Prove Your Obedience(2)

A hand fisted in my hair from behind and hauled my head up off Daddy’s thigh. The pull was sharp, sudden, forcing my spine straight. Daddy’s hand slid away to make room for it.

I couldn’t tell whose hand it was, and I wasn’t allowed to look. The grip in my hair stayed tight. I braced my palms on his knees, fingers pressing into the fabric of his pants. The marble under me was cold against my shins.

My throat burned. My jaw ached.

I kept my eyes fixed on the buttons of his shirt, on the lamplight catching the edge of his cufflink, on anything that would give my mind somewhere to rest. I had spent weeks telling myself I understood what he wanted from me. I had told myself I could bear whatever it was. Now, kneeling here with my head held in place, I realized how little I had truly understood.

The room had changed. A second presence meant a second set of eyes, and a second set of rules I hadn’t been told. The air felt heavier. I tried to read the silence behind me, the quiet rhythm of another person’s breathing, but there was nothing to read. Whoever he was, he gave nothing away.

Daddy’s voice came low and merciless from above me. “Eyes forward. No looking back. Our guest is behind you. You’ll split your attention between us now, little one.”

I swallowed hard. Split my attention. The words circled in my head. This was what he had meant by prove your obedience. It was about whether I would do as I was told when I was afraid.

My fingers curled tighter against Daddy’s knees.

“Eyes forward, Grace,” Daddy said. “You don’t get to look.”

I tried to anchor myself the way I had before. The clock on the mantel was still ticking, steady and indifferent. The lamp still threw its low light across the room. Everything looked the same, and nothing was.

Daddy watched me the whole time. The lamplight carved sharp lines across his face, and the shadows made it impossible to tell what he was thinking. His expression hadn’t softened. It was patient, almost curious, the look of a man waiting to see exactly what I would do. I wanted to look away from it. I couldn’t.

I was losing the ability to breathe on my own. My thighs were already trembling. The marble under my knees felt sharper with every movement.

Fear and something else moved through me in waves, and I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. I hated that. I hated that part of me had stopped fighting it.

I thought about how safe this house used to feel. I wondered when exactly that had slipped away. There had been no single moment. Only small decisions, one after another, each quiet enough to ignore.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Daddy said.

I sobbed. The sound was broken. My thighs shook harder. I saw sparks behind my eyes.

I counted my breaths, in slowly, out slower. It didn’t help, but it gave my mind a task, and I clung to it.

My mind went strangely quiet. All the thoughts I had carried for weeks fell away until there was only the room and the cold floor and the sound of my own pulse.

My arms ached from holding myself up. My hair was still fisted tight in the guest’s hand. I couldn’t move the way I wanted. I could only take what they gave.

It was strange, how quiet surrender could be. I had expected it to feel like falling. Instead it felt like standing very still while the whole world moved around me.

Behind me, the guest’s presence never wavered. I could feel it the way you feel a storm before it breaks. Nobody spoke. Nobody needed to. The silence said what words couldn’t: I belonged to the moment, and the moment belonged to them.

My eyes watered until everything blurred.

Daddy’s hand clamped over my mouth before I could scream. I gasped against his palm. His voice dropped to a whisper against my ear.

“Now you’re ours.”