Call Me Daddy

It sears. It really fucking sears.

Burns so bad I fidget from foot to foot.

“One,” he says.

I don’t want two, and I know it.

I really don’t want two.

I cry out when it lands, and it sounds so pathetic and desperate.

The tears come so easily, filling my eyes and spilling over.

“Two,” he says, and my body jolts with these crazy sobs that make me feel like a baby. “You understand why I’m doing this?” he asks.

I nod. I do understand.

I asked for it. In every sense of the word.

I squeal again when it lands for the third time.

A baby, I’m such a fucking baby.

“Three.”

I lurch forward and wail like a banshee as four strikes, and my ass is on fire.

“Four.”

I cry openly at the next, no longer caring how I look, or if I take my punishment well for him.

I don’t care about anything much apart from the burn.

“Five.”

I close my eyes for six. And he waits.

He waits until my sobs ease, and my body stops shaking.

He waits until I twist my head to look at him and blink through the tears.

“Have you learned your lesson, Laine?” he asks and I nod.

“Yes, Daddy.”

He drops the belt.

No six.

It makes the tears come all the harder.

And this time he’s there. Pulling me up and holding me and smoothing my hair as I cry.

I have no right to cry, but Daddy Nick doesn’t seem to care about that. Daddy Nick is so warm and kind.

So loving, even when I’ve caused him so much pain.

“I told you it would hurt,” he says, and I nod against his chest, my wet eyes soaking through the fabric of his shirt.

I hope I don’t snot on him, but I doubt he’d care so much anyway.

He puts his hands on my cheeks and tips my face to his and his eyes aren’t angry anymore, just scared.

“I’ll never use the belt on you again,” he says. “You’re not a little girl, Laine. We just like to pretend you are.”

A strange sob from my throat, and I’m nodding. I’m really nodding.

And I’m happy, and sad, and relieved, and scared, and everything in between.

“Thank you, Nick,” I say.Chapter Twenty-SixNickLaine needed to be cared for, just as I needed to care for her. Both needing that special someone to slot so nicely into their broken parts.

It was beautiful.

It still is beautiful.

But this game can’t be all we are, not anymore.

I pour her a whisky as I pour myself one. “It’ll help calm you down,” I say.

She manages a smile.

I take a seat at the table opposite and we sit in a silence no longer simmering with conflict.

We’re past that now.

My demons have backed away into their shadowy pit, and the girl in front of me no longer looks like her soul is breaking.

“Tell me about Kelly Anne,” I say. “Not just about what a cow she is, but about why you ever liked her in the first place.”

“You really want to know?”

I nod. “I really want to know. It was part of you, Laine. I want to understand why. Maybe that way we can stop it ever happening again.”

“It won’t happen again anyway. I’m done with her.”

I believe her. Her eyes are full of the pain of betrayal.

I know it’s a tough pill to swallow.

She takes a moment, spinning the empty tumbler on the table as she clears her head.

I understand that well enough, because I’m still clearing mine too.

“I didn’t have anyone,” she says. “I was shy when I started school. I’d never done nursery, or been around other kids before. It was always just me and Mum, and I was scared all the time, worried that she wasn’t coming back.” She smiles sadly. “Mainly because she didn’t come back sometimes. Men, or work, or whatever. She’d leave me with the neighbour. An old woman who smelled of cheese.”

“Cheese?”

“Green cheese.” She wrinkles her nose. “She was nice enough but she really stunk.”

“And Kelly Anne was there?”

She nods. “Kelly Anne was a bossy boots. I felt so safe with her, because she wasn’t scared of anything.”

“And she was nice to you?”

She shrugs. “Most of the time. I’d follow her around even when she was bored of me. She’d play with other kids, and I’d just watch. Waiting until they argued, because she’d argue with people a lot, and make sure I was there to pick up the pieces. I made sure I was useful, just so she’d keep me around.”

“That’s not friendship, Laine. Not really.”

“I know that now,” she says. “But I never wanted to see it that way before. I never wanted to look at it. It’s impossible to carry on doing what you’ve always done if you realise it’s full of bullshit and lies.”

“I get that,” I say. “You wanted it to be real.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I guess I did.” She spins the glass. “Kelly Anne was always so selfish. She was only really interested in what she wanted. Where she wanted to go or what she wanted to play or who she wanted to fuck. I was just an accessory, like a handbag. She’d tell me stories and make them sound so amazing. I guess she felt so cool knowing I was so not.”