Page 337 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 2

She could do anything. She was amazing.

She took hold of the door and quietly closed it on him. She collapsed more than sat on the edge of the tub, momentarily rocking herself, the hurt was so bad and the relief so great. She lifted her feet off the ground, holding them up while the soles throbbed.

She didn’t know if it was better or she just wished it was better, but she ran out of strength and eventually had to put them gently flat on the ground.

It would always hurt. It would never get better.

She broke down, clutching her ear for comfort as she popped her thumb back in her mouth. She could taste the faint coppery taste of the broken blister on the second joint and with every drawing pull she felt a little smaller and that much more lost.

“I don’t hear water running,” Daddy called through the door.

She’d forgotten he was there. Twisting sideways, she looked at the faucet behind her, and for a moment just sat there, staring blankly, unable to think what to do next. She gave up without trying bare seconds before, with a soft knock, Daddy opened the door.

“Do you need help?”

She shook her head.

He studied her dubiously. “If you toss your clothes in the hall before you get in, I’ll get them washed.”

She nodded.

“Can I get you something?”

She shook her head again.

“Gatorade? Juice?”

She nodded. Her mouth was dry and swallowing didn’t help.

“Okay. In the tub, Tabitha. Throw your clothes into the hall, and then take a bath.” He studied her a moment longer, then withdrew. The door closed again and, as she sat there staring at the plain wood, the entire exchange faded into the background of her mind. It could have happened yesterday, for all that she could remember what he’d said.

She was too sad to try too hard. She was so exhausted.

The bathmat on the floor under her shoes looked thick and soft. Crawling down onto the floor, she laid down, curling in around herself, and tried to go to sleep.

He peeked back into the bathroom, hesitant to do more than lean in any further as he set a sippy cup of juice on the counter just inside the door. He didn't hear movement from inside. All he could hear was silence. No water drips into a tub filled with more of the same. No movement from Little Tabitha as she washed herself clean. Most telling of all, no dirty clothes in a heap in his hallway.

This entire situation was a sexual abuse allegation in the making, but he couldn’t stop.

Had she undressed yet? Was she just sitting on the side of the tub, sucking her thumb and staring into the void?

“Tabby?”

There was no answer.

Was she even still in there? What were the chances she could have slipped out of the house while he’d been in the kitchen?

Fuck it.

He cracked open the door, peeking in at the mirror. The shower curtain was thrown back and empty. He couldn’t see the top of her head anywhere. She was gone.

Throwing open the door, he almost whacked her in the head in his frantic need to find her. Tabby lay curled in the fetal position on the rug, her eyes closed and her mouth for once relaxed around her thumb. She’d fallen asleep.

Every Daddy bone in his body took command. Pushing open the door, he went inside and lowered himself to one knee before her. Slid his arm under her shoulders, scooping her gently into his arms.

“Don’t hurt me,” she mumbled, blinking as she came awake, so exhausted that she didn’t seem to know where she was.

“It’s okay,” he replied, setting her down to sit on the side of the tub again. “Daddy’s got you.”

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