He continued massaging her thighs and calves. “Keep going.”
“Before Mom passed away, we’d lived simply, in a middle class neighborhood. He’d begun dating within a few months of Mom’s funeral. I heard a friend telling him he needed to move on, to not dwell on her death. Evidently he took that advice to heart.”
“How old were you?”
“Eighteen. Tristan was three. I was old enough to move out then, but it felt as if I would be abandoning Tristan to my stepmother’s family. Several of her children still lived at home, and they were…rough kids. Because of his head injury, he had special needs, and it was obvious Roberta, my stepmother, wanted to relegate him to a fulltime babysitter. At least his caregiver was sweet to him. I would’ve brought her with us if I could’ve afforded to. I was enrolled at a community college before I’d graduated from high school so I continued on with my education. My stepmother didn’t approve of my career path and wanted me to attend one of the universities. But I knew what I wanted to do, and so I persisted. After graduation, I moved out on my own.”
“And Tristan?”
“Stayed with my dad. Doctors couldn’t tell us with any degree of certainty what to expect with Tristan’s development. I worried about him, but it was a busy time for me, and I believed Dad would take care of him. On a couple of visits, I’d noticed the other kids were bullying him, teasing him and picking on him for being slow. I fussed at Dad and my stepmom about it, but they just shrugged it off, and Dad told me it was how boys in a family established a pecking order, only he was tiny compared to all of them. He somehow mysteriously broke his arm, playing with the kids, my stepmom said, and chalked it up to ‘boys being boys.’ I couldn’t get him to talk to me about it. He seemed so hopeless. I was pretty upset by it, but my dad cut me off and told me to mind my own business and stop being so dramatic.”
“Anyway, I got a job with a local IT company and began working fulltime. For a while, the only time I saw Dad and Tristan was rare weekends and holidays. I didn’t accept handouts from Dad or my stepmother. Life was a struggle at times, but at least that way they couldn’t put pressure on me. I enjoyed my work, and I lived life on my terms.”
Joseph gave a soft chuckle. “I can imagine.” The flogger landed on the back of her thigh with a soft whiff. She rubbed her cheek against the bedspread and smiled as another and another landed. “Continue, fiammetta.”
“I came home—if you want to call their mansion a home—for Christmas. My key didn’t work in the lock, and I had to knock and wait to be admitted by their housekeeper. I asked about it, and Roberta told me there had been break-ins in neighboring areas, and she waved off my request for a new key. I was okay with that because it was their house and I no longer lived there, but then I saw Tristan.” Her cheeks grew hot at the memory and she pressed her lips together to still their trembling.
The soft whispering blows of the flogger landed again and again, and she said, “Sir, wouldn’t you rather I be quiet?”
“No, I’d rather hear what happened next.”
Swoosh. The leather strands landed in a random pattern up and down her legs, her butt, and her back and shoulders, a warm caress that even the troubling memories couldn’t dampen.
“Roberta had been married twice before and, besides the kids still living at home, had several grown children who were older than me, as well as a large extended family. Some of them had kids of their own by this time. We’d never bonded with any of them. They were all there. Many of Dad’s and Roberta’s work colleagues and friends were there as well. With all of us present, Roberta made a show of introducing the kids as she handed out their gifts, mentioning their degrees and careers, and pointedly left Tristan and me out. All of the friends were ones he’d made after marrying her, so for all the guests knew, we were servant’s kids. I didn’t mind that neither Tristan nor I received gifts, and I’d whispered to him that I’d brought him something extra special. Mom had never been materialistic, and I embraced her philosophy. At one point, Tristan disappeared from the gathering.”
She sniffled, and her movement brushed her cheek against cool tears drenching the bedspread. She couldn’t believe she still had that many to shed.
The warming flash of the leather falls on her skin was a comfort, as was Joseph’s regular breathing and movements, keeping her in the present.
“Tristan had looked so miserable when I’d arrived, and I thought it was because he was just having a bad day or coming down with a cold. I felt guilty for not looking in on him more regularly and promised myself I’d do better for his sake. I found him in the basement game room, with Roberta’s grandkids.”