Page 67 of Soft
And yet there was no slowing down the sheer panic coursing through me the more time moved and nothing changed.
I had spent most of my adult life thinking no one would ever care for the softer sides of me. What I should have been preparing for was to find someone to love me unconditionally, through sickness and health just like the wedding vows always claimed.
Who wanted to be saddled with me? Who signed up for this willingly?
And then I thought of Paxton. Of the man who’d been there for me each day, reminding me he liked every part of me. The man who’d researched my condition before subtly adjusting things around me to improve my quality of life.
Before I could think better of it, I called out for my phone to dial his number. He had never seen this version of me. And I wasn't sure I felt ready to show him.
But being alone was its own kind of torture.
It rang three times, then went to voicemail. I didn’t leave a message since I figured he was probably in practice. No reason to bother him or divert his attention. Really, had I stopped to think, I’d have known as much.
Oh well. I’d be fine.
Eventually, I decided enough was enough. I couldn’t stay in bed all day. My body would protest tomorrow if I attempted it.
Plus, the playroom was the one place where the size of the thoughts tended to reduce on its own without me having to work hard to be positive. I had built my room for exactly this. It was more than a Little space. It brought relief when I felt hopeless.
I immediately settled into the nest in the corner. Wells came with me, because there was nowhere else he should be. We were best friends. Family. I needed him today more than ever.
Pulling him to my lap, I leaned back against the wall, body slouching a bit to avoid being horizontal again. I felt around for the weighted blanket Daddy had surprised me with. The shag texture made it easy enough to locate even without being able to see it.
Once I tugged it over my body, calm began to slip in. I pretended Daddy was with me. He’d stroke a hand over my short hair as he whispered sweet words about how perfect I was and how much he cared for me. He’d feed me and help me potty and be everything I needed.
Oh, I wished that was the reality.
As I sat there daydreaming, the headache dulled slowly. It was like turning down the flame from a boil to a simmer.
Sitting in my playroom with my bear and my weighted blanket, I let the bad day be just that: a bad day. Not a bad year or a bad life. One day wasn’t going to destroy me. And tomorrow I would be fine. I would.
Paxton didn't need to know that today had existed. He didn’t need to worry over me when he had other more important things to focus on.
My phone rang with the tone I’d set specifically for Daddy. Holding the phone at an angle, I managed to see the bar to swipe and answer. I was greeted by the sound of his laughter and some guy ribbing him about being whipped.
“Hey, baby. I just got out of practice and saw you called. Everything ok?”
I could feel my throat closing up at the thought of admitting my weakness. Instead of speaking, I squeaked out a noise I’d hoped would tell him everything.
No such luck.
“Baby?” His voice held a note of panic.
I didn’t want Daddy to panic. Forcing the words past my lips, I said, “Rough day.”
“Rough how?”
The noise around him disappeared. He must have gone into a private room or climbed into his car. Something to seclude himself.
“Eyes bad. Hurts, Daddy.”
His gasp came out pained. “Oh, no. I’m all done now. Let me grab some stuff, and I’ll be on my way. Don’t even try to answer the door. I know where the spare key is. Do you have Wells with you?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Good boy. Relax in your playroom. Daddy will be there as quickly as humanly possible.”
I looked at Wells as the call disconnected. What the heck just happened?
