He got up and went to the chair where his clothes were folded and he dressed. I followed him as he went to the hall closet and took out his coat.
"What are you doing?"
He slipped on his coat and then his boots, not meeting my eyes.
"Drake," I said, panicking. "What are you doing?"
"I don't know what to do any longer," he said, fatigue in his voice. "No matter what I do, it'll be wrong. If I spank you, you'll hate me. If I don't, you'll think I'm weak and despise me. I can't win." With that, he went to the door and opened it. "So, I'm going out."
"Where?"
"I don't know."
He left. I opened the door and followed him to the elevator.
"Don't go," I said, reaching out for him. "Not now. Not like this. We have to figure this out."
He sidestepped me, avoiding my touch. "I don't know what to do," he said, shaking his head, his face really pale. He looked completely defeated. "Don't follow me."
The elevator doors closed and I stood there, mute, in total shock.
I went back inside the apartment and closed the door, leaning against it, completely confused. Everything was now totally fucked up. I had no idea how to make it right again.
I went to the bed and threw myself down across it, dissolving into tears.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Drake was out all evening. I waited, giving him some time to mull things over before I texted him, but after a couple of hours, I was almost desperate to contact him.
Drake, please, come back. I can't stand this. I admitted I was wrong, and that I should have told you right away. I promise that from now on, I will tell you everything right away and be completely honest with you. I need you. I want only you…
There was no reply for about fifteen minutes, but then a single line:
I'm staying at 8th Avenue for the night.
I shook my head, unable to believe that this had turned into such a disaster of a day. Here, I'd been so happy, looking forward to Drake feeling better and our encounter later after a nap and Dave had to call Drake and tell him about the picture of Kurt and I at the fundraiser. I texted him back, having little hope it would work.
Please don't do this. I can't stand not having you beside me.
His response came in a few moments:
I need time alone to figure this out. Don't come here.
I probably should have given in at that point, but I couldn't hold back:
Drake, there's nothing to figure out. If you stay away now, you'll put a wall up between us. Don't. We might never be able to break it down and we'll become strangers. Please come back home now and let's see this through tonight. I can't imagine not being with you. I can't imagine not being able to reach out and touch you.
He didn't reply after a couple of minutes and so I made a decision. I was going to 8th Avenue if he wasn't coming home. I put my phone in my bag and got dressed as quickly as I could, throwing some jeans on beneath my black nightie and a sweater over top, pulled on my coat and scarf, boots and mitts, and grabbed my bag. I didn't tell him I was coming over because I didn’t want him to up and leave. I just went.
After walking a few blocks, needing the cold air to clear my head, I grabbed a taxi and told the driver the address on 8th Avenue. When I arrived, I stood on the street and glanced up at the top floor of the building. There were no lights on, and so I had no idea if he was even there or if that was a story he was telling me to keep me away.
Regardless, I had a key and so I went into the building and climbed the three flights to the top floor. I stood outside the door and listened, but there was no sound coming from inside.
I slipped the key in the lock and turned it – the chain lock was off, and so I suspected that he wasn't there. I entered, took off my boots and walked through the apartment, but it was empty. He either wasn't there yet or wasn't coming, and gave me that address to throw me off his trail.
I sat in the darkness on the old sagging couch in the cramped living room, surrounded by Liam's boxed possessions, and debated what to do. He could be anywhere. At a bar drinking with Dave, at some former submissive's apartment getting a condolence fuck. I had no idea where he might be. I didn't know him well enough to think of possible locations.
The 8th Avenue apartment held so many good memories for me. We'd met there when we were seeing each other in secret and it was there Drake introduced me to D/s, bondage and his desires. I'd been so happy with him once I stopped judging myself and let our relationship happen.
Now, I'd fucked it up thoroughly.
I went to the sound system and slipped a DVD into the player. It was a mix CD with music from the 60s – Drake's favorite. The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, The Yardbirds – I sat in the darkened apartment and listened to the music, thinking about Drake and his father and my heart ached with regret.