Page 14 of My Fake Mafia Daddy


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7

ARLO

I. Hate.My. Medication.

I fumble in my backpack for my pills, pulling them out of my biggest pouch when I find them. I run my fingers over the purple packaging and grimace.

Omeprazole. A PPI, or proton pump inhibitor, that reduces excess stomach acid that causes laryngopharyngeal reflux.

Pouring more water into my glass, I place a pill on my tongue and swallow. I feel the lump travel down my throat, before entering my belly.

I gulp the rest of the water to make sure that the medication has fluids to dissolve in. I've read that these pills aren't amazing for your tummy if you don't drink them with water, and I don't want to experience any side effects.

A sigh escapes me as I pick up Mr. Green and walk to the penthouse window. The view is glorious, and I can't help but let out a breath as I watch a barge sail across the Hudson. It's big and beautiful, and it has enough containers to support a small village.

But as I stare at the pretty sight and bask in the morning sunlight to calm my nerves, I can't help but worry about my condition. I hate to admit it, but it's getting worse. It makes me feel scared and small inside.

When I was fifteen, it started with a tickle in my throat. A small tickle, at least in my mind, nothing to work myself up over.

But lately, the tickle occurs more often. It's not a once a week or once a day thing like it was when I was younger. My throat burns multiple times a day, and if I don't take my medication when I wake up in the morning, I can barely speak.

A cold sweat breaks out on my neck as I rub my eyes. And that's not even to mention the side effects. While omeprazole has a low-risk profile, recent studies and anecdotal experiences on online messaging boards have raised concerns about the long-term use of PPIs. When older people take them, they can cause bone density issues and potentially contribute to dementia. Researchers haven't established a causal link, but the scary articles I read on natural health websites don't contribute to my peace of mind.

My head grows light from the medication, and I take another sip of water to calm my nerves. I know I must eat soon, because if I don't, this lightheadedness will last all day.

The smell of fresh waffles and yummy berries greets me. "Breakfast is almost ready, boy," Constantine growls.

I plaster a smile on my face and raise Mr. Green. "Thank you. It smells delicious."

Good. At least the waffles will be ready. As soon as I get some carbs in my body, the lightheadedness will dissipate.

I let out a yawn and rest my forehead on the glass. I can't help but think about the amazing time Constantine and I shared. Last night… was better than Ieverexpected.

Constantine was an amazing cuddler. Like, amind-blowingbig spoon who kept me so safe and warm. Not only did he not let his hands fall off my body or push me away, but he also protected me and enveloped me in a great big bear hug, making me feel adored.

I let out a nervous laugh and shake my head.

Constantine's better than the virtual Daddies I played videos of online when I tried to fall asleep at home. I can't believe I didn't go to the Little Bunny Club to meet a Daddy sooner. Cuddling is amazing.

The only experience I have with Daddies are videos of online performers who whisper sweet things to you as you try to fall asleep. They're supposed to help you get into Little headspace, but truth be told, they're creepy.

I can't tell you how many times I've had nightmares because some digital Daddy tells me I'm an adorable boy. I get the heebie-jeebies thinking about it. I figure those videos are fine if you're not scared of robots, but to me, they're far from ideal.

But Constantine… was indescribable. Gone were the weird feelings I had when I played those stupid videos and pretended a nameless Daddy was cuddling me. Here, on this very couch, was a man who kept me close to him the entire night, nuzzling my hair, and feeding popcorn to Mr. Green.

I let out a laugh when I recall that, after the animated movie, Constantine tried to bombard Mr. Green with snacks. I poked Constantine's nose and told him that stuffed animals couldn't eat popcorn and candy, but he didn't listen. He told me anything's possible if you believe.

It. Was. Amazing. Never in my life did I think I'd have a Daddy who played with me. But Constantine knows what I need, without me even having to say it. He fuckinggets me.

The sound of footsteps in the kitchen distracts me from my musings.

"Here." Constantine sets a plate piled high with waffles on the table. "I made our waffles with whole-wheat flour, boy. There's no limit on how many you can eat. They're healthy."

I take a deep breath and try to stay in control of my senses. Oh goodness. Constantine… madehomemadefood for me?

My cheeks flush, and I want to curl up in a ball. No one in my entire life, not even my mother, made home-cooked meals for me as a boy. Dinners were prepackaged pizzas or cheap packages of ravioli from the dollar store, and breakfast was cereal or generic pop tarts. This is so much better… like Constantine gives a shit about my health.

Sliding Mr. Green underneath my arm, I take a step forward. "Is this for me?"

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