Page 9 of Bedtime Stories
Chapter
Five
OREN
The grocery store is too bright for how little sleep I got last night. I keep replaying my text—Goodnight, Daddy—like a horror movie jump scare I paid money to sit through. Except it’s not scary, not exactly. It’s… good. Too good.
I push my cart down the snack aisle, biting the inside of my cheek. Healthy, Oren. Granola bars, veggie straws, something that saysLook at me, I’m responsible and balanced. Except, the box of powdered donuts is winking at me from the shelf like a filthy little temptress.
Keane would probably shake his head if I texted him a picture of those donuts. Not angry—never angry—but the disappointed “kiddo, you know better.” The thought makes me warm all over. Being good for him feels better than any sugar rush.
So I compromise. Veggie straws go in the cart. Then the donuts. And then, because life is too short and my willpower too flimsy, a pack of frosted animal crackers. Pink and white with sprinkles that get everywhere. The cart’s a disaster, kind of like me.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I fumble for it, half-expecting it to be Keane. Instead, it’s the group chat.
Lane: Don’t forget to pack pajamas!!!
Theo: And stuffies!!! Omg I’m bringing all three of mine, they’d be sad if I left them behind
TinyTim: Anyone else nervous??
I stare at the screen, biting my lip. My chest tightens the way it always does when they start in about camp. Everyone’s excited, tossing emojis and exclamation points like confetti, but all it does is remind me of hownotready I am.
I could type something. I could tell them I’m thinking about it. But my throat feels tight even through text, and instead, I do what I always do—I swipe the conversation away.
Withdraw. Hide. Pretend.
Only now I’m stuck in the middle of the grocery store with a cart full of snacks, a heart full of nerves, and one impossible truth rattling around my head:
I don’t want to go unless Keane is there.
After I unpack my groceries,I curl up on the couch, laptop open but ignored. I’m supposed to be outlining a chapter book I might wanna write… someday, but the only thing playing on repeat in my head is the group chat from earlier. Pajamas. Stuffies. Camp.
So I slip it out casually in the middle of our nightly chat, like it's nothing and my pulse isn’t hammering.
My friends won’t shut up about this retreat thing. Camp whatever.
The dots blink, disappear, and blink again. Then Keane’s reply lands.
Keane: I saw mention of that in the club’s online forum. You know?—
Nothing more comes through but dancing dots. Then…
Keane: Sounds like it could be fun. Two days with your friends outdoors. A chance to be small in public.
My stomach drops straight through the floor. Panic flares—nope, too much, too close—but behind it is something stickier, sweeter.Want.
I love being Little. Letting go of the constant buzz of stress and finding joy in small things. Coloring pages. Cartoons. Someone solid beside me while the world quiets down. But getting to the place where I can truly let myself go—where I can relax enough to fall into that softer headspace—takes work. Doing it in public would take a miracle.
It wasn’t always this hard.
Until Vince.
My ex had a way of making me feel embarrassed for wanting to regress. Ashamed of it. Which was funny, considering it was the very thing he claimed to love about me when we first started dating.
Everything changed the moment I trusted him with it. The moment I let myself be vulnerable.
Somehow, he managed to turn Little me into something ugly.
