Page 9 of Daddy’s Muse (Bloody Desires #12)

Colby

Bryan wasn’t answering his phone, and at first, it was a relief.

The silence was…strange, a little unnerving, but welcome.

I’d come back from the library a few nights ago and noticed his gym bag untouched in the corner, his bed empty, and his backpack gone.

That first night, I’d figured maybe he’d gone to crash with a friend or was passed out drunk in one of the many frat houses on campus. It wasn’t unusual for him to stumble into our room after a night out.

But by the second night, I had started to grow a bit concerned.

I’d texted him yesterday. Just a short, “Hey, everything okay?”

He hadn’t responded.

I even tried calling him.

He hadn’t picked up.

As much as he hated me, he had never just disappeared on me before.

I opened our last conversation thread again now, staring at the empty “delivered” status beneath my message—no “read” receipt.

The dorm felt too quiet now.

I glanced around the room; my desk was tidy, as always, the corners of my notebooks lined up with obsessive precision. Our shared mini fridge still had his energy drinks inside. His coat still hung by the door, and his side of the room was still littered with his dirty clothes from the week before.

I shivered slightly even though the heater was on.

Lately, I’d been waking up in the middle of the night with the oddest sense that something—or someone—was watching me. Not from outside the window, or the hallway, but from inside the room.

The first night it had happened, I’d written it off as stress, or maybe even Bryan coming back for a minute to grab something. But in the morning when I’d seen his stuff completely untouched, I wasn’t sure anymore.

The second night, I turned the desk lamp on and left it running until morning.

Last night, I thought I heard something shift under the bed.

I chalked it up to paranoia, or maybe just the kind of irrational anxiety that crept in when you were living too long on edge. I was used to flinching at shadows—used to holding my breath when I entered the room, waiting to see what kind of mood Bryan was in.

But now there was no Bryan. And somehow, I still couldn’t relax. I felt ridiculous that my live-in bully being gone made me so unnerved. If anything, I should’ve been celebrating each and every minute that I had the room to myself.

I heard a knock at the door just as I was finishing up a paragraph in my lit paper.

I froze for half a second, then got up, heart thumping in my chest.

When I opened the door, a woman stood in the hallway—short brown hair, deep worry lines around her mouth, and a set of keys trembling faintly in her hand.

“Colby?” she asked.

I blinked. “Uh… yeah.”

“I’m Bryan’s mother. I just—” she hesitated, then gave me a tight smile. “I came to get a few of his things.”

“Oh.” I stepped aside immediately, unsure what to do with my hands. “Yeah, of course. I didn’t know he… I mean, is he okay? He hasn’t been in touch for the past few days. I’ve been kinda worried.”

Her expression faltered, and that’s when I noticed the redness in her eyes. She’d been crying recently.

“He’s in the hospital,” she said softly. “There was an accident. They think he tripped or slid on some black ice. He fell down a flight of stairs. He… he’s in a coma.”

A cold breath slipped into my lungs and sat there.

“A coma?” I echoed, blinking. “Is he going to…?”

“They’re not sure yet,” she said quickly, voice a little too bright now. “They’re monitoring him. The swelling in his brain’s gone down a little. That’s good. He’s… he’s strong. He’s a tough kid, you know? I just wanted to pick up some of his things so that he has them when he wakes up.”

I nodded, still staring at her like I was trying to decipher some kind of secret meaning behind her words.

I pictured Bryan’s face, lively and cruel.

My brain couldn’t comprehend that he was in a coma.

It felt like at any time, he’d pop up and make fun of me for buying into some joke he’d roped his mother into.

But the pain on her face said otherwise. There was no way to fake a mother’s anguish for her child’s suffering.

“I just keep reminding myself of all the sports injuries he’s had over the years. He always pulled through,” she continued. “I’m sure he’ll be back at school in no time.”

I let out a breath. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

She smiled again, but this one was even softer. “You must be a good roommate. He never complains about you.”

I felt my throat close around something I didn’t know how to swallow.

I didn’t correct her. I didn’t want to tell her that he probably didn’t complain because he was pleased with his docile punching bag.

She didn’t need to know that her son tormented me.

She didn’t deserve that on her conscience, especially not right now.

She gathered a few of his things quickly—his tablet, some chargers, a few shirts, and I helped her bag them up while making some small talk.

She looked at the open bag, then at me. “Is there anything else you can think of?”

