Page 35 of Lesson on Depravity

Coco

My hands ache. The repetitive twisting motion is unforgiving, and they have a mind of their own. A separated conscience that rubs the skin to the rawness and flushed pink, but I can’t stop the nervous tick as I lean against Daddy.

The bed doesn’t produce an ounce of comfort, especially not when I had just experienced something I never thought would happen. Everything is numb, and I’m desperate to feel something to be able to let go of this self-deprecating sense of worthlessness.

I should have known nothing in my life would be good. It has never gifted me the benefit, but I’m hardly the first one to be in this situation. Life is life, and I still have Daddy.

He hasn’t disappointed me yet, and I don’t think he ever will, but life is unpredictable, and I can’t afford to put self in the moment when he finally gives me up.

I only have Daddy left. I’ll do anything to make him happy and blaming it on dependence and fear of abandonment would be childish of me.

My job position is still there, and I haven’t lost hope yet. Expecting the unexpected is the road to success, but I was too blindsided by Jessabelle’s kindness that I didn’t question it twice when she had successfully wormed her way into my heart.

The pins and needles pop under the pressure of my fingers, leaving a strange and unpleasant soreness after it. Daddy wiggles his hands between mine, stopping the twiddling and soothing aching with his warmer ones.

“You knew about this, did you, Daddy?” I ask, but I still don’t know if I want to answer it.

It can’t be worst than this nerve-wracking silence between us. After getting back from the restaurant and hoping that it would be the last time I would see Jessabelle, I slept until early afternoon, and the aching in my eyes either came from the lack of sleep or the tears.

Daddy never left my side, and his presence brings me peace, and yet, my heart rages on with repetitive memories.

I was too desperate for a family to love me that I let Jessabelle play me like a fool. This is what happens when Daddy said I was going to cry because it’s not something that had made me cry; it was one woman who had held onto a grudge for so long.

The whole thing; my mother and father’s connection to the woman, her sudden appearance in my life, the truth about my real father, and the lasting effect of her scorned love for her husband had left me dealing with the rubble of a shattered fantasy.

“You didn’t tell me…” I snatch my hands out of his in defiance.

Humiliation burns through the layer of tears as hotness rims my eyes. My nose itches, my body wants to get away from Daddy, and my tongue stings from being pressed on my teeth to not lash out.

I have no right to. It’s my fault; he warned me, and I was too stupid to take his advice. He’s older and more experienced than me, so it makes sense to look at him for guidance, but I chose not to because I craved to have control over my life way before I met him.

I guess that fight in me never died down, and it’s still thrashing to trample down the side of me that wants him to take care of me. The imbalance of emotions is annoying, and I want it to go away so I can go back to before.

I’ll be his good girl again; his arms are the iron citadel, his words are the commands to my action, and the love in him anchors me to this fleeing moment.

“I expect an apology.” Daddy pets my hip with his big palm.

I swallow the unease, staring at one spot on my leg to concentrate. The focused thoughts begin to scramble once more, breaking free of my effort to keep them.

My words come out, but they aren’t sincere. I’m merely doing what he wants me to do. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

He didn’t answer my question, but I already know the answer within the deepest part of me. I want him to prove to me that I’m wrong, and this is beyond his anticipation, but it’s one of the most improbable thoughts I have had for a long time.

“What are you sorry for?” The mockery hurt, but I push through the tears, muddling my vision. “You said you wanted independence.”

Denial comes before acceptance. “I don’t—I mean, I do but—”

“Make up your mind; what do you want? Freedom or me?” Daddy’s fingers pinch against my skin as he spins me to face him.

The bed under me rocks at the motion, the competition texture of Daddy’s hard body and the soft cushion clashes obnoxiously. I pet his chest, distracting him while I try to think of an answer that makes him the happiest.

“Ah, I see. Greedy girl, you want both.” His tone isn’t accusatory, but it’s sadistically cold.

Daddy knows I hate it. When I would do something he doesn’t approve of, he makes sure I know exactly what I had done wrong with one look and a voice of deep-sea currents. Cold, dark, and uncaringly smooth.

“I’m sorry.” I tip my head, ashamed to let him see the humiliation.

“You only get one,” he notes. “I don’t have to be this generous, but you are Daddy’s princess. Don’t make me regret it.”

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