Chapter 22. Kit #2
Eventually, after a long, long time, the spoon stops completely. Soren sets it aside, his palm resting against my backside, warm and gentle now. I cry into his lap for another few seconds before I realize nothing else is coming.
"The consequence is over," he says.
My whole body loosens.
"You understand why you got it?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"Tell me."
"Because I skipped therapy instead of telling you I was scared."
"And?"
"I lied when you asked."
"Good." His hand moves slowly over my back. "The fear still isn't something you're in trouble for."
My throat tightens again. "I know."
"Good boy."
He helps me upright. I end up pressed against him, face buried in his shirt, my hands loose at first and then curling into the fabric as his arms settle around me.
He kisses my hair, pets me, lets me cry the remaining pieces of it out without rushing me.
Eventually, when my breathing has settled and the room has stopped swimming around me, Soren eases back enough to look at my face.
"Okay."
My eyes probably look swollen. My throat feels scraped raw.
"Bedtime."
I blink. "What?"
"Bedtime."
"It's seven-thirty."
"Correct."
I stare at him.
Soren's mouth almost moves. Almost.
"At eight, you're going to bed. No phone."
I open my mouth.
"Before you panic," he says, "listen."
I close it.
"I'm not withdrawing from you." Something inside me goes very still. "The door stays open. I'll be right outside in the living room. I'm not angry with you after this. I'm not going cold. I'm not leaving you alone because I don't want you near me."
My eyes burn unexpectedly.
"Then why—"
"Because I want you to think."
Oh.
"You'll lie there. You'll feel the consequence you already received, and you'll think about what you knew, what you felt, and what you chose to do instead of communicating it."
This is worse than the spoon. Immediately.
"And if you need me, you can call for me."
I look at him.
"If you say Red, the punishment ends. I come in immediately. No argument."
My throat works around a swallow.
"Calling 'Daddy' is not automatically Red. You can ask me for something. I may say no if I think you're trying to negotiate your way out of bedtime."
That's outrageous.
"But Red means we're finished."
"Yes, Daddy."
"Understand the difference?"
"Yes."
"Good."
I look toward the bedroom. "I'm not tired."
"I know."
"It's barely dark."
"I know."
"I'm twenty-five."
"I am aware."
"Eight o'clock is a bedtime for people who are four."
"Twenty-eight minutes now."
I glare at him. His expression remains offensively calm.
He takes my phone from the armchair pocket where I left it and holds it up long enough for me to see before slipping it into his own pocket.
"Go shower. Put on pajamas. Eat something. Brush your teeth."
I stare.
"You have twenty-eight minutes."
Fucking tyrant.
I take one step.
Then Soren says, "Kit."
I stop.
"What do you say?"
My entire soul sighs.
"Yes, Daddy."
His smile appears. Pleased.
"Good boy."
At eight o'clock exactly, I'm in bed, stomach down, gray sweatpants doing almost nothing to soften the warm throb left by the wooden spoon, cheek against the pillow, arms tucked underneath it.
The room is dark, although the sky beyond the window isn't fully black yet. A pale bruise of evening still sits above the roofline across the street.
Soren appears in the doorway, the hallway light behind him making him look even bigger than he is. He crosses the room, crouches beside the bed, and looks at my face.
"I'm right outside."
I nod.
His fingers move through my hair once. "You are not being abandoned."
Something catches behind my ribs.
"I know."
"If you need me, call."
"Okay."
"If you need the punishment to stop?"
"Red."
"Good boy."
He kisses my forehead, warm and brief, then stands and walks out. The door stays open a few inches, enough for an amber stripe of hallway light to cut across the floor. His footsteps move into the apartment. I hear the armchair creak.
He's there.
I am alone in the bedroom with myself, my sore backside, and the endless wasteland of eight p.m. stretching in front of me.
I discover within approximately four minutes that this is the worst punishment anyone has ever invented.
This isn't even a funishment. There is nothing fun about it.
Soren is moving around outside. I can hear him. My backside throbs—not urgently anymore, but enough that every position on the mattress becomes a negotiation. I shift. Adjust. Find an angle on my hip that is marginally less offensive. Then I stare at the ceiling. And think.
Because Daddy told me to think.
Unfortunately, thinking is clearly the real punishment.
Here is what I think about:
I knew exactly what Rule One was. I knew exactly why we had it. I knew exactly what I was doing when I got back in my car instead of walking into that elevator.
