Filming BDSM was a dream of mine come true. 

Me and Izuna had done kinks together, and I had done kinks with others before him, but I was talking true BDSM, not only with the bondage and whipping and leather and wood and torches, but also the dynamics. 

I had never been asked to do it as a porn star, but I had excessively studied it during my entire career, not only to be prepared but also out of my own personal interest.

As I had begun my light research, I had though BDSM was about said bondage and whipping. About dungeons covered in red velvet with devices to bind. But it was so, so much more than that. Or, it could be just that, of course; there was nothing wrong with people enjoying binding or being bound, whipping or being whipped. But for those who performed it as their main form of art, BDSM was often about healing trauma. 

I had read story after story from doms and subs in the world, and they could all confirm. For subs, it was often about being owned in a controlled situation. Usually, their trauma was about abuse, to different degrees, by family members or friends or partners, be it physical or emotional. Being beaten at home made them attracted to getting spanked or whipped by a dom; being bullied made them attracted to verbal degradation and so on. Experiencing it under controlled forms seemed to give them back a sense of autonomy that they so desperately needed. For doms, it could be either about having been the abuser, wanting to heal that trauma by abusing in a desired way, by giving a sub what they wanted, or they had the same background of abuse as the subs and now wanted to be the one on top of the hierarchy of power dynamics but in a safe way. Of course, not all subs and doms were healing trauma, but it was a repeating pattern in the BDSM world.

I had thought about why I wanted to dom so bad while reading all of this. Was it my way of healing my trauma of having been a straight-up bully when I was younger? When I thought about it, my immediate reaction wasn't yes, that's it! but it wasn't no, definitely not either. In the end, I reached the conclusion that it didn't matter, that since I couldn't know I wouldn't decide whether it was true for me or not. After having read more, I rested in the fact that my feelings and desires were valid, and I didn't need to feel ashamed of wanting to dom.

I wondered if Izuna had any trauma. Maybe, he didn't have any, and that was why he had detested the kinks, at least in the beginning; he didn't have anything to heal so for him, it had just been pain. I wondered what made him turn with the candle wax. Maybe, that was me? 

Nevertheless, my dream of doing BDSM was coming true. 

There was only one problem. I wasn't filming with Izuna, but with a girl.

I stood opposite her now, and immediately recognised her. She was the one I had filmed with a while ago, then met at the party and ignored. She was wearing a beautiful set of wine red velvet underwear making her curves roll deliciously, and was getting lipstick applied. I frowned. She was, without a doubt, incredibly pretty. I suddenly didn't understand how I could have ignored her at the party, not only that but also flirting with another woman in front of her when it obviously caused her discomfort. I couldn't imagine myself in the situation again, ignoring her, her feelings, her tears. I suddenly became incredibly aware of myself.

"Hi", I said, scratching my head.

She turned to look at me, then looked away, focussing on her makeup artist. She was completely ignoring me, and I knew it wasn't because she wanted to play hard to get but because she was genuinely uninterested in me and what I had to say. It was a first, and it did something with me. I realised nobody had ever been uninterested in before. But that wasn't what bothered me. It was knowing that she was right in her reaction. 

"Look, I'm sorry." She looked over at me, curious. "I was terrible to you last time, and I'm sorry."

The makeup artist was done with her lipstick. It was an amazing, red wine colour that suited her cool skin. She stood up, pulled her fingers through her hair.

"Look, I'm here to work. Not for your apology. I'm an actress and don't need your pity to do well."

"I didn't want to give you my pity, I-"

But she just walked past me. 

I had to give it to the girl; she had a lot of poise. I felt terribly, terribly guilty. But this wasn't about me; it was about her. I knew I was apologising to try and wash away my own guilt by making her feel better, not to actually make her feel better. Dropping it was very, very hard but under the circumstances, I felt I had no choice. Or, rather, I did have a choice, but I wanted to choose the right thing for once. 

We were to begin filming. For the first time, I couldn't get a female partner to enjoy herself because the girl had made herself completely unavailable to me. I did everything for her. No, I did everything for me, working hard in the hope of eliciting at least something genuine from her so I could boost my own ego, so I could convince myself I was so desirable that even a woman whom I'd treated unjustly couldn't resist. Well, she was much smarter than that, and my guess was, most women would be. 

Most men would be. 

Is this who I am?

