Chapter 15 #2
“Kira wanted to go to a fundraiser tonight,” I continue, since I can tell that’s what he wants. “It sounded boring. I invited her out to go dancing instead. We went to a place I know. Nothing would’ve happened if that dickhead Oscar had stayed in jail where he fucking belongs.”
Young-gi tsk’s his tongue, once, and shakes his head at me in disapproval. “Tommy.”
“I know, okay?! I know!” I explode into motion in response to his censure.
I pace, throwing my arms around as I talk, barely able to look at him but also unable to look away, leaving me glancing at him over and over again like a maniac.
“I know. I fucked up. I shouldn’t have told Kira to sneak out, we shouldn’t have gone somewhere without your security dudes or whatever, I should’ve just sucked it up and gone to that stupid fundraiser, but I was just–I was just–fucking…
tired, okay? I can’t sleep at Kira’s house.
I got more shut eye in the city lockup tonight than I’ve gotten at hers in like a week!
It’s too– it’s too quiet, alright? And it sucks there, and I’m alone all the time and when I’m not alone I have to be Tommy Claremont because that’s the Tommy everybody wants, and I can’t be him all the time, okay?
! I can’t be Tommy Claremont all the time, sometimes I have to be me, and let off some of this–this–this shit inside me, okay?
This fucking shit that builds and builds every goddamn day.
I’m fucking suffocating, alright?! When she told me about that fundraiser, I was so fucking messed up that I think I would’ve rather jumped off a bridge than stand in that fucking museum with those fucking fake-ass rich people, while being the Tommy that Kira wants me to be, the Tommy I’m not.
And you know what?! If I hadn’t gone to the club tonight, god knows what would’ve happened to Georgie so I don’t!
Fucking! Regret it! And you were gone, and I did what I had to do to stay sane! So fuck you!”
I’m heaving for air at the end of it, and I feel like pulling out my hair. God, I want to tear this whole place apart. I want to tear myself apart. It’s like I opened the door on all the broiling feelings inside me and released a whole flood of toxic shit, burning my veins and filling me with rage.
I square up against Young-gi like I’m a bull about to charge, my eyes promising all kinds of violence, but he doesn’t seem scared at all, like he knows I’m bluffing. I don’t think I am, but he seems so confident, so maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m all steam.
But I feel violent, ready for blood. I look around for something good to throw, to break, to use as a weapon.
I’m ready to burn this bridge to the ground, and burn myself doing it.
I’ll prove him wrong, I’ll prove I’m not all steam.
I’ll show him that if I’m angry then he’d better fucking be afraid because that’s what I deserve!
“Tommy,” Young-gi gets my attention with my name said like a whiplash, sharp and urgent, and I react.
“WHAT?” I roar at him, all my body language screaming violence. I know I’m being ugly but I feel ugly, I am ugly; on the inside, not even that deep down, this is what I am. And I hate it, I hate myself, I hate that I am who I was made to be. I had no choice.
I can barely breathe, but I can yell, so that’s what I do. “What the fuck do you want?! Who the fuck do you think you are? What do you want from me?!”
I wonder, as I struggle to breathe, if I’m about to get the fight I’m begging him for, if he’s about to yell right back at me. If he’s about to beat the shit out of me so I can feel something other than this poisonous rage. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he tilts his head at the corner of the room.
“Go stand there in that corner, and face the wall.”
It is so not what I was expecting him to say, and for a second I feel like I legit can’t understand the words.
But as soon as I process it, my gut flash-fries in an inferno of heat that might be fury, or arousal, or simply shock.
My knees almost buckle. I gape at him like a fish. “Wh-what did you just say to me?”
I try to sound threatening, but I land closer to wobbly and small.
I should’ve known better than to ask him to repeat himself. He’s made it clear he doesn’t like doing that. He raises a finger, spins it around in the air in a gesture telling me to turn around, and then points at the corner. “You need a time-out, Tommy. You’re going in the corner.”
“Like fuck I am,” I choke out, but my eyes are drawn to that corner like there’s a magnet there, pulling my attention in, making me ask myself if, maybe, I might go stand over there after all. “Fuck you, Young-gi.”
“Keep running your mouth, see where that gets you,” he says sternly.
