Clea had just about everything she'd ever wanted.
For years now, she'd harbored a crush on her boss, Isabella. Knowing full well that Isabella was both straight and married had done nothing to stop the pining, and Clea had spent more hours than she could count daydreaming about what it might have looked like if they'd somehow had a life together. And now, thanks to Clea's hypnosis files, they did. Isabella had accepted that she was a lesbian and that she was in love with Clea. They were in a relationship. Isabella was leaving her asshole husband for Clea. They even had a fulfilling - and ridiculously hot - kink dynamic.
Clea couldn't have asked for more. She had everything.
But it wasn't enough. Clea still wasn't happy.
She wasn't happy because Isabella wasn't happy. Even though Clea had made absolutely certain that Isabella wanted and had chosen everything that had happened, a low, heavy mood had descended on her new girlfriend. It had started right after Isabella had broken things off with her husband. She'd told him that she was a lesbian, that he'd been an awful partner to her, and that she was leaving him for good. It wasn't surprising to Clea that an impending divorce had taken its toll on Isabella, of course. She'd been ready to support her girlfriend through that. She'd even made sure that Isabella could move into her apartment immediately so that Clea could be there for her at all hours of the day.
It hadn't been the idyllic domestic life Clea had been picturing - and not for a lack of love or affection. Being with Isabella was wonderful, and Clea could tell her girlfriend felt the same. They loved spending time together; kissing, holding each other, making love. The sex was incredible, and Clea knew there was absolutely no doubt in Isabella's mind that Clea and lesbianism were what was best for her.
And yet, still, Isabella was depressed. She cried a lot. She spent long hours curled up in bed, doing little more than staring at the ceiling. It was taking its toll on her work, too, which was the worst part. Isabella had always been on top of her game at the office, and Clea loved her for it. Now, the older woman was always tired. She made mistakes. Her heart wasn't in it anymore. And Clea's was breaking.
She was doing everything she could for Isabella, of course. Clea was as diligent a girlfriend as she was a secretary. Both at work and at home, she happily attended to Isabella's every need. Isabella always greeted her attention with a smile, but it was like the smile of a ghost. It flickered and faded as easily as the light changed. Kink didn't help either. When Clea dominated Isabella, both of them could lose themselves in fantasy, but only for as long as the scene lasted. Isabella clung to Clea's dominance like it was a life ring. She wore the collar Clea had given her like one every moment that they were alone together. But in the end, as the tide waned, she was still left stranded out at sea.
"What can I do?" Clea asked quietly, as she perched next to Isabella on their bed and rested a hand on Isabella's shoulder. She'd run out of ideas.
"I don't know," Isabella replied. She turned to smile at Clea, but she sounded defeated. Her eyes were red from crying.
Clea squeezed her shoulder tightly. The air between them was thick. Words came slowly.
"I heard your phone," Clea ventured. "Was it him again?"
They both knew who she meant. Robert, Isabella's husband. He'd taken to calling her every now and then - always angry, usually drunk - so that he could demand she 'come home' and rant about all her perceived deficiencies when she refused. Clea was pleased he was showing his true colors and proud of Isabella for always standing up to him, but she could see the calls were taking their toll.
Isabella just shook her head.
"If it was, you should tell your lawyer," Clea encouraged. "He can use it in court. Get a restraining order, maybe. Or at least speed things along. Your ex won't be able to keep dragging his feet about signing those papers if we can show a pattern of sustained harassment and-"
"It wasn't him," Isabella said, firmly enough that Clea believed her.
"OK," Clea said slowly. "Sorry."
The silence dragged on for a long moment. This was one of Isabella's bad days. Yet again, Clea contemplated what she might be able to do to address whatever Isabella was feeling. It shouldn't have been difficult. With her hypnotic videos, she had a direct line to Isabella's subconscious. Even now, the older woman listened to them diligently. Introducing her to another would be easy. And Clea could tell her...
What? What, exactly? That was the problem.
Clea simply didn't understand what, precisely, was burdening Isabella so terribly. It didn't make any sense to her. After all, thanks to her, Isabella was a lesbian. She was desperately attracted to Clea, both romantically and sexually, and those feelings were entirely reciprocated. She craved submission to Clea, and Clea was satisfying that need too. It was a better relationship than she'd ever had with her husband. Clea just couldn't figure out the root of the problem.
It was tempting to try anyway. That seemed preferable to doing nothing. Except, what if whatever she did made Isabella's depression even worse? That was Clea's worst fear. The fear that truly haunted her.
What if all this was her fault? What if, all along, she'd had no idea what she was doing? What if she'd ruined the woman she was in love with?
That fear, that uncertainty, was paralyzing. Clea just didn't know what to do. And so, day after day, they sat like this, in heavy silence. Isabella was right there, in Clea's arms, but somehow she just couldn't seem to reach out and touch her.
"Actually, it was my parents," Isabella offered, eventually.
Clea blinked. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
That was unexpected. It was even more unexpected that a call with her parents would have left Isabella like this. Clea felt she needed to get to the bottom of this.
"They aren't... supportive?" she asked. "I thought you said they were pretty progressive?"
"It's not..." Isabella sighed. "They are - at least, about some things. They aren't bigots. I'm pretty sure they have absolutely no problem with me being a lesbian."
"Then, what?" Clea couldn't keep herself from sounding a touch impatient.
"They're Catholic, Clea!" Isabella told her. "They don't like that I'm getting divorced. That's what they have a problem with."
"Oh."
Clea slumped. Inwardly, she was cursing herself. She should have thought of that. She should have considered that Isabella's older, Hispanic parents would be Catholic and take issue with divorce. After hearing from Isabella that they were accepting of gay people, she'd simply put them out of her mind. How could she have been so thoughtless?
"It doesn't help that I'm further than ever from having kids," Isabella added miserably. "At least, that's how they see it. I've tried telling them about Robert, but... I guess they never really took it to heart. Or maybe they just thought he'd come around. They've always wanted grandchildren."
