Page 336 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 2

Her brain wandered down that path, playing with the idea of the sheriff she knew deigning to answer anyone who talked to him that way. Then again, he seemed far nicer now than he had yesterday. Not that she’d given him many reasons to be nice. She’d been a bit of a bitch, to be honest. He’d responded by giving her a ticket, and then he’d followed her through the store so she wouldn’t rob the place—dick—and she’d stormed off—bitchy, but justified—and what did he do? He bought her groceries. And came out in the middle of the night to save her from the snakes and scorpions. And drove her to the doctor’s, and thank goodness she managed to convince him she didn’t need one, especially since she knew if they saw the marks on her feet, tonight would not have ended any other way than at the police station.

Or a hospital, and then the police station.

She had no idea where the nearest hospital was, not that it mattered. The only way she could see any of this ending was with police involvement. She might start out the victim, but once Travis was involved, that would all change. He was practically police himself, and she was a convicted felon. No one was going to believe her.

No one.

Not even Daddy.

She sniffled. She didn’t want to think about this anymore. Curling in around herself, she retreated as deep as she could go, desperately wishing she would just stop existing so she wouldn’t have to do this anymore.

“We can get out now,” he said gently.

She clutched her ear and sucked her dirty thumb, and tried hard to pretend like she’d never heard him to start with.

He got out of the truck.

Please go inside, she prayed. But he didn’t. Walking around the truck to her side, he popped open her door and reached in to unbuckle her belt.

“I don’t wanna go inside.” It didn’t matter how hard she blinked, her eyes stung as if filling up with tears, except there were none. She made all the same hiccuping, keening sounds that came along with bawling, but there were no tears. He was going to think she was lying to get attention, but no matter how hard she tried, there was no stopping the sounds. Her emotions were too close to the surface and they were stronger than she was. She cried as if her heart were breaking. “I don’t wanna get out.”

He took her seatbelt off anyway. “We talked about this, remember?”

“I need a nap,” she sobbed, too tired to fight as he pushed the shoulder strap aside.

“I know,” he soothed, sliding his arms under her knees and around her back. He lifted her out. “Daddy’s going to put you down for a nice long one, too. But not before his babygirl gets a bath, lots of juice, and nummies for her tummy. When did you eat last, honey?”

“I no know,” she sniffled.

“You don’t know?”

She shook her head. “They took my lunch.”

She suspected it was Eli. He’d been awfully Johnny-on-the-spot about sharing his. To be honest even then she’d been so wounded and so tired, every ounce of energy she had, she’d poured into doing what she was told.

“It was a bad first day at work, wasn’t it?” He carried her to the front porch, where it became necessary to lower her to stand on her own. It took everything she had not to react to the agonizing throb of pain that pulsed up through her swollen feet and all the way up her legs the second she was standing on her own. Where—oh, where—was all that blessed numbness that had eventually crept into her, making that long walk easier to bear? There was no numbness anymore. Every muscle she had now ached terribly.

She locked her jaw and made no sound. As soon as he’d dug out his keys and opened the door, aware of how badly she stank and not wanting him to pick her up again, she hobbled inside.

She didn't know what she expected his home to look like. Something stern, severe maybe, total authoritarian. Something that said cop and 'I will fuck up your day.’ It wasn't.

The sheriff's home was clean, tidy, warm and inviting. Everything was decorated in muted earth tones, off white area rugs softened the hard wood floors. A semicircular sofa set curled around a ginormous TV. The pictures on the fireplace mantle showed he might be more interested in outdoor activities over watching sports. She hobbled over for a closer look, taking advantage of what few minutes of solitude she had to peer closer at his life. He wasn't in many, but she knew the picture of an old woman and her daughter must have been his sister and mother, judging by the strong familial resemblance.

They looked really happy.

Of course, if her dad hadn't already thrown them out, she had really happy pictures hanging on the wall of her family home going all the way up the stairs to the second story. Her childhood had been a happy one, back before she realized parental love was such a conditional thing.

Smiles in pictures didn't mean anything.

"My mom, Kathryn," Jeff said, startling her because she hadn't heard him come inside the house and had no idea he was not standing right beside her. "My sister's name is Sarah."

She stuck her thumb in her mouth and turned away from them, only to have him pluck her thumb from her mouth and turn her hand over to see the blisters. In the bright light of his living room, it was easier to see the extent of the damage.

He winced, shaking his head. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Do you want teddy bear bandages?”

With all her weary heart. “Teddy bears,” she echoed obediently, hobbling along at his heel as he led her down the hall to a beige and white trimmed bathroom.

“Can you do this yourself?” he asked as she limped in past him.

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