We continue the way we have all week. Like the first night, Sir calls and talks to me about my day and about Nash and Sadie. I grumble that Nash still won’t make his bed, andhow frustrating the silence from him can be. Colton tells me about his days too, and I’m even more convinced there’s something going on between him and Hannah. Or at least, that he has feelings for her. I try not to think about it, try to tell myself it doesn’t matter because that’s not why I’m doing this, but the fact that I have to keep saying it to myself isn’t a good sign.
The one thing weighing on me all week is I can’t think of something to do for myself. Every idea feels silly, like a waste of time. What do I even like? How sad is it that I have to ask myself that question. What are my hobbies? I don’t have any, but I must have had them in the past, right?
It’s Sunday before I can think of anything. When I was little and Sandra would be on one of her rampages or I needed to be alone, I would go for a walk. It’s just a small thing to do, but I’d needed out of the house, needed to breathe in fresh air, and I would walk around the neighborhood and make up stories for myself: I had a mother and father at home who loved me; I was walking to my friend’s house to hang out—and later that changed to a boyfriend’s house; someone would come and take me away; I’d find out she wasn’t my mom and I really belonged somewhere else; my dad was the president or an astronaut who didn’t know about me, but once he found out, he would come and save me. A kid’s dreams, really, and none of them ever came true, but they provided the reprieve I longed for.
So that’s what I do. I go for a walk and make up stories: Sadie, Nash, and I are closer; we’ve known each other our whole lives; I’m not awkward around people, or closed off, and let people get close; my past isn’t my past, and my siblings and I never went through the things we did. I just keep walking and telling myself stories until I’m walking by a store and see a basketball in the window display.
It’s been almost a week since Sadie told me that Nash likes basketball, yet I haven’t done anything about it. So without letting myself overthink it, I go into the store. I find a basketball, then go to the art section and pick out a nice sketchbook and pencils for Sadie.
When I get back to the apartment, I don’t see either of them in the main rooms. There’s an unexpected twist in my stomach as I head for their room, dread making me second-guess myself.
The door is ajar, and I see them, each on their own bed, laughing about something…something I’m not a part of because to them I’m not their brother, I’m just another adult in their lives who has let them down. That’s not who I want to be to them, but I don’t know if I have the right to hope for anything else.
I knock on the door, then push it open a little more. “I got something for you both.” I hand Sadie the art supplies first, then walk over to Nash with the basketball.
His brows draw together, Nash looking at the ball as if it’s a foreign object. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I just saw them and bought them.” It’s not as if this is the first thing I’ve bought for them, but then, most of those were necessities, weren’t they? This is different. This is personal.
Nash doesn’t take his gaze off me as he plucks the ball from my hands.
“Thank you,” Sadie says from behind me. “These are really cool.”
“You’re welcome,” I tell her, turning her way. I don’t expect anything from Nash, and honestly, I’m okay with that. I know what it’s like to be that angry at the world because I was at his age too. “I’ll make dinner in a little while,” I tell them, then slip from the room, closing the door behind me.
*
I sit inbed, wearing sleep pants and no shirt, back against the headboard, door locked, waiting for Sir’s call. Each day this week he’s asked me what I’ve done for myself, and I never had an answer. I’m proud I have one today, but I hope it’s good enough, hope he sees that this is me trying and it’s all a process.
My ringer is off, but exactly on time, my phone buzzes from where it’s been glued to my hand for the last five minutes. Tendrils of nerves twist through my gut as I answer his video call.
“Hello,” I say.
“Hey. How are you this evening?” He’s shirtless, his blond hair messy like it often is, but wet, his skin glistening too. He just got out of the shower, and I can’t deny the part of me that wishes I’d been in there with him. Sir ordering me to my knees to suck him off, fucking my face, not letting me come until he says…
“Fine,” I answer. It’s always like this in the beginning—me with short answers, getting used to us again.
“What did you do today?”
“Got up and had breakfast, went grocery shopping before it got busy, then came home and cleaned the house, planned meals for the week, and went over assignments my TA had questions about.” We don’t talk specifics about his class, and having my TA grade the assignments preempts any questions of fairness or favoritism.
“That sounds busy. I went over to my mom’s. My brother, Dakota, was there with his girlfriend, Elena. We had a barbecue and just hung out. Then I came home and did some homework. One of my professors is a little assignment happy.”
“I don’t give a lot of work,” I argue, and he laughs.
“I wasn’t talking about you. Funny that you assumed I was. Did you follow all my rules today?”
My belly heats, my skin prickling with excitement. “Yes, Sir.”
“You know I’ve got to ask you, and I’m really hoping you’ll say what I want to hear. I’d hate to have to punish you…well,hateis a strong word because I would actually like to be able to punish you, and I think you would like that too.”
I fight back a moan because I would very much like that.
“Were you a good boy today? Did you do something just for you?” His voice is lower now, an edge of seriousness to it, expecting an answer and it better be what he wants to hear. I break out in a full-body flush.
“Yes, Sir.” No matter how much I try, I can’t bite back my smile, proud of myself.
Sir smiles too. “That’s good. I’m so fucking proud of you. What did you do?”
