Twenty-Two
Logan
I pace in front of the barn, looking at the doors. He was sleeping the last time I looked at the camera. He was squirming a lot and his face was distorted. Was he having a bad dream?
This is part of it. He needs to see how bad things can be when I’m not with him.
He needs to really need me, and he hasn’t shown me that he does yet.
Yes, he keeps looking at the door and going hours without moving from the bed.
He hasn’t tried to read on his own either, and won’t use any of the toiletries I brought him. But it’s not enough.
I’m waiting for him to fall apart more. To scream and cry more. I need . . . I just need fucking more.
My phone buzzes as I’m about to touch the lock, and when I look at the screen, Jimmy’s name pops up.
Jimmy: Hey, Logan. Want to come bowling with us later?
I start typing and stop before typing again.
Me: I dunno. I just got home and I’m beat.
Jimmy: Take a nap. We ain’t going until 10.
Me: That’s late. I gotta get up early in the morning, and I’m seriously dragging right now.
Jimmy: Let me get this straight, my best friend comes back to town after being gone for like three years and he still can’t make it out to see his friends?
Me: I’ll see you guys this weekend.
Jimmy: How about dinner tomorrow?
I sigh, rubbing the back of my head.
Me: Your house or mine?
Jimmy: Neither. I’m taking you to that new Italian joint that just opened up. It’s on me.
Me: We celebrating something?
Jimmy: Yeah. Two things actually. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.
I roll my eyes, writing him back with pounding fingers.
Me: Is this my punishment for not going with y’all tonight?
Jimmy: Maybe.
I laugh, shaking my head, and lean against the barn door as I respond one more time.
Me: See your ass tomorrow.
Jimmy: Damn straight you will, jackass fucker.
I sputter another laugh and switch back to the camera footage.
Blake is awake. I push off the door and zoom in on him as he’s carving something into the wooden boards behind him.
I got him a notebook and he’s still writing shit on the walls.
I’m about to put my phone in my pocket, and as I’m turning around, I almost drop my phone.
He’s biting on his finger and waving his hand around. His face scrunches up and he cries out, holding his closed fist to his chest as he folds in on himself.
He’s hurt. He sits up a little, and as he does he presses the tool he used to carve on the wall into his finger and blood drips down to his wrist. What is he doing? That’s how you get infections. I tug on my mask and open the door in a hurry.
“What’s going on, little piglet? Is that you making all that noise, or is it the new baby pigs?”
He screams and his chain scrapes against the wood. “I have a splinter.”
I grit my teeth. “Okay, don’t do anything to make it worse. I’ll go get the tweezers. I got you a notebook for a reason.”
“Old habits die hard,” he calls out, his voice straining, and I almost laugh at that until his sobs remind me of how much pain he’s in.
“I’ll be back. No more touching the walls while I’m gone.”
He doesn’t say anything, or at least I don’t stay long enough for him to as I pad off to the house.
There are so many different sewing kits in my mom’s bathroom under her sink, but most of the needles are dull.
I rummage through the bottom of one and pull out a pack of new ones.
I get a lighter from the kitchen drawer after that and wave the flame over the thin steel.
When I feel it’s sanitized enough, I shove some Band-Aids and alcohol wipes into my pocket.
Lifting my face to the mirror, I adjust my mask.
Look what he’s doing to me. He has me in here acting like a damn madman over a splinter. It’s not anywhere close to a life or death situation, but his cutting into his finger could lead to it being one. Either way, he needed me. He couldn’t take care of his injury himself, so I needed to intervene.
I reach him and fresh tears are gathering at the corner of his eyes as I drop to my knees in front of him.
“Let me see it, baby.”
His eyes widen. “Don’t call me that.”
“Sorry, I didn’t realize what I was saying. Let me see your hand, Blake.”
He looks at his finger and me. “Don’t call me that either.”
“What should I call you, then?”
“I’m your piglet, remember?”
My heart flutters. Damn him for making me fucking melt like this over something so damn simple. That’s about as simple as it gets with us. Everything else is complex, and I’m beginning to think it’s why I keep coming back.
Simple is easy, and nothing good ever came easily to me.
“Of course you are. Let me see your hand, piglet.”
