Chapter 11 #2
He holds me close, rocking me gently for several minutes before pulling back and meeting my gaze. “You must be mentally exhausted after that. I feel like you had a huge breakthrough. Did you not remember about getting lost from your dad before today?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think I remembered it. Or I didn’t make the connection. Or I stuffed it into the back of my brain. I don’t know.”
“Well, it explains a lot. When you started regression, your mind went to that age and took on those feelings. I can’t imagine how scared you must have been when you couldn’t find me. I’m so sorry, baby girl.”
I swallow back tears.
He cups my face, making sure I’m looking at him.
“I promise I will never let that happen to you again. When we’re on this island, and you’re in a regressed state of mind, I will ensure I always have you in my line of sight.
If you’re in your stroller, I’ll keep you buckled and not let go of the stroller for a moment.
Anytime it’s possible, we’ll use the harness.
When we’re somewhere you need to wander away, like the water park, I won’t take my eyes off you. ”
A rush of anxiety claims me at his mention that we would ever not be on Regression Island.
Obviously, we have to return to the mainland at the end of the summer, but I’m not looking forward to it.
I don’t even want to think about it. In two weeks, I have changed drastically.
I had no idea this lifestyle would suit me, but it does.
And I’m not sure I want to go back. Staying here instead of getting a job teaching somewhere in the fall isn’t an option of course, but I won’t think about it today.
I shake those thoughts away and nod. “Okay, Daddy.” I know he won’t let anything happen to me. I also know nothing would happen even if he did lose track of me. I’m not four really. I can defend myself and find someone to help me.
“You know Daddy’s cell phone number too, baby girl. If you ever for any reason get lost, find an adult and have them call me, okay?”
“Yes, Sir.” He’s right about that. I don’t have my own cell phone. Daddy didn’t bring it to the island at all. None of the Littles on the island have cell phones. But I can find another Mommy or Daddy and have them call.
He wipes away my tears. “Feel better?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Why don’t you spend some time in your playpen this morning? You need some downtime. I think you should take today off from researching.”
I’m so relieved my shoulders drop as I nod. “Thank you, Daddy.” I glance over at the playpen though and then back at him. My lip trembles as I meet his gaze. “Will you be in your office?”
He hesitates a moment. “Would you rather I work at the kitchen table so you can see me?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He smiles and kisses my forehead. “I can do that, baby girl. I just think you’ll feel better in the enclosed space. I know it calms you when you’re agitated.”
“Yes.” It does. I’ve grown to love the playpen for that reason.
It shrinks my world down to only what he permits me to have.
There used to be a bunch of toys in there, but Daddy took them all out last week.
He realized I was overwhelmed. Now he only hands me two or three things when I’m inside.
The mesh sides allow me to see out while giving me a cozy calm feeling.
Daddy lifts me up and carries me to the playpen. He places me on my back and heads to the shelves out of my reach. “What would you like to play with? How about a coloring book?”
“Yes, please.” A coloring book is perfect. It gives me something to do to take my mind off things. I need that this morning.
I take the crayons and coloring book from Daddy and roll onto my tummy to open it up to the last page I was on. I can’t focus yet though, so I roll onto my side and watch Daddy moving around through the side of the playpen. I calm when he gets situated at the table.
I run my hand along the side of the playpen.
It’s obviously not something that could really keep me safe or pin me in.
I could climb over the edge in seconds if I wanted to.
It’s symbolic. It represents my place in our arrangement.
I take all the aspects of my regression seriously.
Most of them are symbolic. Obviously, with the exception of the padlock, I can get out of a car seat or a stroller or a highchair or even my crib.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, thinking about the difference between the boundaries Daddy sets that are meant to confine me by my choice and the ones that seriously restrain me.
He knows the more I’m literally restrained, the stronger my reaction is. Like when he padlocks my harness. That I can’t escape. If he didn’t take it off, my only option would be to find a knife and cut through the nylon. It wouldn’t be easy.
The other two restraints he uses to totally immobilize me are on the changing table and in my crib. Both allow me to stop resisting what’s expected of me. Even though I don’t fight him about using my diaper, it’s much easier to let go of my control when I have no choice.
Any other boundaries I face throughout the day are ones I agree to adhere to as part of my regression. I could defy them, but then I’d end up with a spanking. Plus, I don’t want to disobey Daddy. I like to please him.
When we’re in the living room, he often puts up the baby gate to the hallway. I assume he realizes I don’t like to be in a different room from him. The gate tells me I must stay in the living room or kitchen area. I’m not permitted to wander through the rest of the house where he can’t see me.
It’s probably more so I can see him.
I wonder how I manage to sleep when he leaves my nursery. Perhaps the sedative calms me. Though I’m not sure how much of it I’m still getting. Like the suppositories he holds inside my bottom every morning, I think he is weaning me off the sedative too. I still sleep soundly.
Eventually, I roll onto my belly again and glance at Daddy. He’s working hard at the table, his mind focused on his computer.
I pick up a crayon and let myself be Little Melody. I really enjoy her.