Page 52 of Collin: Episodes 1-3
Collin shivered. Had Mr. Reevesworth’s voice dropped an octave?
“Starting from now, Collin, I am going to keep you close. Where I go, you will go. When we are separated, you will have clear instructions. Privacy is not something you requested, and it is not something I have any intention of giving you.”
His hand traveled down Collin’s cheek and along his jaw. He drew Collin’s face upward by his chin. “Something that had been trained out of you is what I must train into you. If you cannot learn this lesson, all the lessons that follow will be pale imitations of what they could be. You and I together, we are going to break your hesitation to ask for help.”
Collin parted his lips. Mr. Reevesworth covered them with his thumb. Collin stilled.
“If you were not trying already to learn, you would not be here, beautiful boy. But for now, each time you try to ask, you are fighting through a throng of voices and experiences that desperately believe the opposite. These lessons were not wrong, Collin. They equipped you to survive in a certain time and place. The difficult facet of our minds, however, is that our subconscious does not easily recognize when another set of behaviors is more appropriate during a change of status. We resist, especially when it comes to lessons that were bought young and paid for with a high price.”
Collin swallowed.
Mr. Reevesworth brushed his thumb over Collin’s lips. “I’m going to take a radical step. I believe you can suffer it, for me and for yourself. Go to the kitchen. There is a bottle of juice and a bottle of water in the refrigerator, top shelf, center. Bring them here.
Collin rose, a little stiffly, and hurried to the kitchen. As promised, there were two chilled glass bottles, large ones. Together they were more than thirty fluid ounces. The glass was slick. He fetched two of the cloth napkins from the basket on the counter and retraced his steps.
Mr. Reevesworth nodded Collin back to his place on the floor. “You are going to drink both bottles. I will give you thirty minutes. You may sit however you like. In time, you will learn how to kneel for long periods of time. For now, you’re still on rest.
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Reevesworth nodded. “I am going to be working. I expect you to stay where you are. If you need anything, place your hand on my thigh and wait until I give you my attention. I expect silence.”
“Yes, sir.” Collin bit his lip. Was he not supposed to say that?
Mr. Reevesworth gave him a nod and turned his chair back to his screen. A moment later, there were clicks on the keyboard.
Collin opened the bottle of juice. Thirty minutes, and he couldn’t even see a clock. How was he supposed to know how much time had passed? Perhaps he should count in his head. No, that was most certainly an inaccurate way to track time.
Perhaps just starting was better.
Or you could ask.
Collin stopped mid-twist on the cap.
Asking.
He closed his eyes and finished opening the bottle.
This is not going to be easy.
He put the bottle to his lips and drank. It was some sort of green juice mixed with mango and vitamins. Too good to chug. He waited a moment and opened the water. Perhaps he could alternate.
At just halfway through both bottles, Collin’s bladder submitted a request for relief. It made it politely at first. Collin bit his lip and denied the request. Surely, he could last longer. It was only thirty minutes, then Mr. Reevesworth would check in on him. He could hold it for however much longer it was.
He kept drinking.
His bladder submitted another request. The wording and details might have been somewhat stronger. Again, Collin denied it. He was an adult. He’d never asked an employer before to step out of engagement because of his bodily functions. It wasn’t going to happen now.
That’s not the point, and you know it. Besides, Mr. Reevesworth is NOT an employer.
Collin grimaced. He might be submitting, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to be the best he could be. That was the point, wasn’t it, to become better?
He kept drinking. The juice disappeared first. He wiped the bottle dry with the napkin and set it to the side. Now all he had to finish was the water.
His stomach cramped and sent a note upstairs, suggesting that releasing the traffic jam below would be helpful. Collin put a hand to his belly. It was just water. This was a simple task. A child could do it.
A child would cry and call this stupid.
Laughter crawled up his throat. He shoved it down into silence with another sip of water.
