The Voice in the Dar

Hello, my most patient and caring readers.

I hope you are well and thank you once again for reading my series. This is the fourth and final chapter in Jess' journey and I am so grateful that you have stuck with me for this long.

Five years ago, I set myself a goal to write a series that would help me to improve my craft and bring enjoyment to my readers as best I could. Now that it has come to an end after many ups and downs, I find that is bittersweet for me as this series will always have a special place in my heart. Everything I have learned I want to bring to other projects, but I am most certainly not against returning to this series at some point.

Before we begin, I would like to thank my editors and beta readers for all their hard work, patience and understanding as I completed this chapter. Your encouragement and constructive feedback really means a lot to me. A writer is nothing without their readers.

Secondly,

while this story may seem like it skirts the line between consent and non-consent, remember that this type of kink is entirely voluntary in real life and can be used to better your life. I don't condone any kind of awful behaviour that comes from practitioners of this kink. Remember that submission is based on consent and desire, not obligation or brute force.

Finally, understand that the type of writing I enjoy is the kind that attempts to push the boundaries of what is considered acceptable. Of course, the line is never fully crossed but it comes very close. I want to write about the depths of human desire and how we respond to it in ways we are not fully conscious of. This kind of submission is done in a non-judgemental environment and with someone who is responsible.

Take care, and I hope you enjoy it.

All the best,

Ravenna

<HR ***>

I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth slowly. I sink further into the bar stool and I really try not to allow my breathing to get out of control again. Pink gin and lemonade bubble invitingly in my glass and it gives me some modicum of calm, but the memories of all that has happened today still haven't gone away despite my best efforts.

I turn in my bar stool and cross one ankle behind the other in an attempt to be a little more ladylike, but the buttons on my blouse are open, showing some cleavage to anyone who looks close enough, and my pencil skirt is uncomfortably tight around my hips and waist. God, I want to go home and change into something a little bit more comfy, but I can't go back there. Not tonight. My anger at Lucy, and at myself, is still too raw and I know I will need space to get my head on straight. My phone is on silent in my bag and I don't dare look at it, even though I know Lucy will have tried to call me.

<i The Laurel Leaf i>

bar is as inviting as ever with its luxurious purple theme in multiple shades covering the walls, furniture and even the beverages. I sigh in contentment and think back to all the fun moments I have had here in the last few weeks, and I find myself looking up for the millionth time tonight to the empty chair by the fireplace. I didn't come here in hopes of finding him, but a girl can always wonder, surely?

I know I shouldn't be looking to get mindlessly drunk when I am facing a life crisis, but the possibility is there nonetheless. I remember how exhilarating every step towards him felt as I crossed the room a week or so ago.

<i How can that be?

Even when I saw him in his tatty clothes and with a haggard expression on his face, he looked every bit as powerful and confident as he did the first time I saw him. The memories, normally so hazy in the outside world, seem as clear as though they only just happened. i>

<i "Is he bothering you?" i>

<i I stared into his gorgeous face with his warm, brown eyes, soft kissable lips and a slightly out of joint nose and my breath caught in my throat. I looked him down from head to toe, examining his expensive suit, luxurious leather shoes and silver cuff links that reflected the purple light so perfectly that I was almost blinded by them. i>

<i "I..I.." I couldn't complete my sentence. i>

<i I had said no, for the third and final time, to an overly attentive guy at the bar that I didn't want a drink and I could tell that Lucy was close to slapping him, or pouring a drink over his head. i>

<i "Why don't you move along. The lady said "No." He didn't say this with any anger, but there was no warmth, or any attempts to smooth things over. Just a guy telling another guy to back off now. i>

<i The creep moved away from the bar with his head bowed and a drink in his hand, as far away from us as possible. Lucy stared down the creep with a murderous look in her eyes but she got distracted when my saviour introduced himself. i>

