“Fine, shit, so stupid anyway,” I mutter, throwing my hands up and going on about it like I’m only doing this to shut him up, like I’m choosing to do this because I want him to stop nagging me. We both know it’s bullshit, and he stops my performance with a chuckle that heats me from my ears to my gut, sending embarrassment spiraling into the mess he’s made of my psyche.
I stomp to the corner, every step building pressure inside me, building the ‘what the fuck are you doing?!’ panic, every step pushing me closer to an edge I won’t be able to stop myself from falling off of.
I get to the corner and face the wall.
For about half a second.
Then I’m stepping back against my will, not meaning to, breathing like I’ve been working hard labor for hours. The wall is warping in front of my eyes, I feel like I can’t blink, like I’m running for my life–
Like I’m in danger, but from myself. I stumble backwards and Young-gi catches me, holds me up so I don’t fall, and firmly guides me right back to the corner. I didn’t even realize he’d stood up and walked over to me, and it might be because he’s stealthy or because my blood is rushing so loud in my ears I can’t hear anything else.
“You’re going in time-out, young man,” he husks right next to my ear, looming over me from behind, his body heat searing me even through the layers of our clothes, his hands firm and heavy on my shoulders.
“I-I–” I shiver hard, tense as hell, and I’m leaning back without meaning to, like my body wants to run away. I shake my head. I’ve got to get out of here. “I can’t–”
I can’t breathe.
He shifts the placement of his hands and digs his thumbs in, putting pressure on the knots of tension that are always there, always aching, and I groan with immediate hurt-so-good relief. The pain causes me to suck in air and the relief makes me hiss it out again. I sway on my feet and all of a sudden I’m standing in the corner without trying to escape, letting him massage my shoulders, letting him calm me down.
He breathes, I breathe. He breathes, I breathe.
And once I’ve got my breathing down, my heart hits a more reasonable pace and I can think again. My fingers tingle, so does my nose, like static from a television, and I realize I’d hit my adrenaline so hard that I’d lost feeling in my extremities. Like I really was about to run for my fucking life.
I think it started before the panic, during the rage part, but it definitely hit harder once I got to the corner.
He must sense my return to planet Earth, because he orders me again. “You’re going to stand here and think about what you did wrong, so you can do better next time.”
“I don’t like shit like this,” I grind out between my teeth, old memories surfacing from the depths of my mind and making me flinch and screw my face up like I’m in pain. “Role play is one thing, but I’m not into real punishments.”
“It’s not a punishment, Tommy. It’s a chance to think and calm down, where I can watch you and make sure you’re being good.”
“I’m not good!” I try to rage, but his hands feel so nice on me, and the way he’s standing behind me isn’t registering as a threat, so I just end up huffing and pouting instead.
He hums thoughtfully while his fingers focus on a stubborn knot on my shoulder. “Let’s look at the facts. You’re here, safe and sound, where I can keep hold of you while you get through your emotions. You’re going to stand here while you’re safe, and you’re going to think about what you’ll do differently the next time you start feeling like you’re suffocating, next time you can’t sleep, next time you want to go somewhere that’s not on Kira’s schedule, so that you have a plan of action and won’t get into trouble. Lastly; this isn’t supposed to hurt you, Tommy. Does that sound like punishment?”
I sniffle and cough to try and keep in my tears, because I’m not crying. I’m not. “I guess not.”
“That’s right.” He sounds like he’s praising me and fuck him for knowing that would make me relax even more. I almost melt in his hands.
“If it’s not punishment, what is it?” I ask breathlessly.
“Time-out is,” he seems to search for the words, “a chance to make sure you’ve got the facts straight. Because I think you’ve got a lot of things in your head that aren’t necessarily true. Some of them are outright lies. Noise. Bad impulses, hm? Violence. Anger. You keep telling me that you’re not good, and I think you believe that. Corner time is where I’ll correct you.”
Correct me, Daddy,a wicked voice in my head says, and I bite back a groan that has nothing to do with his massage. Well, maybe a little to do with it.
“I-I don’t– I’m not…”Worth it.
He slides his hands down my back, soothing me like I’m a horse or some shit. “Breathe. I’m going to back away now, but I’m not leaving. You’re going to stay here. Focus on the facts.”
He backs up and it takes all of my willpower–I meaneverythinginside me–not to whimper and grab his hands back, not to ask him to stay with me. Because now I’m alone here, on a stage, and his eyes are the spotlights on my embarrassment and submission. Since when do I do this? Since when do I do this shit for anyone?
I definitely wouldn’t have done this shit with Bruce, and he was a real fucking Daddy. Then again, corner time was never our thing. Correction in general wasn’t something he enjoyed. He wanted a good boy.
And I’m not good. No matter what Young-gi says.
I swallow hard and fist my hands to keep them from shaking. I waver between anger at Young-gi and hatred at myself, fear of him and fear of not being here with him. Between shame and rage. But in between the bad feelings, there are sparks of good ones. I marvel at how… small I feel, but not in a bad way. I’m humiliated, acutely aware of his eyes and the way I’m just standing here in the corner like a schmuck, like a child, but I feel… good small? And I never, in a million years, would have guessed that feeling small would make me feel good. But it does.
All those big emotions shrink down with me, getting smaller until they all fit in their places again and aren’t boiling over.
