Challenge or struggle?
I was thinking again, (terrible thing really--consumes entirely too much of my life) about us, about the long slow shift to where we are now.
There is an ache in my being for who we used to be together.
I can't get into subspace anymore. This is...Particularly unsettling to me. It is that one place, where it doesn't matter where your body is, or what your mind thought it knew seconds before, or how much you felt like you left a piece of your soul at home.
Subspace has been our place. His playground and I'm on the ride. It has been a very long time...
He has no interest in someone without challenge. I look at that long slow shift to where we are now, and I wonder at what point the challenge became a struggle.
I miss the feeling in his eyes when his control over me was so complete that it provided him with the ability to control more circumstances outside of us. I see it there flickering in the depths, the beast slightly starved and sitting to the side.
I crave it to the depths of my being. The feeling of his passionate fury. That feeling of total surrender. The carefully crafted and delicately nursed ingrained responses to the touch if his control in everything I did. It took so very long to get there and so, comparably, little time to leave it.
The fear of drowning without breath under water, the knives, the mind bending touch of pain, the humiliation...Dear sweet goddess, the humiliation...The feeling that the choice even to breathe, the most basic and automatic of functions, is not mine to make...
I need. I need to go home. I need our place, our space where nothing and no one exists. And I run from it. Every step of the way I run in the other direction. He is without energy to run in pursuit of that which was long ago captured, of that which is already owned.
I run. I run because I know that, at this point in the road, the trip back is inevitably unpleasant. That the trip to subspace alone will be more brutal than I desire to experience. And I'm fucking terrified.
I need. There is an ache in my soul for the mountain I always called home. There is an ache in my being for what we have been together, for the master and slave in unforgotten days. Fuck that. I lie--they are not unforgotten days, they are years. A decade. Over a decade. I have forgotten exactly how long.
For a while, I forgot who I was. The world swallowed me and consumed me. I don't know how to be this me and who I am, how to make both play nicely as one. I am afraid that the existence of one severely compromises the existence of the other.
Now, though still so consumed that it permeates every waking and sleeping moment, I accept what he has always suggested to be true--that, for me, there is true happiness only in being owned.