D*cked by Daddy by Dana Isaly

We’re having a fight. And I’m not sure how to navigate this. Nick and I have rarely fought in the last nine months that we’ve known each other. It was also over something so incredibly stupid that I regret even starting it.

I was just frustrated, overstimulated, and anxious. He had also said one little comment to me that was harmless, but because of my past trauma with partners and—in some instances, my own parents—I was already in a bad headspace.

So now we’re driving to the cabin for his birthday, and we’re sitting in silence. I was supposed to be sitting here with my Lush vibrating whenever he wanted, but instead, I’m sitting here staring out of the window because I’m too nervous to break the ice.

I keep replaying it all in my head. We were packing for the trip and trying to do all of the laundry so that everything would feel clean when we got home. Nick was downstairs most of the night and morning because he was having to make sure the bar was going to be set up for us being gone for a week. I was also trying to make both of us breakfast while he was gone because he had been working such late hours.

And when he came back upstairs and saw me pushing my eggs onto my plate, he made a harmless comment.

“That’s a lot of eggs, babe,” he said. He laughed. It wasn’t mean; it wasn’t a comment on how much I was eating or how much I weigh now. I had just made more than normal because I was distracted, and honestly, I was fucking starving for some reason. Nick would never mean anything by that comment. But it set off every little shitty thing I can sometimes say to myself.

Then, about ten seconds after that, I asked him to start the next load of sheets. And there’s a difference in how Nick and I do laundry. I, personally, refuse to wash anything without my lavender-scented fabric softener. I like the way it makes things smell and feel. Without fabric softener, everything feels stiff to me.

So I asked him to please put the fabric softener in the wash with the sheets. That started a whole conversation about how fabric softener can ruin your washer and how it isn’t necessary. And it kept escalating until I decided to just walk away and hide in my office until I calmed down.

But we didn’t have enough time to cool off. The car needed to be packed, and we had to get on the road if we wanted to get there before dark. If it weren’t for the mountain roads and little towns we had to go through, I think it would only take us about four hours to get there. Instead, it takes us about six.

And right now, we are about halfway through. The scenery is changing from the city into a more rural area. The temperature is dropping as we make our way further north, and the trees are starting to turn more yellow and orange than green. I lean my head against the window and sigh, watching my breath create a cloud of fog across the glass.

“Holly,” I hear Nick say. It startles me, and I slowly turn my head to look at him. “Can we talk about what happened earlier? I don’t like fighting with you. I don’t like seeing you upset.”

I sigh and take his hand that he’s placed on my thigh. His normally bright blue eyes have greyed with worry, the lines in the corners seeming more exaggerated.

“It’s stupid.”

“Nothing is stupid if it genuinely upsets you like this. Don’t invalidate your feelings.”

“When you walked into the kitchen from working downstairs and I was putting my breakfast on my plate?” He nods when I pause. “You made a little comment about how much food I had made. And I know that you would never say anything out of malice, but I don’t do well with comments about food. I know we’ve talked about it before, and I know it was a totally harmless comment, but alarms started blaring in my head when you said that. I’ve been obsessing over it ever since.

I sigh.

“And,” I continue, “when you started in on the fabric softener…it was just too much. I was already overstimulated and anxious because of the trip. Then I was thinking bad things about my body, and then the stupid fabric softener gets brought up again. I just kind of lost it.”

He squeezes my hand and brings it to his mouth, leaving a gentle kiss on my knuckles.

“I apologize for the comment I made. I didn’t think. That’s not an excuse, but I was genuinely just surprised and honestly happy to see you eating more than your normal oatmeal and coffee. I’ll make an effort in the future to watch what I say regarding food, okay?”

I take a deep breath, trying my hardest not to cry. This is a new experience for me. I shouldn’t be surprised because, come on, it’s Nick freaking Saint. But I can’t help but expect the worst out of people sometimes, especially my partners. I’m trying to heal that bit of trauma still stuck inside of me, and he’s helping, but it does slip back in sometimes.

“Thank you,” I tell him, swallowing against the ache in my throat as a couple of tears fall down my cheeks.

“And the fabric softener…” He smiles at me and wipes those tears off my cheeks. “I don’t give a damn about how you want to wash our shit, baby girl. I just like to pick on you a little. But I understand that I’ve probably picked on you a little too much there. I’ll cool it, okay?”

“Okay,” I say, kissing his hand and trying my hardest to smile at him through the tears. “So you don’t want to break up…right?” God, I hate myself the moment those words come out of my mouth.

“Of course not. I love you. I want to be with you for the rest of my life. One little fight is not going to change that, Holly.”

I take another deep breath as I try to cool my raging emotions.

“I just had to ask. I know you’re nothing like my exes, and I never want to compare you to them. But I just have some past trauma that likes to pop up when it comes to fights. I think everyone I’ve dated has always been a ‘my way or the highway’ type of guy. So anytime we had a disagreement or an argument, I was always threatened with abandonment.”

“I know, precious,” he says in a calm voice. “And we’re going to heal that part of you. It just takes some time and reassurance from me.” He squeezes my hand. “And communication. I need you to communicate with me instead of shutting down on me. I want to hear your thoughts so that I can calm them. You aren’t in this relationship alone.”

“I’ll work on that, I promise,” I tell him.

“But you do realize you made me miss out on the fun of playing with you in the car, right? You know what that means…” He trails off and looks me up and down.

I bite back the grin that tries to break out across my face. Because I do know what it means. I just want to hear him say it.

“What does it mean, Daddy?”

He grins, a look that holds a lot of fun promises.

“Punishment.”