by Loki Renard
I’ve been disillusioned with love for a long time. Medicine too. I’ve been on a hiatus for a few months, and intend to be on one for a few months more.
Now I have something to do, someone to look after. I can already tell this is going to be about more than just having a house guest. Mary needs more than a roof and access to the refrigerator. From what Ken’s told me about her, and what I’ve already gathered for myself, she’s a girl in need of some serious direction, discipline, and care.
I wasn’t planning on seeking more female company. Certainly not eighteen years younger than me. She’s actually young enough to be my daughter.
I close the laptop and go down to check on her. She’s fast asleep by the looks of things. Walking in quietly, I take the remnants of the cup of hot chocolate out of her hands where it’s still resting. Didn’t even manage to put it on the nightstand before she fell asleep. She must be utterly exhausted, poor thing. Even in her sleep, I can see the way she juts her chin out defiantly at the world. She’s proud. She’s brave. But she’s also small and hurt. I definitely have my work cut out for me with this little girl.
7
MARY
It’s been a very long time since I woke up somewhere comfortable. When I open my eyes I find myself in a deep pile of blankets and coverlets. There is warm sun filtering through the window. Birds are singing outside. I’m home.
Well, in a home, anyway.
It feels like a lifetime since I woke up in a place like this. In a lot of ways, it literally was. I think the last time I woke up feeling this way, I was probably in my early teens.
After lying there for a while, orienting myself to the world, I get out of bed and go to the kitchen. Some things are habit. Even in strange new places where you don’t really know the way you can still follow the smell.
Tom is up already, and cooking. The clock on the wall says it’s 10.00 am. I must have slept for half a day at least. I do feel a bit better for it though.
“Hey.”
Seeing Tom makes me happy and gives me heartache at the same time. I miss Ken.
“Good morning, young lady,” he says. “I made pancakes.”
The young lady makes me think I’m in trouble. Then I remember that I don’t get in trouble anymore. I left the man who can tell me I’m in trouble behind in Afghanistan.
I sit down and consume the pancakes, trying not to check Tom out too much. Today he’s wearing a white shirt, sleeves rolled up, brown slacks. His hair is slightly damp from the shower, curling more than ever. Gives him a roguish appearance as he flips the last few pancakes, the muscles in his forearm rippling with the motions of spatula and pan.
The pancakes are really good. He knows how to make them light enough to absorb just the right amount of syrup. And there’s hot chocolate too, not coffee. It’s all really good and comforting and I’m almost starting to believe it’s real.
Except, it can’t be real. I can’t possibly be here safe and sound, eating pancakes when there’s people back in the desert. Where Ken is. Getting shot at. Wearing the smell of death.
The memory almost makes me gag. I put my fork down and push the plate away.
“Not hungry?” Tom’s brow lifts the same damn way Ken’s does.
“I’ve had enough, thank you. It was nice.”
I’m trying to be as polite as I can, even as the dark thoughts come rushing in. I don’t deserve this place. This comfort. I don’t deserve these pancakes. I don’t deserve a damn thing.
“What’s on your mind?”
He asks the question gently. I don’t want to answer it. He doesn’t need to know. Better he doesn’t.
“Mary,” he says, his voice going a little deeper. “You were happy at first. What happened?”
“I remembered.”
“What did you remember?”
“Everything.”
“Ah,” he nods. “Okay. Well. You and I need to have a conversation.”
I don’t want to have any conversations. I want to run. Really far. So far nobody can find me.
“Thanks for the pancakes,” I say. “I’m going to get my things and go.”
“Why?” He looks genuinely confused, reminding me that he’s a civilian.
“Because I don’t want to be your problem,” I sigh. “I was Ken’s problem, and I made everything worse. I might even have gotten some people killed. Bad things happen to me. And worse things happen to people who get involved with me. So I’m going to go.”
“Some bad things might happen to you, sure,” he counters. “And some bad things might happen to other people, but that doesn’t mean you’re the cause. And I’m not afraid of what might happen.”
“That’s because you don’t know what’s happened to me. You don’t know where I’ve been, or who I’ve been involved with. Not even Ken knows. I went through some stuff. And then I went through some more stuff, and then I ran into Ken. And he sent me here. If you can think of a bad place or a bad person, I promise you I’ve been there and I’ve met them. Nobody really knows who I am, Tom. Not even Ken. Especially not Ken.”
I’m being more honest than I’ve ever been with anyone. Tom’s eyes never leave mine. He’s listening. Intently listening. And he doesn’t seem to be afraid, even though he really should be. Because Ken wasn’t saving me from the dangers of Afghanistan when he sent me away. He was just exporting the danger. Right into this cozy little haven, where I know I don’t belong, and into the life of this man who I can already tell is too good for me.
“There’s a lot I don’t know,” he agrees when I stop talking. “Maybe you’ll tell me some of it sometime. But that doesn’t mean you need to leave. And it doesn’t mean I’ll let you.” He says the last part with a smile, leaning casually on the counter. His words could be interpreted as threatening, if it weren’t for his demeanor.
