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You can barely stand straight as you make your way to the bathroom door. You lean heavily on the doorframe and pad inside. You flip on the light and sniff, shivering out a breath.

You turn little by little and lift your dress, wrinkled from being bunched in his grasp. You slide down your panties and whimper as they graze the hot welts beneath. You peer over your shoulder and gasp at the image of your tortured flesh, lashes dark from the lick of the belt.

You face the sink again to turn on the faucet. You put your hand under the cool flow and flick your lashes, eyes still damp. You shakily reach back and spread the cold water across your ass. You hiss and tear your hand away, you can't even touch it.

A sudden whir makes you jump. You groan as your skirt slips down and tickles your wrought bottom. You limp back into the room and stare at the door as it shifts in the frame. You hear the screws drilling into the wood from the other side.

You stumble over and turn the knob, trying to open it but a force from the other side keeps it shut. You let it go and tap with your knuckles.

"Steve, is that you? What's going on?"

He doesn't answer as the drills motor continues to rumble and finally stops. There's a loud schlock, back and forth before the door opens. You step back, nearly falling over as your panties droop to your ankles and tangle. He looks down with you and you bend to quickly pick them up and roll them along your thighs under your skirt.

You fix your dress and stare at him like a startled fawn, "what are you doing... sir?"

"For safety," he keeps his hand on the door and you see the thick deadbolt under his fingers, "tryna get stuff in order."

"Wh--" you stop yourself from asking why. "You can't lock me in here, please."

"I'm not. Right now," his tone hardens, "I should. You may have taken your punishment but you're still in trouble, sweetheart."

"I... I know," you fold your hands in front of your chest and shrink down. Maybe if you look pathetic enough, he'll have some pity. "I... I'm thirsty, sir, can I have something to drink?"

He looks at you. The stone in his eye gives way to a swirling ocean. You see his shoulders lose some of their tension and he gives a short nod.

"Sit," he points behind you, "you don't want another punishment do you."

"Sir," you turn and hobble to the bed, facing him again as you lower yourself and whine at the weight on your ass.

"Stay," he points at you and hovers in the doorway hesitantly.

He leaves you and you listen to his movement from down the hall. You keep your hands bent around the edge of the mattress as you wait. Your eyes well as the pain piques once more. You have to stand. You can't.

As you get to your feet, he enters and his brow arches. You frown and put your hand against your hip, "I'm sorry, sir, it hurts too much."

His lips go straight and steel tightly. He crosses to you and hands you a tall glass of the iced tea you brewed earlier. You thank him and drink it tediously. His gaze lingers on you as he stands closeby.

You wipe a stray droplet from the corner of your mouth, noticing how intent he is on you. You curl your fingers and lower your hand. He stretches out a hand to you and you wince and take a step back. He flinches too. His jaw ticks and he lets his expression ease.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he coaxes as he gets closer.

You take another sip and swallow tightly. You look down sheepishly then flick your eyes back up, "but you did."

"I... had to."

You shake your head and hold out the glass, running your other hand around your skirt, "it really hurts, sir."

"Sweetheart, you were bad--"

"And so were you. You hurt me."

"Only because you made me."

You furrow your brow. He's insane. His mother too.

You hold the cup higher but he doesn't take it. You look away and turn from him. You set the drink on the nightside table and let yourself down gently onto the bed. You lay on your side and bend your legs as you fold your arms and stare at the window.

"It's over now. We can move past it," he says.

You say nothing. You can't talk to someone like him. One wrong word or move will set him off.

"Sweetheart, I forgive you. It's okay. Why don't you come out and we can play a game? I found the chess board."

Still, you're silent.

"Don't ignore me," he demands as he steps up to the end of the bed.

"I hear you, sir."

"So come," he walks along the edge and offers his hand, "maybe you can change too, and I'll find a nice cushion for you--"

"Please, sir," your eyes shine with tears and you wipe them quickly, "it really hurts. I can't. Not right now."

He's quiet. He reaches to flutter his fingers along your sleeve and down your arm. He exhales and tuts.

"Do you want some ice?"

You shake your head.

"It will help."

"Please, I want to sleep, sir," you pull a pillow over your face.

"I--" he stutters, "sweetheart?"

You don't move. Not an inch. You hide in the darkness, willing him away. You sense him there, close, then finally, he retreats. Across the room and out the door, shutting it behind him with a deafening click.

You want everything to go away just like him.

🎹

You sleep but it does little to dull the pain. Even in your dreams, it remains, nipping and gnawing at you. Your head thrums and your heart races in the distorted reflections of your reality.

The door creaks open and you jolt awake. You cry out as you sit up thoughtlessly. You lean on your hand and cradle your behind as Steve enters, a tray in his hands. The wooden one with the folding legs your grandpa used.

"I brought dinner, sweetheart," he declares as he places the tray on the bed, "I didn't mean to wake you up."

You lay back and roll onto your side once more. He hums and comes around to your side of the bed. He bends to try to look you in the face. You close your eyes.

"Sweetheart, you can't be mad at me. I'm just being a good husband… fiance… look," he touches your shoulder and you yipe.

"Please, leave me alone," you whine, "please don't hurt me."

"It wasn't… no, it was to help you. To teach you."

"No, it wasn't."

He swallows loudly and drags his hand off the bed, "sweetheart, if I don't teach you then mother… mother won't be happy. And… and I don't want to lose you. Really, I know you're the one."

You wiggle your nose as it tingles and a tear rolls from your eye. He wipes it away with his thumb gently and croaks, "please, don't cry."

You sniff as your grief continues to pour out. You hug yourself and tuck your chin down, away from him. You tremble as he rescinds his hand. He stands, his shadow looming dark in your eyelids.

"Please eat," he says thinly as he goes to the door.