1
PHOENIX CRAWFORD
“Boy! Bring me the TV remote!”Daddy bellowed from the living room. I dropped the plate I’d been washing into the warm sudsy sink water and panic already ate at me. I spun and the waistband of my boxers caught on a drawer knob. A whimper slipped free of my mouth as I untangled.
Time was ticking.
A wave of sick heat rolled over my body. I rushed from the kitchen, almost slipping on water that had sloshed out of the sink onto the black and white tiles, and pelted out into the living room. I wiped the lemon-scented bubbles from my hands onto my sides as I scanned the comfortable room, already looking for what Daddy wanted. He tended to set the remote down as he was walking somewhere, so it was often misplaced.
I did a quick check on Daddy—he sat on the overstuffed gray couch—to see what mood he was in, and my gut sank. I’d been with Daddy for seven years, since I was nineteen, so I knew his moods well by now. A scowl twisted his thin pink lips downward and he scratched at the graying stubble on his square chin. I’d cooked for him, the same way I did every evening, and as soon as he’d finished shoving the last spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth he’d retreated to the couch to do more work. His laptop was open across his thighs, and on the coffee table in front of him was a bottle of beer I’d brought him a few minutes ago—but no remote. He hadn’t gotten up and he had turned on the TV since I’d started washing dishes, so where was it?
Biting the tip of my tongue, I moved around the room, frequently checking on Daddy. The longer I took, the tenser his shoulders became, until they looked like bunched-up rocks under his white button-down. I’d always thought he had the type of face that was handsome, with a strong jaw, dark brown hair, and bright blue eyes. When he did smile, though I couldn’t remember the last time he’d done it, he seemed like he could give me the world.
It was magic.
My entire life was trying to get him to be happy, trying to please him.
And I was always messing up.
I shook myself out of my sad thoughts and checked each end table, the coffee table—even though I already knew the remote wasn’t there—and then moved warily near Daddy and reached down between the fluffy sofa cushions at his sides, careful not to jostle the small stacks of paperwork he had there. With a smile, I pulled out the remote.
Standing tall—Daddy hated slouching because it looked lazy—I held out the remote to him and patiently waited for Daddy to acknowledge me. He didn’t like me to interrupt his thoughts, which were very important. I liked making him happy, so I tried hard to follow all his instructions, but there were a lot of them. So, I waited, exactly the way he would’ve ordered. I thought about how I could do this better, because he said I never put enough energy into anything, and went to my knees, keeping my back straight. I held up the remote toward him and still waited. I would stay here all night if that was what Daddy wanted.
Daddy liked patient, obedient boys. My heart swelled with the hope that maybe he’d be pleased with me this time. Lately everything I did seemed wrong. He didn’t like anything about me from the way my hair was cut to the clothes I wore—which wasn’t fair, but I never said so. He picked out everything I owned. He trimmed my hair. Clearly I had been doing the wrong things, but I couldn’t figure out what they were until I got into trouble.
My arms began to ache and my hope dwindled. I knew better than to drop the remote or relax my muscles once I’d assumed a position. That was a surefire way to get disciplined, and I was already actively being punished. I’d had my meals dropped down to breakfast only for two weeks. Fear raced through me and my shoulders began to burn. My hands trembled. What would he do if I didn’t present the remote properly? My heart pounded faster. My back still hurt from last week. He’d had to punish me because I wasn’t ready for him when he wanted to fuck me; I’d been taking too long to hang up his suits in the closet.
Daddy hated waiting. I was never supposed to dawdle over any chore.
I sucked in a deep breath and set my jaw, willing myself to stay still.Today, Daddy will be happy with me.Even as I mentally repeated the lie, I knew it wasn’t true, but my heart was on fire with the hope it could be. I missed Daddy patting my head and kissing me. My real goal was getting to sleep all night in his bed, but only the very best boys got rewards like that, and seven years in I’d never earned it. I wasn’t good enough. Most nights I slept on the floor near the bed, so I could jump up and get him anything he needed if something occurred to him in the middle of the night. From sex to bringing him a glass of water—it was my job to anticipate his desires and obey orders.
Daddy glanced up from his computer screen, and for a brief moment my heart swelled. I’d done exactly as he’d asked. I tried not to look like I was begging for praise, because Daddy hated that, and attempted to keep my face blank, but I quivered on the inside.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, narrowing his eyes on me.
It seemed like he’d somehow gone from an okay mood to a nasty one. I held the remote higher and internally checked on my posture, what I was doing with my face, and how my knees were arranged. There was always so much to keep track of for Daddy, and I never knew what he would choose to critique.How can I make Daddy happy with me?Sweat ran down my spine and I held my breath.
“Daddy, you asked me for the remote,” I whispered, dropping my gaze to the floor. My stomach tumbled and I felt sick from a combination of not eating and guilt. I’d messed up again. “Here it is.” I lifted the remote higher, and if I kept going it would be over my head.
“No, I didn’t. I asked you to hand me my phone. Are you trying to piss me off? You are so much fucking work.”
For a second, I felt like I was falling out of an airplane. I’d gone skydiving once when I was younger. My friend.... I couldn’t remember his name anymore—but his family had gone and they’d invited me. The memories were fuzzy.
Everything before Daddy had started to feel strange, as if it had happened to someone else. It was hard to think about any time before this moment.
And this fear was just like that one with the sky all around and the ground rushing toward me, only without the fun and exhilaration after the parachute opened. In Daddy’s house there was nothing to stop me from smashing into the ground. Tears welled in the corners of my eyes and I blinked them away because I’d be punished if he saw them.
How can I make Daddy happy?I repeated the question on a loop in my brain.
“Daddy, you asked for the remote.”
“No, I didn’t.” He set his laptop on the coffee table.
Tingles raced across my skin followed by cold dread. Had he asked for his phone? Had I misheard him in the kitchen? Was I wrong?I must be wrong.Daddy was always right. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I thought you wanted the remote.” The muscles in my arms burned, but I didn’t drop the remote because he might still decide he wanted it and punish me for being lazy.
“And now you’re back talking,” he growled out. His jaw ticked. “I thought you were over this. You promised me while you were crying on the floor like a baby a couple of days ago that you wouldn’t open your mouth anymore when you’re wrong.”
He stood and his fingers bit into the back of my neck as he dragged me to my feet, then to the front door. I’d learned a long time ago that struggling only meant pain and long-term consequences, like the meal restriction I was on right now, so I walked with him, but he was rough anyway. He slammed me against the door before he opened it and shoved me outside onto the front stoop. Cold rain hit my arms and pelted my back. We’d had a week of storms and they weren’t relenting. I shivered, then gasped as it finally registered I was outside in my boxers. The neighbors’ houses were large and nice like Daddy’s, and I could see them all, which meant someone might notice me.
