CHAPTER EIGHT
Charlie
I knock on the door again and she still won’t open it. I take a deep breath, about to beg again, but then it occurs to me. She’s a little girl. I know that now. Begging isn’t going to convince her. She needs a firm voice and a firm hand.
She needs a spanking, in fact. She ran away from something she should have faced.
Do I have the right to adopt a firm voice for her? Do I have the right to be a firm hand? Do I have the right to be a Daddy? Visions of my wife fill my head. I think about how desperately she needed me and how I actually couldn’t help her. A tear wells up in my eye and for perhaps the first time, I realize I am angry at my wife; angry as hell. She refused to listen and refused to seek help and she overdosed and left me. The anger is powerful and hurts worse than just about anything I can imagine.
But, it frees me as well. I can forgive her.
More importantly at present, my anger reveals to me that the blame for her death lies with her and the drugs, and not with me. I can forgive my wife and I no longer have anything to forgive myself for.
“Charlotte,” I say. My voice is stern, but not any louder than it needs to be for her to hear me. “Listen very carefully. You’re already in trouble, little girl. Don’t make it worse. Open the door right now.”
Two or three excruciating seconds pass and then I hear the click of the deadbolt opening and the handle turns. She opens the door and I step inside. I close the door behind me and turn to look at her. She looks frightened, but frightened in the most adorable way. “You will never hide from me again,” I say. “Do you understand?”
She swallows hard. “Yes,” she says and then adds, “Daddy”. It comes out almost like a question, as though she wants to make sure she’s allowed to call me that.
She’s allowed.
She’s sure as hell allowed.
I walk past her and sit on the couch. This is the nicest hotel in town, but it’s probably a far cry from what she’s used to in New York. I’m nervous now, but I don’t hesitate as I say, “Little girl, get over her right now.”
Her bottom lip quivers, but she makes her way over to me and I say, “On your knees.” I say it firmly Although I wonder if I’m pushing her too far, my tone is one that suggests I not only expect her to obey me, but have no doubt that she will. She hesitates, but I can see in her face this is out of nervousness rather than any desire to rebel.
“This is the only time I’ll ask for something twice, little girl,” I say. “On your knees.”
She obeys immediately this time, and once she’s there I reach out and caress her face. “Do you want me to be your Daddy, Charlotte?” I ask. She nods and then I say, firmly, “When I ask you a question, you answer with your voice.”
“Yes, Daddy,” she says.
“Are you willing to submit to my authority?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she says. She seems almost on the brink of tears. “In every way.”
“No, little one,” I say. “Not in every way. We’ll talk more about that, but you’ll submit in certain ways. Are you willing to submit to me, when it comes to how to treat yourself?”
She nods, “Yes, Daddy,” she whispers.
“Are you willing to submit to me, when it comes to how you face problems or worries?”
She nods and her whisper of agreement is even softer.
“Did you mean what you said at my office?”
She looks at me and I can see both panic and hope in her eyes. “Yes, Daddy,” she says.
“But, you ran away. You were afraid. Why?”
“What if…” She’s struggling. She knows the answer, but she’s struggling because telling me that answer will bring her face to face with it.
“I was going to answer because it was wrong of me to ask you to be my Daddy, after you told me about your wife,” she says. “The truth is that I was afraid you would tell me no.”
I nod. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”
She nods and I say, “I need to teach you a lesson about facing your fears. Take off all of your clothes.” She looks at me with wide eyes and I say, “Now, little girl.”