“No buts. Do you need help?”
He rested his hand on her lower belly and pushed gently, increasing the pressure on her bladder.
“I thought you said—”
“We can talk about it later, but right now you’re still a very unwell little girl and you need Daddy to be in charge of everything, even your potty. So go ahead.”
Twyla felt embarrassment turn her cheeks red and she dug her fingers into the padded sides of the changing table, but…her nipples had gotten hard and they were aching. Not because she’d been hit there, either. She felt swollen between her legs, and it didn’t go away, only got more intense when Mr. Fox pressed a little harder on her tummy.
“You can do it. That’s what your diaper is for. Be a good girl for me now unless you want a punishment when you’re better.”
With him pressing down, she really did need to go. And he clearly wanted her to. For once, she didn’t want to fight. Mr. Fox made her want to be so good for him.
So Twyla put her hands over her face and then gave in to the pressure on her bladder and let go. It felt super weird to do it, but Mr. Fox was standing over her and telling her what a good girl she was for following directions and rubbing her tummy. Plus, within seconds he was taking the wet diaper off, wiping her down and then turning her over to take her temperature and push two more of the suppositories into her bottom before picking her up again to carry her into the bathroom.
He gave her another bath and combed out her hair, put it in a braid which she hadn’t done maybe since elementary school. Then he put another diaper on her and brought her into the bedroom where he sat her on the edge of the bed while he rummaged in the closet and came out holding a couple of bags and a few things on hangers. What were those?
He put the bags on the bed beside her and laid out the clothes on the bed. Dresses. He’d bought her dresses? When?
“I called my friend Marni last night and she went and picked up a few things for you to wear since your clothes from yesterday were ruined and I didn’t want you going back to your parents house to get anything. I hope you like at least a couple of things and that they fit. I’ll take you shopping when you’re feeling better and you can pick out your own things.”
He’d gotten her clothes? Or rather, asked his friend to get them for her? That was so kind of him she could cry. Instead, she said thank you and ran her hands over the fabric of the dresses. They were soft and the fabric wasn’t thin, or rough and thick like most of her clothes. The colors were bright and while she bet the hems would be a lot lower than most of her usual skirts, that was okay. They didn’t seem prissy or like he wanted her to cover up or be different.
Mr. Fox sat down next to her and put his big hand over hers.
“Do you not like them? Marni did the best she could. We can return most of it and get you other things if you don’t like them. But as much as I like seeing you in them, you can’t wear one of my shirts to meet with Principal York.”
Before she could stop herself, Twyla turned and kissed him. Kissed Mr. Fox right on the lips and slipped her fingers into his blond, curly hair. He groaned against her and though she had started it, she didn’t stay the instigator for long. No. He cupped her face and coaxed her mouth open with his tongue, licked inside her mouth, explored her and tasted her. She gasped when she pressed too hard and it hurt where her lip was split and he pulled away, his eyes wild, his face flushed.
“I’m sorry, Twyla. Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean for—”
“I started it,” she said with a smile, but gingerly touched her lip and her fingertip came away red. “But that obviously wasn’t the best idea. I like them all, I couldn’t decide. Thank you. And thank Marni for me too. I don’t…”
She shook her head around the lump in her throat and tried not to cry. Was she forever going to be this level of waterworks? She hoped not. But Mr. Fox didn’t seem to mind. Just grabbed a tissue and dabbed at her lip to stem the bleeding.
“How about the yellow one? I think you’d look pretty in yellow.”
“Okay.”
There were bras in the bag, although no underwear, and some chapstick, deodorant, some lotion and hair ties, and a shoebox with some pretty black flats inside.
Mr. Fox helped get her dressed and then brought her downstairs where he settled her on the couch. Her phone was on the coffee table and she checked it, not surprised to see that her parents hadn’t called or messaged. It hurt for sure, but what did she expect? That they’d suddenly give a shit? They were probably relieved to be rid of her.
She couldn’t imagine what was taking Mr. Fox so long in the kitchen and why he was making so much noise. If she was lucky at her house there would be some cereal or a granola bar she could bolt before leaving for school or some leftovers she could eat cold. But it sounded like he was actuallycooking. Who did that? Did he do that on school days too? Would she get to find out?
Finally he came back to the living room, a tray with legs on it in his hands. Would he make her breakfast in bed sometime? Or maybe she could learn to cook something, anything, and she could surprise him some morning? Breakfast in bed sounded like one of those things that only happened on TV or in movies or to people who lived in mansions or stayed at super fancy hotels.
On the tray there were two bottles like he’d given her yesterday, one full of something pink and the other one kind of a beige. Her mouth watered though when she saw what else was on the tray. Eggs. Bacon. Fresh fruit. When had she ever eaten like that? Not since she used to have sleepovers at her gram’s.
Mr. Fox set the tray down and almost as soon as he had, picked her up and settled her in his lap. He pulled something from his pocket and she flushed when she realized it was a bib.
“Don’t want to get food stains on your pretty new dress, do you?”
She shook her head and even though she was breathing kind of hard while he did it, she let him fasten the bib around her neck without argument. She closed her eyes when the pressure of his fingers did the snap and the sound went straight between her legs.
“That’s a good girl. You must be starving, you didn’t eat much yesterday.”
Twyla shrugged because this wasn’t unusual for her, but she did want to eat.