And shit, maybe the time-out thing is too confusing for me, but those–those Daddy-ish, toppy-type words–get my engine going and I quickly turn and face away from him so he can’t see the way it affects me.
All my helplessly angry, ugly, unstoppable feelings are still there, contaminating my every thought like an oil spill, but I wasn’t expecting him to say that and I’m…
waking up a bit, so to speak. Like he surprised me out of the worst of my anger, just barely, just enough that I’m conscious and not blacking out with fury.
I’m almost able to think again without wanting to burn everything in sight.
Almost.
“I’m leaving,” I growl, but my feet don’t take me any-goddamn-where. I clench my fists because what the fuck? It’s my body, why is it betraying me like this?
“Are you?” he asks, and his voice sends shivers right down my bruised spine. He knows I’m not fucking leaving.
Even if I left, I’ve got nowhere I want to go. Everything, everywhere, sucks. All the time.
I think the room is spinning. I swallow hard, and push through a fog of mental noise. Try to think, try to focus.
“How–” I struggle to speak, and I think I might be horny but I’m too fucking flipped-upside-down to tell. “How long do you expect me to stand there?”
“Until I say.” And shit, his voice is so deep. I bite my lip, and I know he’s staring at me even though I’m facing away. I don’t need to look to feel his eyes on me.
“What if I don’t?” I ask, pushing, always pushing.
He doesn’t answer.
“What if I don’t want to?”
Still nothing. Antsy, bubbling anxiety swirls in my gut and I’m practically dancing on my feet from being unable to stand still.
“Fine, shit, so stupid anyway,” I mutter, throwing my hands up and going on about it like I’m only doing this to shut him up, like I’m choosing to do this because I want him to stop nagging me.
We both know it’s bullshit, and he stops my performance with a chuckle that heats me from my ears to my gut, sending embarrassment spiraling into the mess he’s made of my psyche.
I stomp to the corner, every step building pressure inside me, building the ‘what the fuck are you doing?!’ panic, every step pushing me closer to an edge I won’t be able to stop myself from falling off of.
I get to the corner and face the wall.
For about half a second.
Then I’m stepping back against my will, not meaning to, breathing like I’ve been working hard labor for hours. The wall is warping in front of my eyes, I feel like I can’t blink, like I’m running for my life–
Like I’m in danger, but from myself. I stumble backwards and Young-gi catches me, holds me up so I don’t fall, and firmly guides me right back to the corner.
I didn’t even realize he’d stood up and walked over to me, and it might be because he’s stealthy or because my blood is rushing so loud in my ears I can’t hear anything else.
“You’re going in time-out, young man,” he husks right next to my ear, looming over me from behind, his body heat searing me even through the layers of our clothes, his hands firm and heavy on my shoulders.
“I-I–” I shiver hard, tense as hell, and I’m leaning back without meaning to, like my body wants to run away. I shake my head. I’ve got to get out of here. “I can’t–”
I can’t breathe.
He shifts the placement of his hands and digs his thumbs in, putting pressure on the knots of tension that are always there, always aching, and I groan with immediate hurt-so-good relief.
The pain causes me to suck in air and the relief makes me hiss it out again.
I sway on my feet and all of a sudden I’m standing in the corner without trying to escape, letting him massage my shoulders, letting him calm me down.
He breathes, I breathe. He breathes, I breathe.
And once I’ve got my breathing down, my heart hits a more reasonable pace and I can think again.
My fingers tingle, so does my nose, like static from a television, and I realize I’d hit my adrenaline so hard that I’d lost feeling in my extremities.
Like I really was about to run for my fucking life.
I think it started before the panic, during the rage part, but it definitely hit harder once I got to the corner.
He must sense my return to planet Earth, because he orders me again. “You’re going to stand here and think about what you did wrong, so you can do better next time.”
“I don’t like shit like this,” I grind out between my teeth, old memories surfacing from the depths of my mind and making me flinch and screw my face up like I’m in pain. “Role play is one thing, but I’m not into real punishments.”
“It’s not a punishment, Tommy. It’s a chance to think and calm down, where I can watch you and make sure you’re being good.”
“I’m not good!” I try to rage, but his hands feel so nice on me, and the way he’s standing behind me isn’t registering as a threat, so I just end up huffing and pouting instead.