Page 14 of Bound to the Daddy

I need you to come to my office so I can speak with you in person.

My heart pounds in my chest as my finger hovers over the phone’s keyboard. Why does she need to see me? The last few times I needed an extension, she texted back with an okay sweetie, or we’ll figure it out, or I know you’re good for it. Why this? Why now?

Slumping down on my couch, I stare at the tv, not really hearing or seeing anything. My vision blurs as I rock back and forth, dread seeping into my veins. I have to have a place to live. I just have to.

Maybe she just wants to talk about something else? Perhaps she wants to see what’s going on with me and catch up? Usually, we’re pretty decent friends. Wrapping my arms around my shoulders, I continue to move, self-soothing the best way I can.

But it doesn’t work.

Nothing seems to calm me down. Biting down on my lower lip, I force myself up from the couch and pace a bit, seeing if that will do something. It doesn’t.

Ping.

The fucking phone dings, bringing my attention right back to my problems.

Landlady

Are you coming? I have a lot of stuff to do today and would like to do this sooner rather than later.

Seems cordial enough. Striding into the bathroom, I wrench open my medicine cabinet and peer inside. Somewhere I should have those pills from the last time I had a nervous breakdown. I can’t remember much about that moment in my life, but I do remember they helped.

…At least, I hope I’m remembering correctly.

I dig about, my fingers brushing over bits and pieces of things. For the last few years, I’ve been okay. I haven’t needed pills or anything else. Life was good enough that I didn’t even think about them.

Just then, my hand lands on something far more sinister, but all too familiar. A lump forms in my throat as I pull out the velvet bag and slip out the metal container inside. It’s all still there.

Razor blades lay in a neat row, unused yet ready if I need them. The alcohol wipes are stacked next to them, each one in its own pouch. The small butterfly bandages are still there as well.

Everything just as I left it, just as they were when I was taken to the hospital. If only I had paid better attention and didn’t cut so deeply. But then, I wouldn’t have gotten the help I needed.

Somehow, I thought I got rid of it. Apparently, I didn’t. I graze the blades with my fingers, doing my best not to remember the cleansing burn or the bite of pain that made everything quiet down.

I’ll get rid of it. Maybe later. Maybe.

Shaking my head, I put everything back and look for the pills. That’s what I actually need right now. I don’t need the pain. I need relief. There, shoved all the way in the back, is the bottle I’m looking for.

Just running my finger over the plastic cap seems to lower my heart rate a touch, allowing me to take a deep breath for the first time since getting her text. Rolling it around in my hands, I peer at the label, making sure I take only what I have to.

Such a small pill for such a big impact. I barely even feel it as it goes down my throat. Hopefully, now I can face my landlady without being a sobbing mess all over the place. Not likely, but it’s a nice fantasy to have. It’s certainly a healthier alternative than going back to cutting.

Taking a deep breath, I shore up my defenses and take the stairs, hoping the extra few minutes will allow the pill to do its job. I can’t remember how long it took. Something in the back of my brain tells me maybe it’s thirty minutes. Great. So I’ll be able to function after this little meeting, but not during. Got it.

The halls are quiet as I navigate them, as if the building itself is holding its breath. My heart continues to trip in my chest like feral kittens wrestling about. But it can’t be that bad. It’s never been that bad before.

The knock feels hollow as it reverberates through the wood. Part of me hopes that maybe I’m too late, and she’s already gone. But as the door opens, my heart sinks.

“Hey. Glad you could make it. Please, come in.” She closes the door behind me and locks it.

The click sounds ominous to my ears. No doubt I’ve just been watching far too much true crime tv as I’ve been going to sleep. There’s absolutely nothing sinister about her.

“Let’s talk about your text.”

“Yeah. I’m just kinda in a bind right now. So I was hoping we could do what we usually do and give me a few weeks? I mean,I can pay part of it when it’s due tomorrow, but I won’t have the rest. But you know I’m good for it.”

She levels a stare at me as she flips through some paperwork. “Do I, though?”

“W- what do you mean?” I stammer, my paranoia coming at me full force. “I’ve paid you before. Why wouldn’t I now?”

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