Page 7 of Melt For Us, Daddy
Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow was soon enough for the talk they needed to have.
“All right, blossom. We can go to bed. Hold your hair up for me, baby.”
Sliding her hands up under her hair, Ivy lifted the long locks from her neck for the final part of their nighttime routine. Cordelia unhooked the necklace Ivy wore every day, the one Cordelia had given her their very first Christmas together. A flower for her little blossom, with every petal a different gemstone.
The light from the lamp beside the bed caught the stones, sending a rainbow of light dancing over Cordelia’s hand.
It wasn’t just a necklace. It was a symbol of the promises they’d made to one another, the life they’d decided to build together. Not for the first time, she felt the weight of her role in their relationship, the responsibility of not just being Ivy’s lover, but her Domme. The person Ivy should be able to turn to, to lean on, to ask anything of without hesitation.
I’ll fix this, baby. I swear I will.
With that silent vow, she carefully hung the necklace on its stand and helped Ivy to her feet so her babygirl could climb into bed. Switching the lamp off, she pulled Ivy into her arms, and willed herself to sleep.
Jacob
* * *
Sleep eluded him, yet again.
He’d thought maybe it would be easier here, away from home, in the opulent apartment they’d placed him in for the time being. At his fingertips was everything he could possibly want and more. Not only was the kitchen stocked with eggs and meat and plenty of fresh vegetables, there had been a box of rich chocolates waiting on the counter. At Zachary’s insistence, he’d eaten one, embarrassing himself by actually moaning out loud as the sweet taste of it melted on his tongue.
Sugar was poison, or so he’d been told, but it was a really, really tasty poison. If his father ever found out, no doubt he’d be punished for such indulgences.
That thought brought with it worry over his sisters’ current situation. Was Hannah keeping her promise to watch over Sarabeth? Was his father sticking to his usual plan, waiting until Jacob’s return to dish out whatever punishment he deemed fit?
He had to be. There was no point in punishing sweet little Sarabeth if Jacob wasn't there to watch. And yet, the worry still plagued him.
Deciding that there had to be some better use of his time than lying in bed worrying, Jacob slipped quietly from his bedroom and into the living room. There was a television, larger than any he’d ever seen before hanging from the wall and Zachary had shown him how to use it, even offering to let Jacob pick a show for them to watch before they went their separate ways.
Back home, they had tvs but nothing as grand as this. And they’d only had whatever local channels were available. They didn’t have any of the… river programs? No, that wasn’t right. Creek?
Streaming! The streaming programs, as Zachary had called them, were something entirely new to Jacob. Hundreds upon hundreds of options for him to choose from, so many that he’d found the choices entirely overwhelming and had eventually returned the controls back to Zachary, who had turned on a show about a group of friends living together in a big city. New York, he thought. Mostly the show hadn’t made much sense to Jacob, but Zachary seemed to find it amusing, so he hadn’t complained. Mostly, though, he’d watched Zachary, studying his reactions, what he laughed at and what he didn’t.
If Jacob and his sisters were going to be a part of the world outside the church, they’d need to learn how to fit in. At least, that’s how Jacob saw it. Perhaps Hannah and the others would have a different plan, but he couldn’t ask them. Zachary had given him something called a ‘burner phone’—though he wasn’t sure why anyone would want to set a phone on fire—but none of his sisters had their own phones back at the compound. Reaching any of them would mean going through their husbands or worse, his father, and he couldn't risk putting any of them in that kind of danger.
Besides, he didn’t actually know any of their phone numbers.
Swallowing hard against the grief and guilt stuck in his throat, he picked up the remote and pressed the button that would turn the tv on. Sound filled the large room, making him jump, and a moment later Zachary came rushing out of his bedroom wearing nothing but a pair of very small shorts and holding a gun in his hand.
“Oh. It’s just you.” Laughing, Zachary ran a hand through his hair, which only made it stick up even more than it already was. “I thought someone had broken in.”
“Sorry. I couldn’t sleep and I thought… I’ll turn it off.”
“Nah, man, it’s cool. Just need to turn the volume down a bit. Here, I’ll show you.” Taking the remote from Jacob’s hand, Zachary showed him the controls for the volume before handing it back. “Night. Don’t stay up too late.”
“I won’t.”
Yawning, Zachary headed back to his room and Jacob hit what he thought was the button to open one of the streaming services. Instead, a box popped up, prompting him to change the picture and the brightness.
It took him several more tries and nearly twenty minutes to get what he wanted, but he eventually got there. And even though nobody was around to see his accomplishment, he grinned up at the television as he scanned the contents. He was learning things already.
Pride is one of the seven deadly sins, Jacob.
Ignoring his father’s voice in his head, he clicked the button to move onto the next movie and then the next, reading the little descriptions under each as they scrolled by. Some looked funny, others sad. Still others had pictures of people holding knives dripping with red and he was very sure he did not want to watch anything with that much blood, so he bypassed those without even bothering to read the descriptions.
Then he stopped on one with a picture of a woman dressed just like his mothers and his sisters. All in beige other than her white apron, her hair in a single braid pulled over her shoulder. Her face was covered in shadow, so he had no idea if it was someone he knew or not, but the title… the title had his blood running cold.
Prophets of Pain and Suffering.
