Page 137 of Let Me In

And it undoes me.

My body slumps.

Not entirely. Not yet. But my arms stop fighting the cushions. My fingers uncurl just enough to shake. And my breath—it hitches. Shudders.

The first sound breaks free.

Small. Wounded.

A little whimper that I try to swallow down—but it’s already out, trembling in the air between us.

And he hears it. Of course he does.

He doesn’t stop.

His hand rises again. Falls harder now, punishing my sit spots, my upper thighs.

The sting is unbearable. But it’s earned.

It’s right.

And when the next one lands, and the one after that—

I finally cry.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

But deep.

A choked sob from somewhere I’ve kept locked for years.

“I’m sorry,” I gasp, voice barely there. “I didn’t mean to—I just wanted to help—I thought I could—”

Another swat, sharp and low.

“I know, baby,” he says, voice so calm it breaks me further. “But your safety comes first. Every time.”

The next few swats are slower. Heavier.

Not cruel.

Consecrating.

Like he’s putting the rule into my skin, my bones, my heart. The realization sends a tremor through me—sharp, then soft—like something deep inside has just shifted, finally allowed to rest.

“You’re mine to protect,” he says. “And I’ll be damned if I let you forget it.”

I sob again.

And this time, I go limp. Completely.

No more bracing. No more silence. No more pretending I can carry everything alone.

Just me.

Broken open.

Over his lap.

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