Page 69 of Ezekiel
“Your father is exactly as you portrayed him. Did it shock me? Yes. Of course it did. But it also doesn’t surprise me, all at the same time. You told me what life was like for you growing up. You told me why you want to leave here. I think I’m beginning to understand,” I reasoned gently. He stood once more, pacing the room. I could see the way his anxiety was growing inside of him. It was clear in every inch of his body, from his pacing feet to his trembling, agitated hands.
“But you don’t want to leave here. And you shouldn’t feel the need to leave, just because my father is… well, my father.”
“Zeke, stop. Sit with me,” I asked him. I wanted to calm him. Just as he had calmed me last night.
“I can’t just sit, Talia!” he shouted. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t shout. Shouting is the last thing we need right now.” The pain in his voice pierced my heart, but I refused to show him the pity that I felt. That poor inner child, that little lost boy he must have been, growing up with a father like that. It all made sense. Crystal clear, perfect sense.
I stood from the couch, taking his hand in mine, and physically pulled him to the couch.
“Sit.” It wasn’t a request this time.
“Talia,” he balked, but I would not hear it.
“I said fucking sit,” I stated firmly. It may have sounded a little mean, but he needed to calm and I had a sneaking suspicion his anxiety would not allow him to without help. I would be that help. It was my turn to be his anchor.
He sat beside me with a huff. I pulled him down until his head rested in my lap.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his tone almost petulant like a child’s. I didn’t care.
“I’m giving you care. Aftercare,” I explained with a smile as my fingers ran through his mess of curls and over his face. He took a deep breath.
“We didn’t have a scene this morning. Why would there be aftercare? Plus, I should be the one givingyouaftercare!” he argued, his arms crossing over his chest. Yep, there was that little boy. Just as I had thought.
“Pish posh,” I teased. “I actually listened when you explained all this to me. First, I’m fine. Second —”
“But —” he tried, but I put a finger to his lips.
“No. It’s my turn. Second, aftercare is not just for submissives. It’s for Dominants as well,” I reminded him gently.
“This isn’t a scene, Talia,” he grumbled.
“It doesn’t matter. Aftercare is aftercare and you are just as deserving of my care and my lo—” my voice halted just before the wordloveslipped from my lips. I may love the man, but I wasn’t ready to tell him that. Not yet. “You deserve my care and affection, Zeke. You deserve to have someone see you, to accept you. Let me.”
My words hung in the air.
His eyes clenched shut tightly and his breaths came in quick pants.
For a moment, I wasn’t sure what was happening, but then one lone tear slid down the side of his temple and into his hairline. He angrily swiped at it.
“I don’t know how to accept that,” he breathed out, his voice tight with unshed tears and emotion.
“That’s okay,” I reassured him. “We’ll go slow and learn together.”
My words broke the dam that I had a feeling he had kept carefully built over the years of his life.
He cried silent, hot tears as I played with his hair and gently offered words of comfort and acceptance, speaking my love without ever speaking the word itself.
We stayed there like that for a long while. Until the sun began to set just slightly in the sky. His stomach grumbled loudly, making us both chuckle. His tears had long since stopped, yet we had stayed that way, enjoying the moment we shared, the care we gave each other.
“I should fix us some dinner,” I said, my voice rough with lack of use. We had stayed mostly silent towards the end there, and I blushed at the sound of it.
“Let’s cook together,” he suggested, taking my hand in his and bringing it to his lips. He pressed a sweet kiss just to the inside of my wrist. My heart fluttered in my chest.
“Let’s,” I agreed.
Dinner was a quiet thing, as were we. Neither of us knew what to say. Or perhaps there wasn’t anything to say at that moment. The fact of the matter was that this place was not what I thought it was, not for him at least. Perhaps I was the odd one in this place, with two parents who loved and adored me. Who cared for me deeply.
Once we finished up with dinner, we made our way to the bedroom and readied ourselves for bed. It was barely eight in the evening, but we were both emotionally drained from the night before and the day’s events. A long night of sleep would do us both some good.
