Destined to Feel. Indigo Bloome

to me. It’s as if he is sharing his power, his manhood, his fountain of life deep within my very core and I can feel every thick inch of him deep within me. Our eyes meet as I continue my grinding rhythm against him. We are both so very close as he raises his head slightly, questions me silently, beseechingly. I can’t deny him a second longer, this man I love, asking for permission. I throw my head back as I anchor myself around his girth and grip tight around him. He immediately explodes with a fullness that is intoxicating. I collapse on top of him in a magical, spiralling state of complete euphoria. The slow burn, now liquid lava, intensifying our love and connection to each other as we hungrily find each other’s mouths and tongues, speaking in a passionate, silent, universal language of unadulterated sexuality, until eventually we lay still together, completely sated both physically and emotionally.

      ‘Thank you for doing that for me, I know it’s not easy for you.’ I smile lazily at him.

      ‘Thank you for the opportunity. I’ve never allowed myself to experience anything like that before.’

      ‘Relinquishing control?’

      ‘Mmm, letting you dominate. You know it’s not my preference but it was undeniably amazing.’

      ‘So why did you?’

      A pause. ‘I did it because it was important for you and I will never deny you any sexual experience that you want or need. You know I’m all for you exploring and discovering every aspect of your sexual nature, even more so when it’s between us. And this seems to be a pretty important milestone for you, particularly after everything you’ve been through in the last few days.’ He looks at me quizzically. ‘Am I right?’

      ‘Yeah, you are,’ I admit. ‘It was as if there was a force inside me compelling me to take control. I’ve never had such a strong sexual urge before, so I just went with it.’

      ‘I can’t tell you how much it pleases me to finally hear you acknowledge that sexuality is a major part of who you are, Alexa. It just seems to have been buried and forgotten in recent years,’ he adds with a chuckle.

      ‘Thanks to you, Dr Quinn, I’m beginning to doubt whether I knew myself at all before this weekend.’

      Jeremy snuggles me to him. ‘How are you feeling?’

      ‘A little light-headed but I feel so full, so content, safe and complete …’

      ‘My life is only just beginning to feel complete now that I know we are together,’ he murmurs.

      Oh, and how wonderful does that make me feel … Our limbs are entwined as he spoons me closer to his chest.

      ‘I love you, Jeremy.’

      ‘And I you, Alexandra, more than I think you’ll ever understand.’

      They are the last words spoken as I drift off into a beautiful sleep in Jeremy’s warm embrace.

      I find myself in tears at the memory and in fear of the situation I’m in right now. My distress reaches hysterical proportions at the thought of what could happen to me, at my disconnectedness from Jeremy and my children. I’m a scared, emotional mess and I lash out at the tray of food that my stomach can’t remotely contemplate, sending it flying into the wall. This is truly a nightmare! What do they want from me? I rise unsteadily from my chair and get a sense of the speed of the train as I step into the tiny bathroom and splash my face with cold water. I would give anything to collapse into a bed and wake up in Jeremy’s arms knowing this was all a bad dream. After attempting to freshen up I make another futile attempt to force the door open, and then the window, but eventually I am left with no alternative but to sit in the secluded silence of this cabin cell with my own frightening thoughts of what might happen next.

      The train eventually slows and I wonder if I will have to endure the humiliation of being tethered to the wheelchair again. I vaguely remember hearing about the burqa being banned in public spaces in France; I wasn’t sure whether this was the case in surrounding European countries. The door opens, startling me, as terror returns to shake my body to the core. God help me. Two large men enter the cabin, seeming to fill the space, not making any eye contact with me. A quivering mess, I can only remain seated in my chair, as one of them walks towards me. I can’t utter a word — I can barely look at him. He motions for me to stand. He doesn’t realise I’m frozen with fear and can’t follow his command. I’m hoisted roughly into a standing position and he hastily cuffs my wrists together. Oh, dear god. Some kind of gas mask is securely placed over my nose and mouth and I attempt to hold my breath, not wanting to lose consciousness again. Realising this logic is futile, I am left with no choice but to inhale, allowing myself short, shallow breaths, not sure what substance is infiltrating my lungs. The first man holds me still as the other attaches a container to my back, which looks like a bit like a fire extinguisher or small oxygen tank. It is carefully secured with straps around my waist and under my arms — my own self-sufficient breathing apparatus. My legs are efficiently taped together at both my ankles and knees and I feel myself becoming a little groggy. A warm softness enters my limbs and I go slightly limp against the man holding me upright. This warmth is actually pretty good and I feel myself relaxing. I remember this feeling from the dentist. Happy gas, nitrous oxide — it dulls sensations such as pain and makes you feel euphoric.

      One of the men leaves the cabin briefly and returns wheeling a larger-than-average suitcase. As if on cue I get the giggles as my mind wanders and I randomly wonder whether it would be used to cart around outfits for Paris fashion week — that is, until he opens it and I am scooped off my feet and literally folded into the awaiting piece of luggage. It’s lined with some kind of foam padding. I am aware, in a detached way, that this is not good, but as I don’t actually feel too bad, it’s difficult to decipher any of my emotions about the whole situation. I attempt to dislodge the gas mask attached to my face, pushing against the foam material, so I can think more clearly but to no avail. I am tucked into a foetal position. I attempt to scream and struggle, sensing that I should, but don’t have a strong desire to muster the energy required. My body feels warm and rather heavy, but surprisingly comfortable given the position I’m in. Either way, I can’t move and the mask stifles any sound before it can escape. I can’t believe I’m small enough to fit in a suitcase; they’d never be able to do this to Jeremy, it would have to be tailor-made! The lid is closed, making my world once again black and if I weren’t so relaxed, I’m sure I’d be shaking violently with fear. I hear the sound of a zip closing and the suitcase is positioned upright. I’m silently thankful for the generous padding that softens my impending ride; I shudder at the thought of the bruises otherwise. The wheels are in motion and I have no idea where I’ll end up. I can’t see, I can’t hear, I can’t talk or taste or smell. What I can feel is an immobile body that is awash with relaxant. All I can do is just keep breathing.

      Jeremy

      I linger at the bar, aimlessly shuffling food around on my plate, ignoring everything else going on around me; my thoughts about Alex are all-consuming and endlessly disturbing. Apart from the terrifying thought that she might be hurt, I can’t stop thinking about missed opportunities, my inability to come to terms with my own feelings for her — and now, shit, I may never have the opportunity to make amends. I can’t even say whether Alexandra was ever aware of the complexity of emotion I feel for her, have always felt for her. It took me a while to admit it to myself and, once I had, I didn’t want to scare her away so I deliberately kept things light and playful between us. Ultimately, I wanted to give her the world and be the focal point of hers. But I was too driven back then, knew the path of my future differed from hers.

      My younger brother suffered from serious depression, and just before my twenty-fifth birthday I found him dead in our garage. He’d gassed himself in our father’s car, which he’d locked from the inside. My world perspective changed from that moment on, my ambition fuelled by pain and the inability to provide him with the help he had so desperately needed. My parents, bless them, handled the devastating loss of their second son more graciously than me … at least, I thought so. My grief was so raw, so incredibly confronting and completely overwhelming. I blamed myself. If only I knew more, had studied more, had