“Don’t even think about moving, young man,” Stuart warns when I try to get up.
“But what if I need something, Daddy?”
“Then you can ask me, and I’ll get it for you.”
He pulls the blankets up a little higher and tucks them tightly around my feet. “Has the local worn off yet?” I shake my head. “Let me know as soon as it does, and I’ll give you something for the pain. The most important thing now is that we manage the pain and avoid infection.”
He’s repeating the doctor’s words almost verbatim, but they have a very different effect on me coming from him. “After dinner, I’m taking you upstairs and giving you a bath, and I don’t want to hear a word about it.”
Hmm, Stuart’s big hands all over my body, scrubbing me clean…For some reason, I can’t quite find it in me to argue.
By the time it’s time for bed, I’m exhausted from all the attention, and for me, that’s saying something.
Once I’m tucked in with a pillow under my arm, two Tylenol, and a glass of water next to my bed in case I wake up during the night, I start feeling a little off. The adrenaline and excitement of the fall and having the living fuck coddled out of me must be wearing off. I feel a little shaky. Not shaky in my body, shaky in my mind.
Something occurred to me earlier, and now that I’ve thought of it, I can’t shake it.
There are lots of things about Stuart that I want and need. Lots. But there’s one thing I need more than anything else. One thing he promised. Right from the start, right from the first time he spanked me, he told me he was different from others I’ve counted on in the past. He said he follows through. He always delivers. He said I could set my clock by him. That’s what he said. He said it, and I’ve started doing it. I’ve started to think I can count on him, to depend on him to do what he says he’s going to do.
Now I’m lying in bed, babied to within an inch of my life, and feeling like I’m dying at the same time.
He told me to stop. This morning, when I was on the wall, he told me not to do the cartwheel. He told me. I heard him, and I ignored him. I disobeyed him blatantly, a cut-and-dry case of silly buggers if ever I’ve seen one, and I hurt myself doing it. Anyone could tell you that’s not what good boys are supposed to do. Anyone. Stuart is supposed to mind. He’s supposed to notice, and he’s supposed to do something about it. He’s supposed to deliver. He’s supposed to follow through no matter what.
He told me he would.
“I’m going to leave your door open. Mine too. If you need anything, call me. I don’t want you getting up without me here to help you.”
I nod weakly.
He ruffles my hair like always, but this time, instead of melting and wishing he’d stay, I pray for him to switch off the light and go away. It feels like something inside me is collapsing. A sinkhole dropping out of nowhere. A big, solid structure falling apart, breaking into pieces, shattered layer by layer.
As soon as darkness washes my room, I can’t hold it in anymore. My face crumples. Tears prickle, and it takes everything I have to stay silent and keep the sob that’s racking me in.
He stands at the doorway, leaning a shoulder against the frame. I’m not sure if he’s planning on staying there until I’ve fallen asleep, but in case he is, I lengthen my breathing in an effort to move him along.
A minute turns into two.
I start feeling exponentially worse. Worse than I’ve felt in years. Maybe worse than I can ever remember feeling.
“Elliot,” he says quietly when I’ve all but given up hope he’d speak. “Right now, the most important thing is for you to get better. That’s the main thing, and nothing else matters until that happens.” He pauses, considering his words carefully, taking his time to make sure he finds the right ones. “But when it does, you and I are going to have a little talk about what happened this morning.”
My heart lurches, and I make a hideous guttural sound with something like a question mark at the end of it.
“I’m not going to get into it now because I want you to focus on healing, but I think it’s only fair to give you a warning.”
Hope and longing that border on madness flap wildly in my chest, clattering noisily, clouding my thoughts and blurring my vision. “W-what are you going to do to me, Daddy?”
He lets out a long, slow breath. “As soon as you’re better, you’re going to report to me in my study. I’m going to bare your bottom and bend you over…and I’m going to administer six strokes of the cane.”
23
Stuart
Elliot’snottheworstpatient I’ve ever had, but he’s definitely not the best. It’s been a full-time job trying to make sure he doesn’t overdo it. I’ve had to watch him like a hawk this week to make sure he doesn’t do anything to rip his stitches or increase the chance of infection. I just caught him trying to pack a gym bag.
A gym bag. Can you believe it?
I dread to think what would have happened if he’d tried to work out with three stitches in his elbow. Can’t even imagine what he was thinking.