“No, I think this is good. I’m sure he’ll be happy just to use his phone again.” I gave her a small smile, trying my best to comfort her.

“Thank you, Colby. You should come visit my husband and I with Bryan for a weekend once this is all over. I can tell you’re a great friend.”

“O-oh,” I stumbled. “Sure. Thank you, ma’am.”

She took a deep breath before wrapping me in a hug. My body stiffened, but gradually I relaxed into her.

“Bryan is lucky to have such a good mom,” I told her, the words coming from my heart.

“Thank you, hon,” she sniffled, her eyes glassy.

After she left, I shut the door and stood in the middle of the room.

A coma.

Bryan was in a coma.

I sat back down on my bed, staring across at the empty one opposite mine.

For his mom’s sake, I hoped he’d be alright.

But, for my sake… I felt somewhat relieved.

Now that I knew what had happened and where he was, my anxiety about it had vanished.

Guilt fizzled in my belly when I thought of his family, but all I felt was calm.

At least until he got better, I’d have the room to myself. I wouldn’t have to worry about when he’d walk through the door, ready to make my life hell again.

I fell back onto my bed, kicking my feet in the air, when an idea hit me.

I could be little!

With Bryan in the hospital, I didn’t need to worry about him walking in on me coloring or watching cartoons.

I bit my lip to stifle the grin spreading across my face. The very thought made my chest buzz with a kind of giddy anticipation I hadn’t felt in months.

I didn’t get to be little very often, and especially not here—not with Bryan constantly around, watching me like a hawk and calling me every name in the book anytime he even suspected I was “off.” Too quiet. Too soft. Too weird. I couldn’t let myself slip—not in the way I wanted. Not safely.

But now … now I had space.

I rolled off the bed and dug into the bottom drawer of my desk. Beneath a mess of folders and an old hoodie I never wore, I pulled out a small drawstring bag and held it to my chest.

Inside was my emergency stash: my favorite coloring book (the one with animals dressed up like people), a small box of crayons, Steve—a plush raccoon that was so old and worn he was falling apart at the seams—and a pacifier I’d only ever dared use a handful of times.

I held the plush close, pressing my nose into his soft fur.

My whole body exhaled, and I suddenly was hit with an overwhelming urge to cry.

Not out of sadness, but relief. I snuffled into Steve’s soft tummy and let out a choked sob, my eyes leaking.

I wasn’t totally sure what had triggered this part of me in the first place—maybe it was because of my mommy and daddy issues, maybe it was just innate. All I knew was that the world had seemed to click into place when I’d read that blog post about littles and caregivers.

I grabbed my softest pajamas from the closet—baby blue with little bears all over—and tugged them on, then climbed into bed with Steve under my arm, my paci in my mouth, and my coloring book in hand.

I barely noticed the minutes slipping by as I colored in a cute cartoon fox holding a big lollipop. I was even humming softly under my breath when the heater clicked on, startling me.

That was when I felt it again.

That feeling .

Like I wasn’t alone.

I froze, the green crayon still in my hand, halfway through filling in a tree.

My eyes swept the room slowly. The door was shut and locked.

The closet was open, and aside from my clothes, it was empty.

Bryan’s bed looked the same as before. My laptop’s little sleep light blinked steadily on my desk. Everything was just as it had been.

But I couldn’t shake it. That subtle prickle at the base of my neck. Like breath on my skin. Like—

I shook my head quickly.

“Nope,” I whispered aloud. “You’re being weird again, Colby. Paranoia. That’s all it is. There is not a ghost because no one died in here.” Hesitating, I thought of the possibility of a student dying and haunting my room. Students did sometimes die at colleges…

Oh no, no, no, no.

“Mr. Ghost…” I addressed. “If you’re in here, please don’t haunt me. Or could you at least wait until my roommate comes back? Please?”

My eyes scanned back and forth over the room, searching for anything out of the ordinary, but nothing but silence answered me.

I sighed and reached out, turning on the small desk lamp beside my bed, which flooded the room with soft, yellow light. It helped a little. Not enough to make me fully relax, but enough to keep me grounded.

Andddd, maybe the ghost—if it was there—was afraid of light?

I looked down at my half-finished page. The fox was smiling, completely unfazed, its little tongue peeking out of its mouth to lick at its lollipop.

“Wish I could be you right now,” I whispered.