This story is a sequel to Meeting Sir. You could read this alone, but it will make more sense if you read Meeting Sir first. Thank you for your votes and comments.
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I walked back to my hotel, although I don't remember doing so. My mind was a whirl of conflicting emotions. The high I had been on from being dominated for the first time in real life by my online lover, John, was immediately replaced by the crashing, crushing feeling of betrayal when I saw that wedding band tan.
John had encouraged me to open up to him, to trust him, and I had. My god, the things I had admitted to him! He knew everything about me. I never held back. I was always truthful with him. And he had repaid me with a lie.
What else had he lied about?
It was such a stupid lie, too. He knew I was married—did he think it mattered to me if HE was? Why? Why?
I felt so incredibly stupid. It must have been a fucking game to him all along! It was never a game to me, though. I thought he was the only person in my whole life I could be one hundred percent me with. He fit exactly the hole in my heart that was leftover once I fitted in my husband, my friends, and my family. He was what had been missing from my life all along and I had been so happy, so grateful to find him. He understood me so well. Like no one else would or could.
But he'd lied. Which meant I didn't really know who it was I had been trusting, confiding in, even loving.
And didn't it also mean that he never really understood me, after all?
I remembered back to one of our earlier conversations. I had asked him point blank if he was married. He said no. I said I couldn't believe it—he was too handsome, too great to be single. I told him, "You know I'm married, so it doesn't really matter to me if you are. I was just wondering is all." He swore again that he was not married, in fact never had been.
"Trust me," he said. "Why would I lie?"
"Yes, John," I wanted to scream now. "Why would you lie?" Oh, god, why did he lie?
I threw myself on the bed once I got to the hotel room. I cried myself to sleep, ignoring the distinctive chirp of my cell phone that told me John was texting me. My husband, Grant, came in very late that night. I vaguely remember hearing him moving about, and then exclaiming, "What the fuck?"
Wednesday morning when I woke, Grant had already gone to his meetings. I showered and dressed in my robe and stood looking out at New York City. My enthusiasm for the city was completely gone. My enthusiasm for life was completely gone. Yesterday's vibrant colors were all washed out grays today.
What do I do now?
Sir's—no, John's (he would never be Sir again)—directions had given my days structure. His challenges had made me feel alive. Serving him had given me peace and meaning.
Now all of that was gone. Who was going to tell me what to do now?
I needed Sir to help me deal with the emotions, the betrayal, the pain. The feeling of being lost and alone was overwhelming. But I could not turn to Sir, because he was the one causing the pain.
Sir! Sir! My heart cried out for him even as my head told me there was no Sir anymore. I leaned against the cool window and cried, great wracking sobs.
Please! What now, Sir?
Most of the day later, I remembered hearing my cell phone chirping last night. It had been awfully quiet during the day though. I wondered if John had gotten the message that my silence was intended to send. I wanted to see what his texts said.
I looked for my cell phone on the nightstand, but it wasn't there. I was sure that's where I had put it, but maybe it was still in my purse. I looked, but it wasn't there. It wasn't in my bag. It wasn't in my coat pocket. It wasn't under the bed or in the bathroom or fallen behind anything. It wasn't in the room.
I couldn't imagine where it was, until the thought that Grant had it began to worm its way into my brain. But no, why would he take my phone?
I threw on some clothes and rushed to the lobby. I sat down at one of the complimentary computers and went through my accounts, trying to erase John. I defriended him on Facebook. I shut down my forum account where we met. I closed the gmail account that was for his exclusive use. I was in a panic at the thought that Grant had my phone and was figuring out what I had been doing. I wondered if there was any way I could erase the texts and voicemails on my phone from this computer.
But, it was getting close to dinner time. I figured Grant would continue his meetings through dinner, but I wanted to be prepared on the off-chance he came back to the hotel. I went back to our room and got dressed for dinner, cursing John the whole time. Bastard! This whole fucking thing was his fault! The goddamned liar!
The room phone rang. It was Grant. My heart stopped and the blood froze in my veins. I knew then he had my phone.
He said one word, "Pack!" and hung up. I burst into tears. He knew he knew it all.
Through tears, I started flinging open drawers and pulling clothes out. I grabbed everything out of the closet and threw it all on the bed. I got the suitcases out and shoved everything in them. I made two run-throughs of the room and the bathroom to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything.
When I determined that everything was packed, the fear/adrenalin rush I had been acting on leached away, leaving me feeling numb, weak, shaky. I dropped to the floor, unwilling to expend the energy it would require to move to the bed or a chair. I curled into the fetal position and let my mind go.
I heard a bellboy come in and start to load up our luggage. I heard him gasp and run out of the room. A few minutes later Grant came in. He squatted next me, ensured I was breathing, felt my pulse, looked at me eyes. He stood up and walked back to the door. "Get up, Kay." His voice was flat, emotionless yet firm. "We're leaving now."
Feeling like a zombie, I stood and followed Grant. I followed Grant down to the taxi, out to the airport, onto the plane.
