Page 56 of Saving Little Lina: Part One

As the phone rang, Mike embarked on a monologue about the importance of behaving, his words laced with enough irony to rival the Eiffel Tower. "We've all got to follow the rules, Lina," he said, his small fists balled up on his hips. "Even when we don't feel like it. It’s important to be on your best behavior at all times."

I raised an eyebrow, "That's ironic, coming from someone who threw a tantrum because his pancakes weren't dinosaur-shaped."

Mike gasped in offense. "That was different! I can’t help that I’m a connoisseur of fine cuisine!"

In response, I rambled on about the meaninglessness of life, a monologue that would make even Shakespeare raise an eyebrow. "We're all just insignificant specks in the grand scheme of things anyway," I declared, waving a torn piece of fabric dramatically. “And then there's this strange thing we call life. It's like a gigantic jigsaw puzzle, and we're all struggling to fit the pieces together. Only, we're not given the box with the picture on it. We’re all just on a giant rock hurtling through space, trying to find meaning in life when there is none.”

I watched as Mike gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "It’s worse than I though. You’re starting to worry me! I am the overly dramatic one, remember?" He declared.

Suddenly when the phone in his hand stopped ringing, Mike was thrusting it towards me. "Here’s your punishment," he announced, his sassy demeanor making a comeback. I took it with a resigned sigh, expecting to hear Uncle Joe's deep, admonishing voice. However, the sight that greeted me left me startled. It was Hank. His brows were furrowed in concern, his eyes filled with a mix of sternness and care.

"I heard about your creative streak," he began, an undercurrent of authority in his voice. "Mike texted me you're giving your dolls a new look."

I could almost feel the heat of his gaze even though we were separated by miles and pixels. I winced, suddenly aware of the remnants of the doll clothes scattered around me.

"I wouldn't call it a new look," I said. "It's more like I've turned their clothes into abstract art."

He chuckled, but his eyes held steady, not wavering from my face. "Mike has talked to you about respecting our toys, hasn’t he?"

"Yes," I whispered.

His eyes softened, the stern mask slipping away to reveal a face filled with warmth and understanding. "That goes not just for your toys, but for everything. Including yourself and the people around you."

I blinked, caught off guard. His words resonated within me. Yes, I was a mess, but perhaps the key to navigating this storm was to respect the people in my life, to respect myself.

"Now," he continued, "I want you to apologize to Mike once we're done here." He said it matter-of-factly.

"But... he...," I started, my eyes darting to where Mike sat, a frown etched on his face as he watched our conversation with a mix of concern and stern disapproval, the binky now back in his mouth.

"No, Lina," Hank interrupted, his voice taking on a Daddy tone, "You need to respect your friendships. Don't take them for granted. Pushing people away won't help. Creating an unwelcoming environment hurts not just you, but everyone who cares about you. Isolation is a lonely road, trust me. So, yes. I want you to apologize to Mike. He cares for you. And friends... well, they're precious."

I stared at the screen, my eyes tracing the lines of his face, the steadiness of his gaze. And for the first time in a very long time, amidst the destruction and the turmoil, I felt cared for.

"So," he started, his tone steady, "your punishment will be to mend all those torn doll clothes. Consider it a physical reflection of what I hope you'll be doing with your feelings too."

The symbolism in his punishment struck a chord in me. The torn fabric was a representation of my emotional turmoil, and by mending them, I would be slowly stitching together my own fragmented emotions too.

"Also," he continued, a hint of amusement in his eyes, "you will be going to bed early tonight."

"What?!" The word shot out of me like a bullet. It was our planned playdate, and Mike had come over. We had planned to watch cartoons, have a late-night snack party, everything that did not include an early bedtime. At Hank’s words, Mike's binky fell out of his mouth in shock, tethered to his shirt, his eyes as wide as saucers.

"But Hank-" I started to argue, the protest forming on my lips.

"No, Lina," he cut me off, his voice firmer, leaving no room for negotiation. "Bed. Early. That's final."

My breath hitched. His authoritative demeanor, the hard lines of his jaw, even over the video call, made my heart pound in a different way. A heat blossomed between my legs, a wave of unexpected arousal that was as confusing as it was alluring.

"But Mike's here for the playdate," I tried again, my voice smaller this time.

"You can still have your playdate," Hank replied, not missing a beat. "Just not past your new bedtime."

His firm resolve was a new facet of him, a part of his Daddy persona that both intimidated and excited me. His disciplinary actions, underlined by a quiet authority, opened a door to a world that was both daunting and arousing.

When the call ended, I was left staring blankly at the screen, a tumble of emotions sweeping through me like a tide. There was something painfully touching about being disciplined, about having someone care enough to guide my actions.

"Lina," Mike's voice jolted me back to the present. "I can't believe we can't play past bedtime! But at least we still have until then, right?" His words were laced with a sadness that tugged at my heartstrings.

I let out a soft sigh, turning to look at him. His eyes were wide and sincere. "Mike," I began, my voice hesitant, "I'm sorry. I should've listened to you."

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