Learning to Be Little Again(38)

“He knew about you and said… and said I’d b-be… p-punished.” The feeling that I was about to be sick came back with a vengeance. I closed my eyes, trying to take deep breathes so I wouldn’t embarrass myself by getting sick in front of them.

“Easy, little one. Here, take a little sip of your orange juice,” Robert said as he brought the glass to my lips.

I took a little sip and it helped. I took a few more until I felt better and opened my eyes to see both men looking at me with concern. “I’m sorry, you guys. I know that I’m not handling this well.” That’s an understatement.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, sweetie. I’m sorry for what we have to tell you next.”

“What?” I asked, automatically knowing I wasn’t going to like the news.

“Boyle skipped his bail. We have a warrant out for his arrest, but as of right now, we don’t know where he is,” Mark said.

Before I had a chance to panic, Robert jumped in and said, “Mark and I came up with a plan to keep you safe. On Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, you’ll stay with me and I’ll drop you off and pick you up from work. Then on Thursdays, Mark will pick you up and you’ll spend the night with him until I can pick you up. Weekends we’ll spend together, and on the weekends I work, you can come to my office or you can hang out with Joey or Samantha.”

That all sounded great to me, but I didn’t want to make Mark and Robert feel like they had to be with me every second of every day. That would take its toll on them and probably make them resent me.

“No, you guys can’t do that. I won’t make you babysit me like that.”

“Juliana, I say this with love, sweetie, but you don’t have a choice in the matter. Neither Robert nor I will leave you alone. I refuse to let that leech get his hands on you ever again,” Mark declared, crossing his arms over his chest, which meant that was his final word on the subject.

“I have to agree with Mark, baby. You mean too much to us to let you get hurt. Besides, it won’t be babysitting to us.”

“But—”

“Juliana, enough,” Mark said, staring me down and squashing my protests. I envy the bravery of the girl who becomes Mark’s wife, I chuckled to myself.

“Okay, okay. You guys win,” I said, holding my hands up in defeat.

“Good. Now on that note, I hate to eat and run, but I have to go get ready for work,” Mark said, standing and reaching for his winter coat.

“Thanks for coming, man.” Robert stood and gave Mark a hug.

I got up next and gave him a hug too and whispered in his ear, “Thanks for coming.”

“Don’t mention it. Be safe, kid.”

“Bye.” I waved to him as he walked out the door.

Robert walked over to the door and locked it, then turned around and faced me. “How are you feeling, little one?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Okay. Now that I ate, I don’t feel like I’m going to be sick anymore.”

“Great. Now is as good a time as any for your punishment.”

“Punishment?” I asked, alarmed. I’d forgotten about that. I tried to scramble for an excuse to get out of it, but Robert was talking before I had a chance to.

“Yes. Remember, I told you since you lied to me about being sick and why you were sick, you would get a punishment. Now I want you to stand right here and I’ll go and get the first part of your punishment,” he said, turning and walking into my bedroom.

First part? How many parts were going to be in this punishment? Why didn’t he just spank me like he did before? I wondered as he came back with a notebook and pen.

He handed both items to me and said, “You are going to sit at this kitchen table and write out in very neat handwriting, I will not lie to my Daddy, one hundred times. Once that is done, we’ll do the second part of your punishment.”

Sighing, I sat down at the kitchen table as he began to clean up the breakfast dishes. I opened the first page of the notebook to see that he’d labeled the hundred lines for me and that at the top he’d what I was supposed to write. It was going to take two pages front and back to completely write out all the lines.

I couldn’t help the groan that came out of my lips.

“Problem, sweetie? Do you need your bottom warmed up to get your hand moving?” Robert asked, drying one of the dirty plates.

“No thank you, Daddy,” I said, picking the pen up. I began to write down my lines and before I knew it, I had finished them. I felt a little like Harry Potter when he had to do his lines for Professor Umbridge. Thankfully, my pen was filled with ink and not my own blood, but my hand was cramping probably as badly as Harry’s had after one of his detentions.