My thoughts became black then. I thought of me and Izuna, but not about how I'd succeeded in finding a way for us that worked, a window from which Izuna could withdraw his consent and that little window had let in enough light that he didn't have to. What I thought of was that first time, how I knew how uncomfortable he was yet how I had continued, not knowing what to do.

It was crystal clear to me, then. It was crystal clear to me what I should have done. I should have just stopped, refused to continue, said that something didn't feel right, that I refused to go on. Why hadn't I done that? I was famous enough to do that, definitely. I was famous enough that even Will would give me exactly what I wanted. Why hadn't I?

You didn't care.

I jerked. Didn't I? Hadn't I? 

Am I really that bad?  

I felt something in my chest then; pressure, like someone was standing on it. I tried to take deep breaths into my stomach while fucking the girl, but was unable to. Black dots started swimming before my eyes. I became completely unaware of my surroundings; the cameras, the director, the assistants, the bed, the sounds.

The girl.

My head spun, the pain in my chest started spreading its way out to my arms just like I knew a heart attack did, and that sensation pushed me over the edge and into a complete panic. I felt how my fingertips started tingling, how my breathing became ragged. A fire started up in the pit of my stomach, licked its way to my heart but I couldn't let it reach it because then, my heart would burn and I would inevitably die so I pushed that fire down, forced it down with every ounce of willpower I had, trying to press it back to wherever the hell it had come from but the air around the fire just expanded and I knew it had to explode, that I couldn't hold it back but it would explode and that it would destroy my body, the vessel for the pathetic excuse of a soul that I had.

Izuna, help me!!

It exploded, not up where I had put all that force but down, down to my thighs and my groin and I came with a scream, totally out of control, my body on complete autopilot until I was done, finished and slumped down. 

I became aware of something then, someone pushing me, screaming. A couple of strong arms around me. No, more than a couple; several arms. The director and his assistants pulled me off the girl. The black dots had melted together, but now they begun to draw back, revealing a world underneath that had been lost to me. For how long, I didn't know. 

And in that world was the girl on the bed, tears streaming down her face. I stopped breathing. She had a black eye that hadn't had before we began. She had red marks around her neck. Her arms were scratched and also full of bruises. 

"Who did that to you?" I asked before I had time to think.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" she screamed, her voice cracking.

You did that... You did that to her.

When? When had I lost control like that? I turned to the director and his assistants.

"Why didn't you stop me?" I whispered.

"We tried."

And then I saw the director had a bruise on his cheek as well. 

I was going to throw up.

Is this how you see me, too, Izuna?

I didn't know how, but suddenly I was dressed, and I was running out of the hotel room. I was home, not knowing whether I'd taken a taxi or a bus or my own car or if I had just run. I changed into runner's tights, a marine blue T-shirt, put on my running shoes. I went out, began jogging. My fingertips were tingling again, my breathing ragged. To an outsider I sounded like I had an asthma attack but I was completely unaware of it myself. My mind was spinning, trying to catch snippets of memories of what had truly happened, but I was unable to. There was nothing to catch. Nothing to bring forth at all. 

But something else came to me then; a woman, short and a little plump with dark, kind eyes. Izuna's mother...

"Do you have people to support you?"

My thoughts had immediately gone to Izuna when she had asked me, a surprisingly sturdy little rock in my life. I was suddenly desperate to get home. I turned, increased my speed. Faster and faster until I was close to collapsing, the speed of sound creating the taste of blood in my mouth. I came home, checked the time. Nine in the evening.

I had been running for two hours and not even noticed.

I took my cell phone which I had left at home, dialled his number. I was still panting like a maniac but couldn't stand waiting; I needed to talk to Izuna and I needed to talk to him now.

"Hello?" he said.

"Hi", I said.

"Who is it?" he asked and I realised he couldn't have saved my number because this was my first time calling him and I had gotten his number from Will.

"It's Tobirama."

And then, he said a line of words that turned my entire life upside down in a way that I hadn't at all expected.

"Oh, you can go fuck yourself."

He hung up.

I stood there, in my hallway, staring down at my phone, hearing the dead tone that had connected me to the man I was in love with, now completely unavailable to me.

I checked the microwave. It was eleven pm. I had stood there in the hallway, the phone in my hand, for two hours, again not even noticing. Blacking out for the third time today. Where had the time gone? Where had my mind gone? What was happening to me? I woke up in my bed. My sheets were covered in blood. My wrists were covered in rashes. 

I walked round and round my apartment in a frenzy trying to find the tool I had used but was unable to, and I had no memory of how it had happened at all.