Page 88 of Redline Baby

The gray sweatpants are in the second drawer of the dresser. His dresser. His bedroom. But the drawer has been reorganized around the things I leave here now, which is still a fact capable of doing weird, vulnerable things to my chest if I think about it for too long.

I change into the sweatpants and a soft white T-shirt, then carry my jeans and jacket back into the living room and fold them over the armchair.

Soren is in the kitchen. I hear a drawer open, then close. When he comes back, he's holding a wooden spoon.

I gulp.

Oh. Yes. I am fucked.

And, because there is apparently something deeply wrong with me, immediately turned on.

"Sit down."

I sit in the armchair across from him, hands wrapping around the armrests. My eyes keep going to the spoon.

"Tell me why we're here."

"I skipped therapy."

"And?"

"I didn't tell you."

His expression doesn't change.

"And then I lied when you asked."

"And the rule?"

"Rule One. Therapy. Don't disappear from appointments. Don't lie about going."

Soren nods once. "Good."

My stomach twists.

Then he holds up the wooden spoon. "This is different from what I've used before."

I swallow. "Yeah."

"Do you consent to me using it?"

My face gets hot. "Yes." His eyebrow lifts. "Yes, Daddy."

"Safewords."

I know this part. "Yellow means slow down and check in. Red means stop immediately. Three taps means Red if I can't talk."

"If you say Red?"

"Everything stops," I murmur.

"No argument?"

"No argument."

"Good boy."

My entire body responds to that. Of course it does.