Late Blooming Lily Page 9

"Thank you," she said in a little voice. "I would have gotten dinner, but doctor said to stay in bed. I can get you something...."

  "I'm not hungry. Eat your soup."

  "Yes, Rob," she whispered, and this was the part of punishment she couldn't bear, the part where she couldn't snuggle against him confidingly and hear his tender whispers. She teared up a little, even as she obediently ate Laura's fragrant chicken soup.

  "Are you okay?" he said quietly.

  Lily nodded. "Just sad," she whispered. She laid aside the mug when it was empty and said, "Do it now, please? I want it over, please, Rob."

  "Are you well enough to take it? Did you take your punishment from Dr. Mitford?"

  "Yes, Rob. H-he gave me an enema and strapped my thighs. I tried to be good for it... I th-think he was satisfied."

  "Let me see," he ordered, and Lily climbed out of bed to stand before him, pulling down her pajamas so he could examine her thighs. He examined her carefully, gently pressing here and there. "Looks like he gave it to you good. Are you sure you can take the rest now?"

  "I can take anything to make you be kind to me again," Lily blurted out. "I think I'd let you chop me up if you'd just hug the pieces afterward."

  Then he finally looked at her, properly, and she could see some part of the usual tenderness there. "I ain't going to chop you up. I'm not enjoying this either, you know, baby. I won't pretend I don't like spanking you, but I'd be a hell of a lot happier if I didn't have to give you what you've earned tonight."

  Lily knelt easily, unselfconsciously, taking one of his big hands to clasp in both hers. "I know. And I'm sorry—I'm so sorry. No matter what it means to be with you, that's what I want. That's the only dream that matters now. Art and spirits and the rest can go hang themselves. I love you, and I'm so sorry I messed up." She bowed her head, pressing her hot cheek against his hand.

  He let out a long, deep breath, then shifted so he could stroke her face. "I'm glad to hear you say that. Cause you scared me this morning, and if there was going to be a goodbye, I'd hate like hell to leave you hurting from my hand, fearing me, with everything between us just... just that."

  "Never goodbye," she said, tears of panic falling hot and fast now as she clung to him. "Please. We promised, didn't we? We told the stars?"

  Rob stood up, pulling her to her feet so he could enfold her in his arms. "We did," he said, his voice now the low, sure rumble that told her everything was all right. "Let's get your punishment over with before we talk, sweetheart. I know something happened inside your head while I was gone, but I want this part behind us."

  Lily nodded fervently. "Make it all go away. Please."

  "Always, baby," Rob whispered, then released her. He helped her put on a sweater and a skirt, and led her out of the house, towards the old barn. He held her hand, though, not her wrist, and Lily squeezed his fingers, drawing comfort from them. "I made a hickory switch. If my boyhood recollection will serve, it stings like hell, but won't do too much damage." He flipped on the light and led her to a corner where the switch stood upright beside a musty old bale of alfalfa. "You'll have to bend over for it—I can't hit properly with you over my knee. Do you need me to tie your hands?"

  She considered that for a minute, then ventured, "Let me try without first? I... I want to take it like a good girl for you, to show you how sorry I am."

  A little smile eased the sternness of his face, and he nodded. "Okay. Bend over now and get your skirt up."

  Lily bared her bottom and went into position quickly, bracing her hands on the hay. She closed her eyes, visualizing her fingers taking root there so they couldn't move, even if she tried. Rob picked up the switch, and moved behind her. He tapped it across her rear a few times, getting used to the longer, more flexible instrument, mapping the curves. Then he began.

  There wasn't much sound from the impact, just the swish of it in the air and then her rear exploding into burning pain. Lily jumped, letting out a sharp cry at the intolerable sting. As usual, he didn't allow any kind of recovery time, and soon Lily was sweating and dancing from foot to foot, trying to focus only on her hands and keeping them still, because every single part of her body wanted her to stand up and protect herself. He mostly kept the strokes to her rear, where Dr. Mitford hadn't punished her, but occasionally the blows landed on the tops of her welted thighs, making Lily scream.

  "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she gabbled, more to steady herself than to try and beg for mercy. "Thank you, love you—ah! Sorry... your good girl, never disobey again...." She continued the little stream of apologies, love, and promises of good behavior, through the tears that soon choked her voice and dripped off her cheeks as she took the severe, painful punishment. Her legs trembled, and she had to lock her knees to stay in position, but she did, finding pleasure at least in that, in showing him her repentance with her complete submission.

  Finally, he threw the switch aside. "Stand up and turn around," he ordered, and Lily's heart sank, because that wasn't the voice that meant her punishment was over. That was the voice that meant something else was coming. She obeyed, sniffing and wiping her eyes a little, and stood facing him, head submissively bowed. He reached around her, tucking up her skirt into the waistband, then put his hands on her hips, guiding her to sit down on the bale of hay, positioning her so that every inch of well-punished skin would be making contact with the horrible, prickly stuff. "Don't move. If you stay in place until it's time, then we're done. If you don't, I'll have to add more time. Do you understand?"

