it needed to be.
He was doing this for Chicklet. And it was a good punishment. He’d gone into the scene room not really thinking about what she might be doing. H e and Laura might not always get along, but that didn’t make what he’d done okay. He’d pretty much demanded his Mistress’s attention. Then he’d demanded Callahan’s. He wasn’t more important than them—didn’t want to be.
And now he was proving that he got that. He’d become nothing. Just a n object.
Part of his brain wanted to shout and swear and tell Raif that this was bullshit. He wasn’t a fucking piece of furniture. He should be able to talk. Taking the pain Callahan would have dished out would have been easier.
But it wasn’t supposed to be easy. Wouldn’t count for anything if it was easy.
That part of his brain sank deeper and deeper until he couldn’t hear it anymore. The ache in his arms was getting worse. He tensed and relaxed his muscles. Focused on breathing. His face got real hot as Raif’s boots moved, like he was changing position. He wanted to look at Raif, see the pleasure he’d heard in Raif’s tone. But that would screw up all the good Tyler had done. Raif was happy because he’d done what he was told.
So he’d keep doing it. Seemed like he’d become the thing he was pretending to be as the minutes passed, like he could stay there forever and not budge when the cleaning lady came around. Like she wouldn’t realize he was a person and she’d dust him off and then walk away.
A lot of people were walking away. There were familiar voices above him. People speaking to Raif. They didn’t see Tyler. And everyone always saw Tyler. Fans, coaches, his friends. His mom.
He pressed his eyes shut. He couldn’t think about her now. Not here. Never here.
But all he had were his own thoughts to keep him company. And it was getting harder to see himself as a plain, polished wooden footstool. His mom was dating again. She’d stopped for so long and she’d seemed so much stronger. All those years of saying she couldn’t be alone—he knew she could do it. She didn’t have to work because he made enough to support her, but she loved her job at the library.
She’d met the man there. He might be a decent guy ; she thought he was amazing. They all were at first though. The emotionally abusive ones were the hardest to spot, and she’d had a few of those. Tyler had learned how to spot them when he was a teen. They didn’t scare him as much because his mom had her church and her therapist that helped her get away from them.
The physically abusive ones though …they were a real problem. His mom had dated three of them. Including Tyler’s father. And every time she became a different person. She’d stay away from everyone if there were bruises people could see. And hide those they couldn’t when she did go out. Those were her longest relationships. It was almost like she could deal with getting hit better than being told she was worthless.
She shouldn’t have to deal with either. But Tyler didn’t know how to help her. He winced as a woman’s cry broke through his haze. His mother never cried out when a man hit her. Tyler used to lie in bed at night and listen to the sound of his mother being slapped, wishing he was big enough to go out there and stop it. But after getting punched a few times, he’d been too afraid to leave his bed.
Tim …the Cobras’ coach, a man they’d all loved who’d been killed months earlier in a car crash—he’d talked Tyler into going to the team therapist. And spilling everything to the shrink had made Tyler realize that as a kid he couldn’t have helped him mom. All he could do was be there for her now.
I’m a footstool. A fucking footstool. I don’t gotta think about this stuff.
A man’s laughter. The sloppy wet sound of fucking.
The soft gasp of a woman, more from pain than pleasure. Whoever she was, she didn’t make another sound.
Tyler pressed his eyes shut.
“Ty,
He was doing this for Chicklet. And it was a good punishment. He’d gone into the scene room not really thinking about what she might be doing. H e and Laura might not always get along, but that didn’t make what he’d done okay. He’d pretty much demanded his Mistress’s attention. Then he’d demanded Callahan’s. He wasn’t more important than them—didn’t want to be.
And now he was proving that he got that. He’d become nothing. Just a n object.
Part of his brain wanted to shout and swear and tell Raif that this was bullshit. He wasn’t a fucking piece of furniture. He should be able to talk. Taking the pain Callahan would have dished out would have been easier.
But it wasn’t supposed to be easy. Wouldn’t count for anything if it was easy.
That part of his brain sank deeper and deeper until he couldn’t hear it anymore. The ache in his arms was getting worse. He tensed and relaxed his muscles. Focused on breathing. His face got real hot as Raif’s boots moved, like he was changing position. He wanted to look at Raif, see the pleasure he’d heard in Raif’s tone. But that would screw up all the good Tyler had done. Raif was happy because he’d done what he was told.
So he’d keep doing it. Seemed like he’d become the thing he was pretending to be as the minutes passed, like he could stay there forever and not budge when the cleaning lady came around. Like she wouldn’t realize he was a person and she’d dust him off and then walk away.
A lot of people were walking away. There were familiar voices above him. People speaking to Raif. They didn’t see Tyler. And everyone always saw Tyler. Fans, coaches, his friends. His mom.
He pressed his eyes shut. He couldn’t think about her now. Not here. Never here.
But all he had were his own thoughts to keep him company. And it was getting harder to see himself as a plain, polished wooden footstool. His mom was dating again. She’d stopped for so long and she’d seemed so much stronger. All those years of saying she couldn’t be alone—he knew she could do it. She didn’t have to work because he made enough to support her, but she loved her job at the library.
She’d met the man there. He might be a decent guy ; she thought he was amazing. They all were at first though. The emotionally abusive ones were the hardest to spot, and she’d had a few of those. Tyler had learned how to spot them when he was a teen. They didn’t scare him as much because his mom had her church and her therapist that helped her get away from them.
The physically abusive ones though …they were a real problem. His mom had dated three of them. Including Tyler’s father. And every time she became a different person. She’d stay away from everyone if there were bruises people could see. And hide those they couldn’t when she did go out. Those were her longest relationships. It was almost like she could deal with getting hit better than being told she was worthless.
She shouldn’t have to deal with either. But Tyler didn’t know how to help her. He winced as a woman’s cry broke through his haze. His mother never cried out when a man hit her. Tyler used to lie in bed at night and listen to the sound of his mother being slapped, wishing he was big enough to go out there and stop it. But after getting punched a few times, he’d been too afraid to leave his bed.
Tim …the Cobras’ coach, a man they’d all loved who’d been killed months earlier in a car crash—he’d talked Tyler into going to the team therapist. And spilling everything to the shrink had made Tyler realize that as a kid he couldn’t have helped him mom. All he could do was be there for her now.
I’m a footstool. A fucking footstool. I don’t gotta think about this stuff.
A man’s laughter. The sloppy wet sound of fucking.
The soft gasp of a woman, more from pain than pleasure. Whoever she was, she didn’t make another sound.
Tyler pressed his eyes shut.
“Ty,
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