Grace Street (A Chapter 8 Novel, #1) (34 page)

“Only you believe that. People
can
change. I’ve seen it. I’ve experienced it.”

His voice dropped an octave and his brows
drew together. “No one ever changes.”

Refusing to make eye contact, he looked past
her and out the window. At that moment she saw all his emotion pool
at his feet as he began to let her go, bit-by-bit.

As she stood waiting for what seemed like an
eternity for him to acknowledge her, he only stared blankly out
that damned window. She let out a pitiful sob when the realization
and truth of his words slowly took a hold of her. There was no
getting through to him. She had allowed him to beat, use and abuse
her, and still… there was no breaking down his walls. He had once
said that this wasn’t going to end well and he really meant it.

How could this be? How could she have been so
wrong about him? She had been wrong about Patrick and so many
others, and now Victor. She was a damned fool. No, she was an
ignorant fucking bitch. At that moment, she hated herself for
having allowed Mr. Black to do the things he did to her.

Her body ached, her legs began to weaken, and
a pain like no other she had ever felt, clutched her heart. He was
really finished with her. All of a sudden she felt empathy for all
the other Chapters who came before her, knowing this is how they
must have felt when he callously dismissed them, too.

Unhurriedly, she walked away and reached
behind the chaise, picking up the box of her things he had demanded
she remove from the house. On top were the keys to both his house
and the brownstone. She placed them inside the music box that had
been on the nightstand and set it on the table in front of him.

“This used to bring me peace when I was a
child. I hope you find peace, too, someday, Victor. You deserve
it…” she touched the warm flesh of his arm. “I’m sorry I hit
you.”

His eyes turned glassy but he still looked
past her, ignoring her statement.

Clutching her box of mementos, she turned to
walk out the door. When she reached the entryway, Victor’s words
came out strained. “I decide when this is over, Elsa. My house, my
rules, remember? This isn’t over until I say otherwise.”

Confused, she shook her head. He had just
told her to leave. “You said we were finished. You just told me I
was free to leave.”

A look of tired sadness passed over his
features. “I changed my mind. I’m allowed to do that. My house. My
rules,” he repeated for the umpteenth time.

Since he couldn’t make up his mind, she would
make it up for him because she was never going to allow him to
treat her the way he had, not ever again. Trying to swallow the
lump that lingered in her throat, she forced herself to speak.

“You keep telling yourself that, but I can’t
do this anymore. I can’t perpetually play your game with no end or
promise in sight. My heart isn’t in it anymore, and is that what
you really want? An unwilling player?”

“I want you…” he croaked out, the torn look
on his face the most heartrending thing she had ever seen.

Her hand touched the knob and she leaned
against the door for a moment as she tried to gather strength.
“We’ll always have each other, just not the way we want.”

“Stay and play my game a little longer,
Peach. Just a little longer…” His voice sounded distant.

What was the point in prolonging the
inevitable? He didn’t want her love and she knew he would never
love her in return. Not the way she deserved to be loved. Her body
swayed, rife with indecision. Part of her wanted to stay and see it
through…

Another flash of heat and pain suddenly shook
her and she winced as tears welled up within her eyes. It was as if
her own body was reminding her of Mr. Black’s cruelty. She wasn’t
going to ignore her inner voice this time.

Even though she didn’t know the reasons why
she loved him, she did… but she loved her sanity more. She shook
her head, not only to clear her thoughts, but to signal to Victor
that there was no turning back. Gripping the door knob, she turned
it.

“What do you want to hear from me to get you
to play again? Tell me and I’ll say it…” he demanded as he pounded
a fist on the table.

The door swung open and she gave him one last
poignant glance over her shoulder. He was so beautiful…
so sad
and so beautiful…
but so tortured. “There’s nothing more you
can say. I’m done playing your game. I need to love and to be
loved…”

He stood but his body froze. “If this is
because I used the belt on you, I won’t do that again. I promise… I
know it was wrong…”

“It’s not because of that,” she choked out,
knowing that he would never address her statement. “It’s because I
know what we are and what we’re not.”

