Page 53 of Brat Baby
And then there are the sketches of Shibari poses. Those are just concepts, with bubble figures instead of a fully formed person. I’ve tried to add more detail, but my brain is insisting that I need to see Emmy in my ropes to get it right.
I still can’t believe it’s been nine days since I’ve seen her in person. Sure, it was from the driver’s seat of my car, but it was enough. A taste to take the edge off. And yeah, I saw her on the security camera from the apartment, but honestly? I wish I hadn’t looked. It’s only made all this shit worse.
She seemed so small and alone through the screen of my phone. The mere thought of her on that massive couch all by herself sends a stab of pain to my heart, and rubbing it with the heel of my palm does nothing to help. I hadn’t been able to watch for very long. Especially when she was eating at the dinner table, surrounded by the empty chairs.
Fuck, that killed me. Something so simple. Something I am sure so many people experience every day. But to watch my Emmy eat alone when she doesn’t have to… When I want to be at the dinner table with her, listening to how her day was and being involved in her life.
At least Hudson and Derek get to see her in their classes. The smallest flicker of joy, like a lighter trying to spark, ignites inside of me at the memory of Derek’s and Hudson’s text messages on Monday about her bratting for them. And then the impromptu drinks at the bar around the corner from my place that night, that Derek and Xav joined me and Hudson for.
Hudson barely said a word to any of us. All I managed to get out of him was that he’d asked her if she was doing okay. When I asked what her response was, he shrugged and took a sip of his drink.
Xavier was his usual self—quiet and aloof. He stayed plastered to his phone for the first couple of hours, but whatever he was watching seemed to have lost his interest, eventually.
Derek, on the other hand, was acting like he’d been gored by a bull. Questions were answered with grunts or monosyllabic responses, and what the fuck was up with that beard? I’m supposed to be the one with the facial hair.
Not to mention his muttering to himself every now and then. When I was close enough to hear, I thought I heard something about a spanking for flirting with some kid in his class. I hoped he managed to get some sleep that night. His entire being had sagged into his seat the moment he sat down.
My nights are plagued with dreams—or maybe nightmares are a better description—of her. The dreams vary, but mostly they are of her lost without us. The worst one is when she is tangled up in my ropes, completely suspended in the mess of knots. She calls out for me over and over, struggling as they get tighter until she doesn’t call out anymore.
I’ve woken up panicked and sweaty each and every time.
I know it’s ridiculous. She is an adult, barely, but still. And from the little she has told us about herself, she knows how to manage on her own just fine. Plus, it’s not like this silence isforever, it’s only for eight more days. Hopefully. If everything goes according to plan.
Opening my eyes, I stare down at my paint-splattered sneakers. They were white originally, but now they have flecks of every color I’ve used in the last couple of months. My gray jeans are not much better off, after today’s session of pendulum painting with my freeform students.
The voices of students entering the classroom has increased to a volume that I can no longer ignore, so I open my eyes and step out from behind the wall.
As my group of seniors notice me, the room settles. Marie, with her straight black hair pulled into a bun and overalls that look a size too large for her, is waiting by the door that adjoins my office, which is where the models go to get ready. Hence, why I am out here, trying to find my peace, and not in there. Marie lets them in through the hallway entrance so that they have a sense of privacy while they remove all their clothing.
Hopefully this week’s model is able to sit still for the required amount of time. Last week, I had to call the session after an hour, as it became evident the young man hadn’t quite thought through the fact that students might not all be female. It had taken a lot to get him to settle into a position, with most of the male students staring at his side, rather than his ass or dick.
I glance at Marie and nod. She immediately moves into action, disappearing into my office. Fingers crossed today’s session goes to plan.
Clapping twice, I get the attention of the class, who are all standing on the outside of the half circle of easels I set up earlier. Normally, Marie would have done the room setup, but I’ve been a lot more hands-on for the past two weeks, in an effort to use up all the time until next Friday. Something about busy hands making the time go faster. This little experiment has shown it’sa bunch of bullshit. No matter how busy I am, my entire body aches.
Talking to Thayne and getting this whole situation sorted out needs to happen, fucking yesterday.
I’m starting to think that Xavier has the right idea—just sayfuck itto working at NU and go all in with Emmy. He knows she belongs with him, with all of us, and gives zero fucks about taking what he wants at the expense of his actual life.
Both of us are only lecturers, hired on for specific contracts. Sure, his gets continuously renewed, but neither of us are full time. We do the work here because we want to. Outside of NU, I have my art and galleries, and he has… well, I’m not quite sure what he has. I’m pretty sure he is lecturing to pass the time.
“Today we will be concentrating on accurate proportions and contouring to get those defined and shaded lines we have been discussing. You all understand the concept of whitespace, so ensure you apply the theory to the practical. Tayliah, I’m looking at you,” I say, keeping my voice a little playful so she doesn’t feel too called out.
She grins back at me and nods. “Sure thing, Darcy.”
I swear, letting my students call me by my first name was a stroke of genius. They all come to me as a fellow artist, rather than someone of authority who could ruin their college career and artistic aspirations.
“The model will be in a supine position, one leg thrown over the back of the couch. There will be some fabric draping, but not a lot. I expect to see the motion of the fabric, as if it is falling to the floor because the model is moving. Whether that motion is from pain or pleasure is up to you. My preference is pleasure, but if you’re into that sort of thing, don’t let me stop you.”
There is some murmuring from the room and a few laughs as I walk over to the couch. It’s one of those Victorian-style daybeds, with a single ruby red velvet armrest and a matchingback that angles down from one side to the other, with over-the-top golden fixtures. There is a tube cushion with tassels and a long piece of white chiffon waiting on the seat cushion, which will offer the model a modicum of decency.
Just as I pick up the fabric, I hear the door to my office open. The room goes completely quiet as all the students turn to check out the model. I turn with a tired but genuine smile, only for my face to go completely numb in a matter of seconds.
Is this another fucking dream?
Wrapped up in one of the black privacy robes from my office, walking toward me with her head held high, hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, her face free of makeup, gaze steady and focused on me, is Emmy. My beautiful princess.
For a moment, it’s only me and her. The room fades away as she gets closer, her bare feet walking across the linoleum floor. Her hazel eyes are open and expressive, the longing I feel for her mirrored back at me in their depths.
