

If I decide to add to that I’ll let you know. Was Graham okay with you?’

I described the evening. Anders didn’t seem to think any of it had been a problem. So apparently it was okay for his friends to see me in full slave mode, at least in emergencies. I didn’t know how to feel or what to think about this, except that it was unsettling in the extreme. I huddled into his chest again and closed my eyes.

‘You know what?’ he said, shifting me back again. ‘Tonight has been, to put it mildly, a royal pain in the ass. I think it would do me good to transfer a little of that pain to my slave’s ass.’ The razor strop was still on the table next to him; he picked it up and flexed it. ‘My little whipping girl.

Fortunately, it’s not my right arm that’s bruised.’

I submitted almost eagerly, glad to be of use. And thankful that he was alive to beat me. The unfairness of it felt surprisingly normal and reassuring, as did the huge and heavy cock that pressed against my hip. Once he had me crying he pushed me to the floor, gripped my head tightly by the hair on either side, fucked my throat, and made me swallow some part of his night’s resentment.

***

Anders’ pickup and his arm were back to normal by the end of a week.

The emotional impact on his slave took a little longer. He considered coming home earlier for a while, but decided against this kind of indulgence; the best reassurance would be sticking to routine. Each evening when he came through the door he found her body less tense, more like the eager puppy he was used to.

He, on the other hand, was mildly depressed. There was no obvious reason. He was busy as usual and things were under control, even the insurance and the police reports. Yet something inside him was off. How could a minor accident have this much impact? Shit happened, you dealt with it. But the mood wouldn’t quite be shaken.

One night as he put Maia to bed he saw her watching him with a tiny line of worry between her eyes. Before he turned out the light he lay with his head propped on one hand, looking at her. ‘What’s the matter, girl?’

Her eyes searched his face. ‘I was going to ask you the same thing.’

‘Why?’ He stopped himself. ‘No.’ Lying to her was ridiculous. ‘All right. I know. I’ve been a little down lately.’ Her eyes went dark. Anders at once caressed a shoulder. ‘It’s not you, girl. It’s not us. Something else. I don’t know what.’

Her face cleared. She was examining the lines of his face. ‘Since the accident, master. I think…’

‘What?’

‘I don’t want to – to psychoanalyze you.’

He smiled. ‘ All-powerful gods don’t require analysis, just worship, you think?’ He ran his hand along her waist and hip. ‘Though it always seemed to me that for someone so all-powerful, the Almighty needed an awful lot of reassurance.’

‘Bad-tempered, too,’ she offered. ‘Jealous. You’re much better at it.’

He laughed. ‘Thank you, love. All tributes graciously accepted. So what clued you in?’

She looked slightly taken aback. ‘Well… Everything. Do you think I can’t tell?’ Anders shook his head slightly, and smiled. ‘I can list the signs if you want,’ she offered. ‘You’ve been going easy on me for one. Not like you.”

“Damn. So I have. Poor baby.’

‘I was kind of grateful for the break at first and then I started to worry.’

‘Turned out I was human after all, huh?’

‘Master?’

‘All right. I think I know what it is.’

He settled onto his back and lay silent for a minute, looking at the ceiling. ‘The night of the accident, you asked me what happened that I couldn’t control. It’s old stuff; I thought I’d dealt with it. But it’s taking me more and more effort not to think about it. I think that night got it going again.’ He turned and looked at her face. ‘You’re not surprised.’

She kissed his shoulder; her only caress with her hands chained. ‘No.’

Anders stared at the ceiling some more. ‘I don’t ever talk about it.

Which I guess means it’s still more powerful than I want to admit.’ He let out a long breath. ‘All right. I had a very good friend in university. Guy named Sam. We were tight in first year; same dorm, same classes, same pubs. Camping a couple of times. A good guy. Quirky; very funny if you listened for it.”

“In second year we rented a place near campus. Things didn’t go so well. Sam started skipping classes. I mean, a lot. Important ones. And when he did show up he was a pain in the ass – getting off topic, irritating people.

That was new. He’d party for days at a time. A lot of drinking. Then a long stretch where he would hardly get out of bed.

‘He’d been serious about school in first year. But it looked like he was regressing into stupid freshman stuff that had never interested him before. If he didn’t shape up he was going to lose his year. I had to do something.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Fuck,’ Anders sighed irritably, ‘what didn’t I do? More and more as time went on. I started out just hauling him out of bed in time for class.

Trying to talk some sense into him. Then helping him with his papers. I thought it was temporary, you see; some stupid glitch that he’d get over.

After a while I was more or less running interference for him, working things out with people to keep him out of trouble.’ The corner of his mouth twitched. ‘Superman protecting the weak.”

“Did he appreciate it?’

‘Sometimes. Sometimes not. But everyone else was getting fed up with him. Avoiding him, because he was getting weird. I stuck by him.’

‘You don’t quit.’

‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re right there. I’d never failed at anything before and I wasn’t about to start. And as I said, he’d been a really good friend. A terrific guy.’ He felt a weight in his chest, and swore silently to himself in an attempt to make it lift. No luck. He went on with it still pressing, his voice sounding muffled in his own ears. ‘Eventually even I had to admit that something was wrong; I mean really wrong. Tried to get him to the university health service. I couldn’t get him out of bed. I called his family. They made him see a doctor, but he wouldn’t go back a second time.”

“What did the doctor say?’

‘Depression. Gave him pills. And Sam got even crazier. He raved that his parents had always been out to belittle him and box him in, and he refused to talk to them. And if I talked to them I was another one. What did I know? I was a little weird by that time myself, just from the sleep deprivation. Sam wasn’t sleeping much and I was starting to be afraid to leave him alone. He was getting harder and harder to handle. All these crazy plans, crazy outbursts. I was afraid he’d take off, end up god knows where.

Get hurt. Get his head beat in.

‘I finally persuaded him to go with me to the hospital. I had to get him to a doctor somehow. It was all I could think of to do. I don’t know if he had any idea where we were going; he hardly listened to me. We were heading up Summer Street. It was snowing like a sonofabitch. Sam was going on and on about tobogganing down Citadel Hill. He didn’t have a toboggan.

Naturally. He started inviting passers-by to join him. Shouting to people in cars. They thought he was drunk. I just pulled him along; I’d stopped arguing with him by this time. And then he got away from me and I lost him.’ His eyes stared bleakly into the shadows. Maia waited. Finally she said, ‘What happened?’

Anders took in a long breath, let it out. ‘He walked out a fourth story window. Apparently thinking he could jump to the ground. Broke his neck.’

‘Oh, god…. I’m sorry.’ She was still for a little. ‘Not suicide?’

‘No. Apparently he was still trying to gather a tobogganing party.’

‘Did you – see it?’

He shook his head. ‘I was searching two streets over.’

‘The doctor must have been wrong. That doesn’t sound like depression.’

‘Nope. Manic-depression. Bipolar.’

‘Then the pills probably were wrong.’

‘No question. If I’d talked to the doctor I could have given him the whole picture. But he only saw him when he was depressed. And Sam was smart enough, despite it all, to lie about what was going on and how bad it was. Guess he thought he had to. Even to me.’ Anders rubbed his eyes deeply with finger and thumb. ‘If I’d talked to the doctor… If I’d called the police when Sam got crazy… If I hadn’t thought I was fucking omnipotent and had gotten help sooner…’

‘Hindsight…,’ she murmured.

‘Yeah. People kept saying that I did all I could, that I’d been a good friend. Not to blame myself. Even his parents. My parents. Shit.’ Anders’

hand had gone still over both eyes. ‘How could I not blame myself? I was an egocentric, overconfident asshole who was sure I could solve any problem if I just tried hard enough. No failure for this boy. Talk about delusions of grandeur.’

Neither of them spoke for a while. At last she murmured, ‘You still think you could have saved him.’

‘What?’

‘If it’s your fault then you had the power to save him. Still makes you omnipotent.”

“Holy shit. What…wait.’ He lay still for a long time.

At last he spoke again. ‘I’m still seeing myself as the central force in the situation. The prime mover.’

‘Uh huh. A – a god screwing up on the job.’

‘Oh, fuck.’ They were silent for so long that he thought she’d gone to sleep. But when he turned his head her eyes were open, watching him. He put a hand on her leg and turned his gaze back to the ceiling. ‘I was just one element, wasn’t I?’

She wriggled a little closer to him. ‘Uh huh.’

‘What a comedown for my ego.’ He put his hands behind his head, arched his back and stretched. Then he turned on his side to face Maia. ‘And when I fail to control everything, I get out of sorts. Charming.’ He kissed her. ‘Thanks, love.’

‘You’re welcome.’

He turned out the light.

***

I lay awake for a long time. Seeing poor Sam, a rag doll sprawled in the snow. Thinking about Anders at nineteen, going through all that grief.

Blaming himself. Not Sam’s illness, not the stupid doctor, not Sam’s parents, but himself.

It figured that Anders’ strength would turn out to be his weakness. Like something out of a Greek tragedy. Hubris. Competing with the gods.

He’d never learned to fail at anything; never really figured out how to cope with it. Not like me. My history of success had always been patchy.

Odd to think that made me better off than him when bad things happened.

The role reversal felt distinctly odd. My master had actually accepted advice and support from me; a first. I’d never seen him vulnerable before; not like this. Admitting to a weakness. I took a tour around my insides to see if it was shaking any serious foundations.

No. Better a multidimensional, fallible man than a cardboard cutout superhero. I’d lived through him being human the night of the accident. This was another layer to the man I already knew – a man who examined his own insides, and who had some perspective on what he found. That strong thread of realism and self-deprecating humour. It made it possible for me to trust, despite all the extremes of our life together, that I’d never come to harm.