Eyes sparking with something, he splays out his shaking fingers. I frown at the tattered skin. I clean the bloody area with an alcohol wipe and he flinches, and I keep his hand in place, blowing on it.
“Sorry. I have to get it clean so we don’t spread bacteria around.”
He sucks on his bottom lip, heavily studying everything I do, and his brows shoot up when I press the needle to where the splinter is. I take my time, being as gentle as possible, and his eyes squeeze shit, his jaw tightening.
“Almost got it out. How are you liking your new things? Have you used the coloring books?”
His eyes slowly peel open and he shakes his head.
“Are you liking the music I downloaded for you?’
He nods, fingers curling as I push the piece of wood out enough to pull it free with the tweezers.
“Got it,” I say, tossing everything back in the bag, and when I take out a Band-Aid he gives me his hand again.
“You did so good,” I say. “The pain should go away soon.” I secure the bandage around him and kiss the tip of his finger. “My mom used to do that whenever I hurt myself falling off my bike, and she said it was supposed to help.”
He looks at our connecting hands. “The Band-Aid has dogs on it.”
“Yeah.” I laugh. “That’s all my roommate’s doing.”
His eyes jump to mine. “You have a roommate?”
“Yeah.” I let go of his hand, and as I’m standing up, he grabs onto my wrist.
“We haven’t finished the book yet.” His nails bite into my skin.
“Yeah, and that’s why I left it here, so you could read it on your own.”
“I liked it better when you read it. My eyes keep getting too tired and . . . and humans read, and I . . . I—”
“You what?” I lean down, stroking his cheek.
“I think I’m a better listener than a reader. I like to be able to quietly take in the story while . . . while—”
“Being my piglet?”
He oinks twice and fuck, the things that does to me.
I can’t walk away from him as easily as before.
This whole thing was supposed to teach him a lesson, but it was also supposed to be degrading, and it was at first. I saw the shame in his eyes and now it’s hardly there.
He’s leaning into the role so naturally, like it’s a big part of him now.
It’s not so much about being treated like an animal anymore, it’s more about taking a break from the harsh realities and having someone else do the heavy lifting for once.
He needs me more this way too. He handles pain and rough days better in this headspace.
“Do you need me to stay longer, piglet?”
He’s still hesitating before admitting to what he wants. He looks down at his feet, slipping his hand from mine, and nods, tucking his chin inward.
“Let me hear you say yes.”
His eyes slowly meet mine and he lets out the sweetest sounds when he answers me. “Oink . . . oink.”
I card my fingers through his hair. “Piglets can only do so much for themselves. Good thing I came at the right moment.”
He lets out little snorts, rubbing his face against my legs, and then he taps the books with his nails.
I bark out a laugh. “Okay, okay.” I sit on the mattress and he presses his body to mine, looking over my shoulder as I read to him. When I’m done, he rolls around and hits the mini fridge with his nose. No, not his nose, his snout.
I pet between his ears and open the fridge.
His gaze lands on a container of chopped up apples, and he opens it, setting it on the ground by my feet.
He wiggles his ass, trying to show how happy he is to have me here doing all this for him when it’s too hard for him to do it himself.
Smiling, I crouch to the floor and pet his back.
He has several lines of dirt running down it.
I search for the wipes as he finishes his food, and when he turns to me I scoot closer, bending my knees more to clean his face.
He rubs his cheek against the cool wipe, and I trail it down his neck before circling his nipples. They harden and a hunger takes hold of me. “Can I try a new way to get you clean there?”
He looks to my hand and tilts his head.
I pretend to read his mind. “Yes, they are cleaner than before, but there’s a way for me to really make sure. Can I show you what it is?”
He sits on his knees, keeping his hands in front of them and he oinks.
“Thank you for trusting me. Things go so much better when you do. It keeps me here longer too. Do you like me being here longer?”
He looks down and around me before nodding.
Yeah, he needs to stop all the hesitation, but if he did, then what would be my excuse to keep him here longer?
I’d have to find a new one, or come up with something else for him to work on.
He doesn’t necessarily need to be fixed.
These good parts of him were already there, he just needed help discovering them.
He nudges his head against my hand and licks my fingers. I laugh, shaking my head. Someone still lacks patience. I’ll gladly add that to our list, hoping he’ll keep giving me more things to work with him on. It’s almost as if he’s begging to stay without realizing it.