you won’t sweetie, cause it’s going to be a hard enough day as it is. Sort of a repeat of today in some ways, since we’ll start out with you over my lap again. But tomorrow you get to find out what else a hairbrush is good for. I think after a few dozen licks you’ll appreciate just how versatile a tool it is. I’ll expect to see a compare-contrast statement in your journal writing. And to make sure you have a full array of tactile experiences, we’re going to finish up with you back over the pillow at the foot of the bed — trash center stage again — and you’re going to experience a sound I’ve heard strikes fear in the bravest of men. It’s that noise my belt will make when I pull it out of the loops.”
I almost dropped the can. I started to shake all over, a movement that eventually reached my head, which sort of magnified the whole effort at denial.
“Afraid so, babe,” he said when he saw the negative reflex.
“I haven’t been that b-bad,” I said and it came out on a sob.
Chandler took a step closer and leaned his head against the wall, right in my line of vision. “You deserve everything you’ve got coming to you, missy. You deserve it because, as bad as it’s going to hurt — and it’s going to hurt a lot and for a long time — it’s better than what you’ve been determined to earn for yourself otherwise. Do you want to hear about that again?”
I didn’t. I was beginning to feel physically sick.
“I hate you.” I didn’t even care how much worse that made things.
But it didn’t. Make things worse, I mean. Instead, Chandler wiped the tears off my face and then he leaned in and kissed me softly.
“I love you. It’s why I’m willing to hurt you a lot right now if it will save you from something permanently hurtful. Whatever it takes, and however long it takes. I’ve only outlined two days, but I can keep going if I have to. Or I can revisit if you backslide. If you think I’m in a bad mood now, though, just try me.”
He straightened up and stepped back behind me. I felt his cool hand stroke my bottom, the tips of his fingers making contact with the undercurve and patting gently. “They say this is the spot that will make you curl your toes. We’re going to find out, little girl. Now, eat the candy and drink the DC. All of it. Looks like you’ll need to lick your fingers, too. I’ll be back.”
And he left me.
I didn’t know for how long my solitude would last. I gulped down a long drink and almost choked, coughing so much I was afraid I might disgrace myself by making a puddle on the floor. When I got my breath back, I licked at the chocolate mess on my fingers and bit off a huge chunk of the bars that I had sandwiched together, washing it down with another swig without even really tasting it. Any of it. Part of me was listening in panic mode for Chandler’s step on the stair. I gobbled down the rest of the candy and drank the last bit of DC a split second before I heard his shoe hit the first riser. He told me later he had stayed gone for fifteen minutes. I could have sworn it was fifteen seconds. Or fifteen hours. My emotions were in such a jumble, concepts like time had no meaning. I was frantically trying to lick the last of the chocolate from where it had melted between my fingers when he spoke to me again.
“Come here, Elle.”
He was standing beside the bed, where a small wooden tray with the Hershey wrappers on it was positioned just a little south of my pillow. He simply pointed to it. I shuffled my way back across the room and put the empty can beside the paper. He frowned down at my chocolate-grubby hand.
“Go wash up,” he said with a nod toward the bathroom.
I didn’t dare observe myself in the mirror above the sink. I couldn’t bear knowing how I must look.
I didn’t realize my husband had followed me until I turned to go back to our bedroom.
“Just a minute,” he said and guided me back to the sink, where he turned me to face him as he
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