  Lily sobbed with abandon. The scratchy hay was like torture against her welted butt and thighs, and she'd almost have rather gotten another switching than have to sit on it. She was crying too hard to answer him, but she managed to nod. She clasped her hands tightly on her lap, head bowed, crying out her pain and unhappiness very freely. Why had she let herself in for this? She had been so safe, so happy in her role of beloved little girl, and then she'd had to let some stupid painting mess everything up. Why had she sent that painting to Pauline? Why did it have to turn up now, just to torture her with everything she could never be? Lily fell so deeply into the sorrow and pain within her that she almost stopped noticing the pain on her bottom and just cried miserably.

  Rob only left her there about ten minutes, troubled by the way her crying gained rather than easing in intensity. Then he came to stand in front of her, taking her hands in his and pulling her up, into his arms. "Good girl," he whispered. "Good girl, it's all over now," he said comfortingly. "So proud of you, my little sweetheart... you're okay, everything's okay."

  Lily wailed, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." But it was her uncontrollable distress rather than her previous misdemeanor she was apologizing for, and she was nearly hyperventilating, sobbing hysterically. "I don't care about the rest, I don't want to be anything else..."

  "Hey." His voice was low and intent. "Sweetheart, I need you to breathe right now, okay. It's all over. I told you we'd talk about everything when it was done. I can feel you breaking your heart, but I can't fix it until you calm down so we can talk."

  It took quite a while for her to calm, but finally she was just clinging to him and shaking. Then he walked her back into the house and arranged them on the sofa, letting Lily lie on her side with her head in his lap to spare her poor butt. "Tell me now, Lily," he said gently, stroking her hair. "Tell me what happened."

  There was a long period of silence broken only by her quick, distressed breathing, and then she finally said, "It was a really good painting, Rob." She explained about the Joan of Arc painting and tried to tease out all that it had awakened in her. "Back then, I thought I would... I wasn't naïve. I know that's what you'll think, that it was just silly dreams. I never thought I was going to be Matisse or Renoir. But... but I guess I thought I would always do my best work. And how long has it been since I did that? I gave it all away for Brian. And I guess... I know you won't let me tramp around Europe painting—it would be silly anyway, at my age. I just
... it hurt knowing that even when I was free, I chose something else. Something to make me... less. Smaller."

  "Is that really how you feel about us?" he asked gently, stroking her hair. "That you're less because of how things are? Because that's not how I think about us, baby. How could I make you less when you shine so bright?"

  "But...but giving it all to you," she tried to explain. "Why didn't I keep that, at least, my work? It's all I have—had."

  "Lily," and his voice was a little stern now. "Everything you've given to me—has anything been taken from you? Have I stopped you from working? Kept you from making friends or anything that brings you happiness?"

  Very slowly, she shook her head. "No. But I had to paint it out, and I had to disobey to do it."

  "Honey, whatever kind of hell you unleashed on yourself because of that thing is all I object to. I know I'm not educated, I don't know much about art. But I'm pretty fucking sure that painting until you get a day-long migraine ain't the best route to success. I may not know art, but I know you, Lily. At first, you were so perfect and precious I wondered why the hell you wanted me. Then I understood. You needed boundaries. You needed someone to keep you safe—most of all from yourself. The rules are there to help you, not to hurt you. If you need to paint and let your whole damn business go hang, then do that. We'll figure it out. I'm not rich, but I keep the wolf from the door. But whatever you have to do, let's do it together, okay?"

  "But I'm so old now," she whispered. "How can I ever do anything worthwhile now?"

  "Well, honey, you keep throwin' around all those French painters, but Grandma Moses didn't say that to herself, did she? And you're a spring chicken compared to her."

  Lily laughed through her tears. "I hate Grandma Moses. But I take your point." She twisted her head, looking up at him. "Can we go look at the paintings? I… it's funny, I barely even remember the one I did that night. It was like being possessed or something. It's probably just a mess."

  They went into the office, and Lily stopped short, staring at the easel. "Oh," she said softly. For there, in the bright, sharp colors of her brainstorm, were two figures beneath an expressionist sky full of sparkling stars in every hue. The center of the figures was tiny, but they were spinning, vibrating, growing and dispersing into the starry night, enormous auras stretching out into the universe. And on every level, connection. "Oh," she said again.

  "Is that..." Rob cocked his head, surveying it. "Is that us?"

  "Yup." Lily was too overcome by wonder to answer more fully, and she looked for a long time, then stepped forward to touch the brushstrokes. "I just tried to follow the pain. I didn't know. I didn't know I'd got through it."

  He wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her against his chest. After a minute, he chuckled and tickled her ribs. "Make you less, huh?"

  "I didn't know," Lily said, still a little stunned, but soon she was laughing too, and she shifted to face him. "I didn't know!" she gasped, helpless with mirth. That the safety and love he gave her should be the means to wonder and hope, not a path away from it—what a joke. What a wonderful, beautiful joke. Lily closed her eyes and hugged him close, feeling the colors of their joy swirl around her. This was worth surrendering to—this was everything.

  The End

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

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