“I was safer in Afghanistan. That’s the truth,” I say. “I got out of… the place I was in, and then I went and did some things with some people. I owe money. I owe blood. I was a very bad girl, Tom. In ways you don’t understand.”
TOM
This little girl has a flair for the dramatic. Maybe she’s trying to warn me. Or maybe this is just a very dramatic way for a small woman to make herself look bigger. Physically, she’s on the smaller side. And I know from Ken and from her that she’s a journalist. It’s really hard to believe that she poses anyone any danger at all.
Regardless, I listen.
“So you’re afraid people will come looking for you here?”
“I’m afraid that I have some heavy karma coming my way, and I don’t want more people involved than have to be.”
“Well, I’ll deal with that as and when it happens.”
“You’re not equipped to deal with anything,” she smirks.
I feel my palms tingle. If you ask me, this girl is begging for a spanking. A good, long, over the knee butt warming. That would settle her down nicely. But she’s my brother’s lover. And my guest. And I don’t spank girls who don’t ask for it very, very nicely.
Seven days later…
“Mary!”
“What?”
“Can you put your wrappers in the trash, please?”
“Huh? Oh yeah. Sure,” she says, going right back to watching the television, turning the volume up to drown out the vacuum which I’m pushing around the room in a futile attempt to get my place looking like something other than a bomb site.
Ken didn’t send her here to laze around and mess up my house. He sent her here to keep her out of trouble. She’s not technically in trouble - not with anyone but me, that is.
It’s quickly apparent that Mary does whatever Mary wants, whenever Mary wants. The hours she keeps are atrocious. She’s up until the small hours of the morning and I’m sure I haven’t seen her up before mid-day any day this week.
She refuses to talk to Ken, which works out because Ken’s more busy and less available than he has ever been. That area of the world is hot as hell right now. I’m worried for
him, to be honest. I’ve been worried about him since he was born though. Perpetual big brother, that’s me.
“Can you move your legs, please?”
“Huh?”
“Can you move your legs?” I raise my voice over vacuum and television, feeling like I’m picking up after a rebellious teenage daughter.
“Do I need to assign you chores, little girl?”
She smirks and rolls her eyes. “You want me to clean? I’ll clean.”
“Yes, I want you to clean.”
“Okay. No problem. I’ll do it later.”
“You’ll do it now.”
She looks up from her computer with an impressive scowl on her pretty face. “I’m busy now.”
“Busy doing what?”
“None of your business.” She closes the laptop.
I get the impression she’s testing me. Or maybe punishing me. For looking like Ken. But I’m not Ken, I and deal with problems differently.
“Mary, you’re very welcome here,” I say. “But you’re going to have to start helping out too. You’re a grown woman. You know better than to leave a mess around for someone else to clean up.”
“You know what,” she says, taking immediate offense. “You’re condescending as hell.”
God this girl needs a spanking. A really good, long, hard spanking. Pants down for sure. Maybe not on the bare, but definitely over her underwear. It’s not even a sexual thing. She needs bringing in line. Badly. But it’s not my place. Ken is going to have his work cut out for him when he gets back. In the meantime, I guess I’m going to be vacuuming twice a day.
MARY
He looks so much like Ken when he’s irritated. I know I shouldn’t be giving him trouble. Hell, the mess even irritates me. It takes effort to leave wrappers everywhere. If he doesn’t give me what I want soon, I’m going to leave the milk out. I’ve seen the way his eye twitches at the milk rings left from coffee. He’d probably totally self-combust if I left the milk out overnight.
This is definitely immature on my part, but I’m mad, and I can’t take my anger out on the man who deserves it. I’m not even taking it out on Tom. I’m just… letting it leak a bit.
Truth is, I miss having someone keep me in line. It was only a week with Ken, but knowing I couldn’t get away with my usual shit actually felt really good. I feel like he got me addicted to him and then sent me away. And now I’m lost. Sitting in this comfortable house with this guy who is way too nice for his own good, and wondering just how far I can push him.
“You want me to clean? I’ll clean.”
I pick up a foil wrapper from a protein bar which was sitting on the couch next to me, look him dead in the eye, and drop it on the ground.
He lets out a sigh. “Little girl, do you want a spanking? Is that it?”
“No!” My denial is hot, and swift, and a total lie.
“Then quit being a brat,” he says, bending to pick the wrapper up.
I feel a mix of disappointment and guilt. Guilt for being an asshole to this guy. Disappointment because I didn’t get what I wanted. What the hell am I doing? Tom’s giving me a place to stay and he’s a really cool guy and I am being a total dick about all of this.
“I’m sorry,” I say, pushing off the couch. “I’ll help tidy.”
“Thanks,” he says with what seems to be a genuine smile. We both get down to tidying and soon the place is spotless.
“Good job,” he says, holding his hand up for a high five.
He doesn’t seem to hold my behavior against me. Nice. Far too nice. I reach up and slap his hand.
