Never Let You Go

“Don’t worry, Pat, I’m finished. I’m done. I’ve had as much fun as I’ve wanted to. Now it is just time to say good bye.”

“Good bye?” He questioned, as she removed the ball gag from his mouth finally, dragging out some of his saliva in the process.

She nodded, as she put the toy next to her own, on the floor, tossing it there carelessly. She returned, untying his wrists in the back and then grabbed his hands, lightly into her own and gazed back into her eyes. She brought his arms back to the front of him. “You were very brave and kind to me. For that, I want to allow you some more freedom from me. You can relax and take in air. I need to go talk to the others, so we can get your release under way?”

She slowly scooted to the end of the bed and dangled her legs down, preparing to get off the bed. However, he stopped her, clutching onto her wrist.

“Where are the others: Segs, Kaner, and Tazer? Are they alright?” The Bruin asked her, worriedly. He was concerned about his new friends. That was sweet.

“The studs?” She questioned, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She obviously didn’t like any of them.

“Yes. Are they okay?”

“Don’t worry, they are under the hands of my dear friends. I’m sure and I trust that they are having a ton of fun!” (She’d given it a Ryan Getzlaf guess.)

“Fun” Patrice thought. He released her wrist and allowed her to slide off, the rest of the way.

She got to her feet and walked over to the closet. She snatched another purple shirt out. This time it was a sparkling lavender tank top, that hugged her curves. She slipped out of her skirt and put on a pair of skinny jeans and then slipped into a pair of nice dress shoes that rose up on a two-inch heel.

She gave him a sweet smile and flirty wave, taking out the key. Then Eliana walked out, leaving him on the bed. Patrice heard the door lock once more behind her. He crawled to the end of the mattress and stared at the aftermath of their “fun.”

His mouth tasted like rubber, as he pulled his legs around and dangled them over the edge. He looked at his wrists, arms, and legs. The red marks that were visible, weren’t really bad, but they were enough to give him a memory of the party he had been through. He wouldn’t exactly call what she had done “rape,” but it was sex still. He had submitted to her, even if a few had been from commanding threats made against him. Technically he had allowed her in and that wasn’t rape.

He brought his hand up to his mouth, touching his lips, where they quivered with dryness. It was like a desert at his mouth. He slowly got to his feet and walked over to the chair. Though he hadn’t been raped, he was still hurt and scarred. He dropped into the wooden furniture and put his elbows on his thighs. Then he dropped his head, face down into his hands and cried.

He didn’t cry about the sex or Eliana, who gave him temporary second thoughts about the last name “Marchand.” Instead he cried for himself. He was truly mentally scarred and when he was finally released, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to make it. He didn’t think he could do it.

Could he really play hockey the same way again? Could he return to kicking ass at the center dot or blocking shots at key moments to help his defense and team out and most importantly, could he score goals? All of these thoughts only made him sob harder, until his hands and legs were drenched in his tears. Poor Patrice Bergeron.