<i Smith. Wow. Even his name sounded sexy. i>

<i Lucy was in awe of him and she batted her eyelashes and swept her hair to one side in a bid to show off her neck, like she did when she saw a handsome man she liked, but those brown eyes stayed fixed on me. My blush crept up my neck and chest and I whispered to Lucy to give us some privacy. She looked momentarily disappointed, then gave me a hug and moved over to the other side of the bar to find another poor soul to pull her legendary moves on. i>

<i "My name is Jess," I said, finally finding the ability to speak. i>

<i "I'm sorry that some guys don't respect a woman's 'No', as much as they pay attention to the man who comes over and tells him to fuck off," he said with a hint of annoyance." i>

<i "Yeah... it's very much a man's world, I suppose" I said, in a way that I hoped would not make my inner Feminist scowl at me. "I think Lucy will probably be going after him right about now to cut his balls off." i>

<i He laughed and although he never took his eyes off me, he didn't move closer, or attempt to touch me in any way. And I was glad of that, as I was not exactly looking to replace one creep with another. i>

<i "That's the name of your friend over there?" He asked attentively, "Lucy?" i>

<i I stared at him, not quite knowing how I could avoid looking like a complete idiot when he looked at me, "Yeah... she's my roommate and best friend. She works here during the day in the restaurant and we come here sometimes after work. It's nice." i>

<i Did he actually want my best friend? All men want Lucy, and most of the time I feel overlooked. i>

<i "Nice to meet you, Jess." We shook hands and I could feel my pulse get faster and faster as my gaze was fixed on his. I was both unnerved and yet somehow quite comfortable in his presence. I had no doubt that I was safe here, but his aura gave the distinct impression that he wasn't to be trifled with. His eyes were looking around the bar when they weren't laser focused on me, and he somehow managed to look even taller than he was by straightening his back or sticking out his chest a little. And the other men around him gave the occasional curious glance his way, while the women would glance over at him with hunger in their eyes. i>

<i I couldn't be sure if that was just my imagination as the experience felt surreal somehow, like it didn't exist outside this perfect place. i>

I snap out of my reverie and finish my drink, giving the bartender a smile before heading into the street. The air is humid and stuffy as big cities usually are during the summer months, and I already miss the cool air from the bar on my overheated skin. My feet ache from all the walking I have done, but the impact is lessened by the alcohol roaring through my blood. I haven't eaten since lunch and I know it's dangerous to walk around in my current state, especially in a place like New York.

I feel wretched knowing that a place that means so much to me is now the last place I want to be but I know I will have to face it eventually. I reach into my bag for my phone when my fingers brush past the lining and feel the zip for the inner pocket. I sigh with relief as a solution comes to mind, one that I never thought I would have to use. I make my way to a cab stand, not caring that my bank account balance will take the biggest hit imaginable this month.

The cool interior of Steve's penthouse is a welcome change from the humidity of the New York streets and I kick off my shoes and drop my bag to the floor as the lights flicker on and the luxury of the place makes itself known to me once again.

When I decided to move out to Brooklyn with Lucy, I was determined to make it on my own and although Steve was understanding, he did insist on giving me a spare key to the place with instructions to the concierge that I had access to the building whenever I wanted. I know he did it mainly for my mother, knowing that his money and connections would help me as I started my new life away from home, but I was grateful nonetheless. He even allowed Lucy to stay with me as we began to build a life for ourselves.

I give a silent thank you to him and make a promise to myself to call him in the morning and explain, while also knowing that it will lead to a further fight with my mum. And that is the very last thing I want to do.

The building is large, modern and open with floor to ceiling windows of the skyline, and the furniture picked out in exquisite taste. The kitchen and living room are separated by a thin wall, and the flat screen TV faces cream sofas, wooden coffee tables and bookshelves on the opposite side. There is a formal dining room to the right from the front door which six people could comfortably eat off of and the breakfast bar in the thoroughly equipped kitchen is a great place to admire the city on a gorgeous day.