“Gimme another,” he jokes, lifting his hand higher still. So high I have to jump for it. It’s a goofy thing to want, but I can’t leave the guy hanging, so I give a little jump. As I rise into the air, my shirt comes up, exposing my stomach a little. No big deal, except I see his eyes dip, and then widen. The scars. He’s seen the fucking scars.
It’s enough to make me try to abort the act mid-air, which isn’t possible according to our laws of gravity, so instead of slapping his hand, I end up clumsily falling almost into him. Tom catches me and steadies me on my feet.
“You okay?”
“Fine.” I brush his hands away. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
Forcing a smile, I grab my laptop and retreat quickly to the bedroom.
TOM
A fear of doctors, and a body which looks like it’s been operated on heavily. Has she been sick at some point in her life? Maybe needed some exploratory surgery? I only got a quick glimpse, but there were an awful lot of scars on that girl’s midsection and something about them just felt plain wrong.
It’s not my business. She’s just crashing at my place, I tell myself.
But my feet are carrying me to her room. And my knuckles are tapping on the door. And now I’m opening it.
“Go away!”
She’s been crying. I can hear it in her voice.
“Mary?” I say her name softly.
“What?”
“Are you okay, Mary?”
“I’m great,” she lies.
I don’t know how to have the conversation with her, but Ken told me she needed to talk, and I agree.
“I don’t want to pry…”
“Then don’t,” she snaps. She’s prickly and I don’t blame her. She sits on the bed, her knees up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. She’s defending herself against the world. Against me.
My heart goes out to her. I can sense that she needs help, but she doesn’t know how to take it, or how to ask for it. Ken wanted me to talk to her. It’s time I did.
“Little girl.” The words escape my mouth before I can stop them. I’ve been refraining from calling her that as much as possible, even though it’s been on the tip of my tongue since we met. “I think you and I should talk.”
“About what?”
“Well, maybe about some of the trouble you’re in.”
“No,” she snorts. “No thank you. And I don’t want to talk about your brother either.”
“Okay well. What about…” I trail off. The scars. I want to know how she got them. Actually, I’d like to examine them. But I know she won’t allow that and I can’t force it.
“You’re a nice guy,” she says flatly. “But you’re out of your depth with me, okay, Tom?”
That makes me smile. “Why would I be out of my depth with you?”
“Because you just are. I know you saw those scars. You’re curious. No, I didn’t to them to myself.”
“Of course not. They’re obviously surgical.”
“Yeah.”
“Were you sick?”
“Nope.”
The tone in her voice is changing, and so is the look in her eye. It’s as if she’s slipping away from me even as she’s sitting right there in front of me. It’s almost eerie.
“Mary.”
“What?” She snaps back into the room.
I have more than enough medical training to recognize dissociation when I see it. This girl has been through serious trauma of one kind or another.
“You can talk to me,” I say gently.
“I know. I speak English.”
“I mean, you can really talk to me. I keep secrets. And I don’t judge.”
“Then you’re an idiot,” she says. “You should judge.”
“I won’t judge you.”
“Yes you will,” she smirks at me. “You just think you won’t because you can’t imagine me as being anything other than a little victim for you to rescue. Just like your brother. I was too much trouble for him, and I’ll be too much trouble for you too.”
“You weren’t too much trouble for him. He wanted you safe. And you’re not too much trouble for me.”
“Just leave me alone,” she sighs.
“Mary,” I say, letting my tone get sharper. “I’m getting a little tired of the attitude.”
I have her attention now. I can practically see her ears prick up at the injection of sternness into my voice. Sh
e needs to be looked after. She wants to be looked after too, I think. But she won’t let it happen unless I show her I’m in control.
“What are you going to do about it?”
I’m sure she intends the question to be rebellious, but I can hear the hope in her voice.
“Well, for starters, you’re going to lose privileges if you keep acting up.”
“You’re not my dad,” she laughs. “You can’t take away my privileges.”
“You’re under my roof, young lady. And while you are, you will obey my rules or face the consequences.”
“Like what?” She’s giggling now, and her cheeks are pink with what I’m sure isn’t amusement.
“Like an early curfew and bed time. Like no dessert. Like limited electronics time.”
“Okay seriously, Tom, you’re not my dad.”
I fix her with a long, stern look. “Yes, I am little girl. As long as you’re here, consider me your daddy.”
She’s not laughing anymore. She’s blushing. The look in her eye isn’t defiant anymore. It’s soft. She lowers her gaze, her fingers playing with the blanket. When she speaks, her voice is softer and lighter than I’ve heard it before.
“Okay.”
MARY
I’ve been drowning since I left Afghanistan. Trying to keep myself together. Trying to manage the oceans of emotions which threaten to overwhelm me regularly.
I need something. I need someone. Right now, Tom is all I have and it feels like he just threw me a lifeline when he offered to be my daddy. I never had a daddy. My father died before I was old enough to really remember him. I don’t even know what it means to have a daddy. But when those words came out of his mouth, they felt right. Tom already feels like family.