And then I hid it.
FAFO. Fuck around and find out.
I huff into the pillow. Very profound. Probably what my therapist would've said.
If I'd gone.
Fuck.
I last another few minutes.
"Daddy?"
The sound comes out louder than I intended.
Footsteps immediately.
The door opens wider and Soren leans in. "Everything okay, sweetheart?"
"I'm lonely." There. Humiliating.
"I know."
"Can you lie here with me, please?" My voice is small now. "I don't want to sleep. Please."
Soren crosses to the bed and crouches beside me, knees on the floor, forearms resting against the edge of the mattress. His face is level with mine. There is no coldness in it. No distance. Just warmth. And a boundary.
"No, darling."
My mouth turns down.
"This is still your punishment. You're supposed to stay here and think for a while."
"Please, Daddy."
I'm slipping deeper now. I recognize the feeling. Little space opening around me.
"I want you here."
"I know you do." His voice stays gentle. "But who's being punished? Me or you?"
I huff.
A tiny bit of amusement touches the corner of his mouth as he pets my hair.
"It's okay to be unhappy about the consequence."
"This is terrible."
"I know."
"You're mean."
"Possibly."
I glare.
Soren's thumb strokes my temple. "If you actually need the punishment to end, what do you say?"
"Red."
"And what happens?"
"You come in. It ends."
"Immediately."
I nod.
"Are you saying Red?"
I check. The loneliness. The dark. The sore feeling. The fact that I really, really want him here.
"No."
"Okay." His expression softens. "Then Daddy is going back outside."
Tragedy.
"I'll be right there. You won't be alone."
"Okay."
"Like a good little boy."
"Yes, Daddy."
I make the sigh enormous. Theatrical. A profound expression of injustice. He notices. Of course he notices.
"Good boy."
Then he reaches out and pinches my cheek.
"Hey!"
Soren laughs. Actually laughs. Then he gets to his feet. "Good night, baby."
"Night, Daddy."
He leaves. The door remains cracked. Amber light returns to the floor.
I hear him settle into the armchair outside.
I lie there knowing I deserve this. I was extra naughty.
The bill has arrived exactly on schedule.
I shift on the mattress. My backside complains.
The room is warm. The covers are soft. Daddy is on the other side of the wall.
I am not tired. All of this is terrible. Another few minutes pass. My throat starts tightening again. The darkness feels bigger than it did before.
"Daddy?"
His shadow moves almost immediately. He reappears in the doorway.
"If I call, will you come?" My voice has gone wet around the edges. "Like... if I actually need you."
Soren looks at me for a long moment. Then his face softens.
"Yes, my love."
Oh.
"If you're asking whether I'll hear you when you call for me, yes. I will. If you say Red, I come immediately and the punishment ends. If you call because you're scared or need reassurance, I'll come check on you."
His eyebrow lifts slightly.
"If you call because you've invented your seventeenth legal argument against bedtime, I may be less sympathetic."
I almost smile. "Okay."
He studies me.
"You're deeper in Little space now, aren't you?"
I nod. Huge eyes. I can feel the size of them. Something shifts in Soren's expression. Warmer. He steps fully into the room and crosses to the shelf above the dresser. Then he reaches for something I haven't noticed before.
A teddy bear. He's light brown, soft-looking, and extremely cute. Soren brings him to the bed and holds him out.
"Will Duffy help?"
I stare.
"You have a teddy bear?"
"I have a Little."
That nearly kills me.
I take Duffy immediately, tuck him against my chest, and pull the covers higher. Something about the soft weight of him actually does help. The tightness in my chest loosens a fraction. Soren leans down and kisses the crown of my head.
"I'll check on you."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
His fingers brush my hair.
"Close your eyes."
"Yes, Daddy."
"Good boy."
He leaves again. The door stays cracked.
The amber line stays on the floor. I lie on my stomach with Duffy tucked beneath my chin and my backside still throbbing.
I can hear Soren outside—a page turning, the occasional movement of the armchair, all the small sounds of somebody existing nearby.
I'm still being punished. I'm still alone in the bed. But I'm not abandoned.
I close my eyes. The darkness stops being infinite and becomes just the dark. Eventually, I fall asleep.
When I wake a few hours later, Soren is beside me, one hand resting lightly against my back. Duffy is still tucked against my chest. Daddy stayed.
And everything is right again.