Then, as you turn left from the front door, you can see the three bedrooms all equipped with en-suite bathrooms and walk in closets. Something I have admittedly missed since moving out, and I go back to my bedroom to see that some of my clothes are still here, as well as some other essentials that I can use in the time I have here. I can lay low here for the night, get some rest and figure out how to fix things in the morning. I ignore the pang of guilt I feel in my gut for worrying everyone but I just don't have the capacity to do anything productive right now. I need to get my head on straight.

This is just what I need when I am finally beginning to see the light after so long. Gloria is gonna kill me knowing about what I did with Neil. Lucy is probably sick with worry, and Justin will be calling me begging for another shot. Then calling everyone else when he doesn't hear from me. All of this pressure is just too much, and I make my way to the kitchen to the fridge and pull out a full bottle of wine.

I then set my phone up to the <i

Bluetooth i>

sound system and music starts on the highest volume, but I am fully relaxed knowing that the neighbours won't complain given the walls are soundproof.

The wine flows through my blood and all the drama is momentarily forgotten as I revel in the soothing sound of music. I finally allow myself to let it all out, screaming through all the rock songs, crying through the soft classical pieces and wondering at the point of it all when sad songs come through the sound system.

I shake in fear of what tomorrow will bring, hoping that all of this will come to an end, and I can stop pretending that I am alright. I wonder if Lucy and Justin know just how much they have hurt me. I also wonder why on Earth I have sabotaged everything that has been good in my life until now and just how much I have suffered with unnecessary pain in the last few months.

I remember all those times my pillows were wet with my tears. How I would grip the sheets tightly and pull them up to my neck shivering from the cold despite it being early spring. I would be simultaneously dying to get out of bed and yet be so drained of energy that I just couldn't. I would not take any joy out of the rare moments Lucy could get me out of the bedroom for a movie night in the city, or even just the nights in with pizza and <i

Netflix i>

at our apartment.

None of it made a difference, but I never wanted to be a source of misery to myself, or to anyone else. Hence why I threw myself into my work on the days when staying in bed wasn't an option. I wanted to know that all the hard work was healing my broken heart slowly, and that I could just go unnoticed by work colleagues, but I think Gloria knew all along that I was just one bad day away from collapsing into sobs.

Thankfully, only Lucy saw me at my absolute worst. She would stroke my hair and dry my tears, and even take herself out of the room without complaint when I ordered her out, only for me to end up cuddling up beside her again an hour or so later, interrupting her sleep. She even cancelled a date she had once when I came home crying after work.

The silences were the worst. I remember not having the energy to speak for at least a day, and doing the most simple of tasks seemed so herculean that I felt sick to my stomach. I put all my energy into pretending I was okay at work, when all I wanted when I came home was to draw my knees up to my chest, put in my earphones and play sad songs on a loop to drown out all my bad thoughts of ending up alone.

Lucy must have known that she couldn't help me all by herself, and I guess she might have talked to my mother, or someone else, when I was too upset to show my face. While she understood that my mum wouldn't be the first person I would talk to about this, she could also see that this was serious and that I needed help desperately. So much of that time is just a blur of tears and unanswered questions, and I hate to think how isolating it must have been for Lucy. It was three months of pure hell for both her and me.

But they say nothing is permanent, and eventually my tears dried, my screaming fits stopped and my need to get out and about started up again. Something Lucy was all too happy to tag along with. We would bounce all over the city, flirting with guys, going on day trips, even making plans to go for the weekend somewhere. I began to believe there was hope again. That my life was more than just a gaping hole in my chest.

I feel sad that I can't share this moment with Lucy. That my best friend who has seen me through my worst is someone I feel I can no longer rely on. Maybe I idolised her, and expected her to be the role model I couldn't be for myself. But the whole time, she was just as human and clueless as I was.

"I am sorry, Luce. But you really fucked up this time." I say to the empty space, and I narrowly miss knocking over the bottle of white wine on the coffee table.

"I hate you Justin. Just like I loved you once," and as for all the other problems in my life, well, I just don't have anything to say about that right now.

