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She turned and padded off, her bare feet retreating against the hardwood.
I needed to protect her. She was so vulnerable, and I felt like I was a threat to her in these moments.
I didn’t know how to get around the PTSD. Sometimes, it took me over like possession. Sometimes, I was as powerless to them as she was to me. If she came into my room while I was suffering from a flashback, I couldn’t be certain that she’d be safe. And that terrified me.
As soon as she was out of earshot, I sprang from the bed and dragged an armchair from the corner of my room to the door, blocking the handle with it.
I tried to open the door to see if it was something I could do while asleep and found that it was sturdy. But I wasn’t sure if it was something I wouldn’t be able to maneuver if I was afraid enough. I’d done a lot of things in the middle of a flashback when I thought my life was at risk.
Sighing, I walked over to my black lacquered dresser and opened the bottom drawer. I opened the small lockbox where I keptthings I didn’t want Corinne to get to, a small bottle of alcohol and condoms. I pulled the handcuffs out, shiny and harshly bright in the dark room.
I had never used them before, but I’d bought them for this exact purpose years ago when it had gotten really bad.
I’d been able to restart therapy and hadn’t stopped since, once I realized how seriously the safety of my family relied upon my going.
With a heavy sigh, I clasped one of the handcuffs around my wrist, pushing it tight until I wasn’t able to slip my wrist out at all, and then I climbed back into bed and closed the other cuff around my bedpost, trapping myself into a singular sleeping position for the night. I shoved the key under a slat beneath my mattress, using all my might to push it as far away as possible and make it as hard to reach as I possibly could. I needed it to be hard to reach if I was having a flashback.
Being a father meant protecting my daughter at all costs, even from myself.
I closed my eyes and prepared for the onslaught of images, each more horrific than the last, knowing that I couldn’t stop it with all the breathing in the world.
Finally, I gave up and uncuffed myself. It wasn’t going to work.
I needed a fucking drink.
nine
Delia
Tonight, after Robert kissed me, I decided to lend some credibility to my lie to Jeremy and picked up a shift at the bar where I worked.
I preferred to bartend, but occasionally, they put me in as a bottle girl, walking around with trays of cocktails and bottles of wine, trying to convince wealthy men to spend unnecessary money.
I was good at it, but sometimes the men got a little touchy when I worked that particular position, which is why it wasn’t my favorite.
I walked up to a group of men seated in leather chairs, smoking cigars. They were laughing together about something, their wrists draped in watches and their fingers shining with rings. Their suits were pressed. In short, they had money to spend.
“Hello, gentlemen,” I started, flashing the sincerest smile that I could muster. “Would anyone here like a refill?”
I pointed to an empty glass one of the men had in front of him on the glass table. It was sweating a ring on the surface, and I gestured that I could take it from him.
“How about you? Wouldn’t want those lips to get dry.”
He leered at me, an approximation of a smile, and picked up the glass. He held it just out of my reach, teasing me with it.
“I can think of a few ways you could wet my lips.” He looked over at the group of men, who laughed, egging him on. “And one or two I could wet yours.”
When he said it, he glanced down at the tiny shorts I had to wear for the job, black and spandex, as they rode up into my ass cheeks. His eyes lingered on my crotch, and I tugged down on my shorts legs, smiling at him.
“I only serve drinks,” I told him dryly, and reached to take his drink.
He took the opportunity to cop a feel ‘accidentally,’ his fingers grazing the part of my breasts outside of my shirt as my cleavage almost spilled out.
“Sorry,” he said sarcastically, as I finally got hold of the drink.
“If you’re really sorry, why don’t you tip her extra for the effort?” I heard someone behind me say.
As I straightened up and turned, my stomach dropped to see Robert there, a dark expression written on his face.