“I can’t change who I am…”

She heard his whispered voice over her
shoulder as she stepped into warm, bright day. He could love. He
could change. She knew he could do both, he just wasn’t willing to.
Someday someone would come into his life that would make him want
those things, but it wasn’t her. A gust of wind blew past her,
drying the tears that bordered on her lashes and drowning out the
sound of his agonized voice.

Victor
… she whispered his name one
last time before closing the door behind her.

Ten…

Nine…

Eight…

She mouthed the numbers silently, counting
down in Mr. Black fashion as she lingered on the stoop, conflicted
by her rapidly shifting emotions. She knew what had to be done, but
still she hoped and prayed that he would come barreling through the
door and sweep her up into his arms like he had so many times
before.

Seven...

Six…
Please come for me
...

Five…

Four…
Please change for me
…

Three…

She touched the door knob again and almost
gave in.

Two…
Please change for yourself…

One.

He wasn’t coming to her and he was never
going to change. She would never know all of his secrets or the
pain of his childhood, or even why he loved her tears. Bereft and
desolate but determined, she squared her shoulders back, pushed her
chin out and walked away, staring into the sun defiantly.

Game. Over.

Victor was infuriated that Elsa had walked out. “I’m not broken!”
he yelled into the empty room, his hands fisted at his sides. “I
don’t need you to fix me!” he spat out.

Winded, he stomped up the stairs and slammed
the bedroom door, enraged. Who the fuck did she think she was? This
was
his
game. This was
his
house and
he
made
the God damned rules.

He knew better than to allow himself to care
for someone, but she had proven to be too difficult a challenge for
him to resist his feelings. Now she was gone and he was powerless
to get her back. Four weeks is all the time that had passed between
them. Four tortured and blissful, fucking weeks. Infuriated with
himself for having let her go and having beaten her as if she was
an animal, he kicked the wooden chair that remained unmoved since
they had fucked on it. The same chair he had attempted and failed
to break her by making her watch Patrick.

Glancing up at his image reflected in the
window, he cringed when he saw his father looking back at him. He
stumbled backwards from the sickening vision. Is this what he had
become? His father and his mother? He saw her reflected back in
that image, too – her raging, drunken likeness.

A wave of nausea pounded against him when he
recalled what he had done to Elsa and he sank onto the bed and
fisted his hair. He thought he had come to terms with who he was
but… he shook his head violently. He couldn’t change the past and
there was no denying what was coursing through his veins. He was
his sociopathic father’s illegitimate child and his mother’s bitch.
He always would be and no woman, no matter how much love and light
she had in her, could change that.

He stared at the overturned chair and glanced
at the projector still on the nightstand. Could he really change
what was in his DNA and be the man Elsa wanted? No, he couldn’t.
The only thing he could do was try to make up for the cruelty he
had put her through. Elsa would always belong to him and his game
wasn’t over yet, no matter what she thought.

He stood up with new purpose and moved to the
window. The heat of the sun energized him, giving him the strength
he needed. As he stared into the sun until his eyes watered and he
saw spots, there was a dark promise in his gaze. He was not only
the Ruler of his Universe, but Elsa’s. She may never know, but he
would always have a hand in her future. It may take years to change
her course to lead her back to him, but time was something he had
plenty of and it all belonged to her.

With staid calm, he descended the stairs and
retrieved his phone and journal. He cued the song
She’s Always a
Woman
by Billy Joel and leaned back into the chaise with the
smell of Elsa floating all around him and the words of the song
that now belonged to her echoing in the living room. The tip of the
pen touched the paper and he began anew.

Chapter 8.5 – Elsa, My Puppet and
Muse.

She stole from me. She lied to me. She
exposed me. She destroyed me utterly. She played my game and won,
and in the process she renewed my faith in that unspeakable thing.
She is both woman and child, strong and vulnerable, and she is
mine, always, and I will have her again.

To be continued, Peach…

The Art of D/s Trilogy

The Art of Submission (Book 1)

The Art of Domination (Book 2)

The Art of Control (Book 3)

Becoming Sir (companion novel to the Art of
D/s Trilogy)

This Love’s Not for Sale

Continental Breakfast (Continental Affair
#1)

Continental Beginnings (Continental Affair
#2)

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Twitter: ella_dominguez

www.elladominguez.blogspot.com

www.bondagebunnypub.com

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