I hit the off button on the sound system, and I take myself to my bedroom where I crawl under the freshly laundered sheets and turn out the light. Then, I cry my eyes out into the pillow for the millionth time this year. Wondering how long I will have to suffer before I am finally given a chance to heal, to put it all behind me.

I cling onto that one bit of hope for dear life, and it's the last thing that I can think of before I close my eyes. My whole body goes limp and my mind is peaceful and calm for the first time in days as images of the calm blue ocean and white sand of the shore wash through my dreams, and the striking brown eyes watch over me as I slumber peacefully in the sand. The warm water laps at my feet and the soft breeze blows across my feet as I bask in the sun's warmth.

< HR ***>

"Jessica Marie Ashton! You're in so much trouble you wouldn't believe!"

I sit up suddenly but my head throbs in pain and my mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton. My stomach swoops and I bury my head under the pillow to block out the noise as the bright light shines through the window.

"Do you have any idea how worried I have been? Where have you been? And why is this apartment such a mess!"

I groan audibly at the sound of my mother's voice. That familiar tone she always has when she's about to berate me and I just allow it to fly over my head.

"Mum. Can we talk about this later please?" I can't believe she is doing this at my lowest point.

I sit up slowly, adjusting my sight to the focal point of my beautiful, overprotective and insane mother: Ellen Ashton Lucas.

She is wearing an expensive cream pantsuit that hugs her well toned body, and her gorgeous face is shown to perfection with elegant shades of her expensive cosmetics, and a crown of lustrous golden curls that look freshly blow dried. She carries her favourite <i

Hermes i>

bag in her well manicured hand and her <i

Jimmy Choos i>

tap on the wooden floor as she puts her hands on her hips in that way only a mother can when looking at their child at their absolute worst.

She never looks anything less than absolutely gorgeous now, courtesy of her rich husband and wealthy lifestyle. The lines and wrinkles on her face are lessened by trips to the spa, her body exercised to perfection by personal trainers and her mouth is always slightly turned up at the corner in a contented smile, like no matter what she does, she will be okay.

I can remember the years where she would go around with flecks of grey poking through her matted blonde hair, red-rimmed eyes and ill-fitting clothes that barely clung to her thinning body bowing under the immense weight of grief. It was only when I reached my late teens that she started making time for herself and dealing with my father's death by going to a counsellor, dolling herself up and spending more time away from the house. She became the picture of elegance and sophistication that attracted a wealthy man into her life.

She always does this. She always finds ways to make me feel awful when I screw up. When I don't make her the centre of my world the way Steve does, or my father did. And the thought makes me grit my teeth.

"You look like you're hungover. And the flat is a complete mess! You want to explain to me what happened?" She yells in frustration.

I then see Steve at the door with a glass of water and a steadily dissolving painkiller. He rubs my mother's arm reassuringly as he passes and comes to sit on the bed beside me with a look of sympathy.

"Drink this. Get yourself in the shower and eat something. We'll talk altogether when you're done."

I sit still, not quite knowing what to say, and my mother, although still angry, doesn't seek to contradict him. I greedily gulp the water down, feeling the pain in my head slowly decrease.

"Come on, Ellen. Let her get herself sorted before you give her hell. Okay?" His calm, soothing tone leaves my mum speechless and she follows him back into the kitchen to wait for me.

I sit up slowly, making sure not to make any sudden movements but then a wave of nausea hits me and I barely make it to the en-suite bathroom before I puke my guts out. I grip the toilet for dear life, trying my best to keep my hair away from my face but it's times like this I wish Lucy were here.

When I finally manage to stand up, and the retching stops, I stare at myself in the mirror and die a little inside. My dark hair is a mess, my panda eyes are coming through finally and my head still throbs as the painkiller slowly works its magic. I then strip off my clothes and head into the shower.

A while later, I am in my white bathrobe and drinking my third glass of water while Steve makes us all a cup of tea and my mum makes me some toast. I don't have the heart to tell her that food is the last thing I want right now but try my best to stay alert as Steve fills me in.