The next day dawned bright and early, and Dennis felt pretty fantastic. Dick was married to the best woman he could ever have found, Agnes was as good as cured, and his own head was fine, his memories were all in good order and didn't intrude on his life anymore, he no longer suffered from dizzy spells or headaches, maybe he could pick up his exercises and his riding this week. There was that little thing of the two of them becoming parents, and of his having promised Agnes to get married, but neither of those was avoidable so he'd try to enjoy them. It would be good to stop living in sin and Agnes was the best woman for him, the only woman he could ever imagine getting married to, even if she came with a manor, a fortune, property, and responsibilities towards dozens, maybe hundreds, of other people.
Dennis had no clue how to deal with all that and no wish to do so, leading a small life was enough of a challenge for him, but Agnes and Guy had things well in hand, he'd only need to make friends with everyone and pretend to be a sensible person.
He picked up the book from his night table and prepared to read until Agnes woke up, eager for some loving, though he was also very curious how Dick and Maria were doing. But it wouldn't do to be too eager to associate with them, Maria was not used to their closeness as a group, she might want to have her husband to herself, at least for their first week, their honeymoon.
Soon, he was lost in his book, one of Agnes' earlier works, very tantalizing, she certainly knew how to write a good love scene. This one was especially hot, between a boy and a girl from rivalling families, taking place in a formal garden, in a little retreat between tall laurel hedges. As he reached the best part of the scene, a hand closed around his dick and he gasped in ardour.
'You like my writing, don't you, my love? Or at least your dick does.'
She had woken up and he had never even noticed. Maybe she had been reading along without hin noticing, in fact she probably had. But no scene, however well-written, could compete with Agnes, and he closed the book to kiss her ardently. Of course she returned his kiss, and Dennis started to stroke her with all the heat he felt, eager to take it one step further.
'Dennis? I want to make love with you, but somewhere else than here.'
'You want to go outside? No problem, my love, the weather is fine.'
'No Dennis, not outside. I want you to come with me to the attic.'
The attic? That damned hell-hole? Why? To mess with his head? It was finally back to a semblance of order after weeks of misery. Of course all his lust disappeared instantly, he felt sick at the very idea of ever going back there. In fact, he felt like rolling into a ball and crying. Why would his beloved want to do that to him? Arms guided his face to her bosom, he didn't protest, he was frozen up.
'Please Dennis, look at you, the very idea of going there has you on the brink of tears, can't you see how much power the past still has over you?'
That was easy for her to say, she hadn't been chained to the wall for months, in the dark, all alone.
'It cannot hurt you anymore, Dennis, I won't hurt you anymore. I love you, I want to see you whole, not damaged by the past.'
'I can't do it, Agnes, I cannot go there, the very thought makes me sick. Please don't make me go to that dreadful place.'
He couldn't look at her, her bosom was the best place to be at this moment, it was safe, and loving, and it didn't ask him to do things that were just impossible. She held him and stroked his head, and he was so thankful she was so good to him, and gave him so much love. As long as they were together, everything was fine.
'I'm sorry, Dennis, I didn't mean to frighten you so. You were in such a good mood when I woke and now its all gone, I can't seem to do right by you. I truly thought you needed to go back there to face your fear and your past, find some peace within yourself. But I suppose I was wrong, for now you're all stressed out.'
That must have been the moment Dennis realized he had not been fair, Agnes didn't have it easy at all and he knew it. She was trying to help him, he had gone all to pieces when he thought she was dangerously ill, and now she was fine again he just wanted to cling to her and keep her close. Frankly, he wanted to be hers altogether, give up his own identity to her, kneel to her, be her slave again, but by her side, not all by himself. That wasn't right.
'Dennis, what is wrong? You're not dizzy again, are you?'
She was right, something was wrong with him, he didn't seem to have a will left. When did that happen?
'No, you're right, I do need to go to the attic. I need to face the past for it is consuming me. I just caught myself thinking of throwing myself at your feet for no reason at all, just to feel sheltered. I want nothing more than to cling to you when I should be making a life for myself, or at least help you run the estate and know what is going on. I don't know when I lost my will, Agnes, but it's time to gain it back, and if the first step is to go to the attic again, I will. But it will be very hard, I will need you to support me, and I will seek comfort in humility. Please don't reject me for that, I still need it.'
'I will never reject you, Dennis. I'm as dependent on you as you are on me. But I do think you need to experience that the attic is just that, a room on top of the house. Will you let me guide you?'
He couldn't move, not yet, fear still had a hold on him. But with Agnes' support and a supreme effort he forced himself to don a dressing gown and follow his beloved through the hall to the door behind which he knew he'd find the stairs to the attic. He passed that door daily, it held no terrors for him, it was not part of his traumatic experience, and neither was the staircase behind it. So he climbed it willingly enough, step by step behind his beloved, until the smell of the attic hit him.
It was not exactly the same, for it was hot below the roof but without the smell of burning wood from a fire, yet it made him feel frightened all at once, and he froze in place.
'It's the smell, isn't it? It brings back my memories, too, but mine are not exactly bad. I was often very happy coming here, Dennis, I must have been pretty smitten with you already though I denied being in love. When I was writing I didn't miss you, but you crept into my stories, so in a way I had you with me part of the day.
But at other times I ached for you, and yet I denied those feelings, for one does not fall in love with one's slave. I did not allow myself to stay with you overnight for fear of making it worse. If only I had, even once, my love, I would have heard your nightmares, or I would have seen how hopeless your life was. I'm still so very sorry, Dennis.'
