Lessons in Love

by Kathryn R. Blake

  Krista flipped on the lights and walked over to the shut door, revealing a walk-in closet filled with clothes.

  Stunned, Pam stepped inside the roomy area. All her new outfits had been unpacked and hung up with her shoes and purses precisely placed in a tower at the far end. She turned and gaped at her friend. "They moved all my things."

  Krista wriggled her eyebrows. "Efficient, aren't they?'

  "They didn't tell me, Krista. They just went into my apartment, packed everything up and brought it here."

  Frowning, Krista stared at the clothes. "I think they meant to be helpful, Pam. You weren't in any condition to move stuff yourself, and they wanted to save you the time and energy of relocating."

  Pam marched out of the closet and strode into the bathroom. Her favorite soaps, shampoos, facial creams, and cosmetics were neatly stored in the cabinet. Her toothbrush sat under a protective UV shield and her brushes and combs had been placed side-by-side in a drawer. Under the sink were her various hair products and dryers, and even her box of tampons had been relocated.

  Shaking her head, she stepped back into the bedroom and started to go through the drawers in the dresser. Her slips, sleeping outfits, bras, panties, stockings, everything. She glanced at the night table to find the book she'd been reading with its magnetic marker still in place.

  Unnerved by the unexpected intensity of her trembling, Pam sat down in front of the little desk and clenched her hands in her lap. "I expected them to bring a few things over, until I had a chance to settle in and get my belongings, not move me. They didn't ask, and I never gave them a key." Her eyes burning, she gazed up at Krista. "Is that even legal?"

  Krista moved to sit on the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed. "Far be it from me to give your boss an excuse, but I'm sure he didn't do this to invade your privacy, Pam…."

  "Maybe not, but he did." She rose to her feet. "I can't stay here, Krista. It's too much, too fast, and way too soon. You brought a car didn't you?"

  Krista lifted her arms. "Whoa! I mean, I'll support you in anything you want to do, but maybe you should discuss your feelings with Rob first. I know he can be a domineering PITA at times, but, in this case, I don't think he intended to upset you."

  Sitting back down, Pam shook her head. "I feel like one of the companies he's taken over. When did I lose control of my own life?"

  Her eyebrows raised, Krista said, "If you ask me, I'd say you lost it the day you agreed to be his admin. From that day forward, you've been under his control."

  Pam swiped at her eyes. It was stupid to cry, but she supposed it was better than screaming or throwing things. Every nerve and muscle in her body tightened with unbearable pressure. "I don't want you to do anything that would risk your job, but do you think you could drop me off at a hotel? Oh God." Realizing she had no ID or credit cards, she rushed into the closet again. Finding her purse, she quickly opened it and breathed a sigh of relief. Her wallet and checkbook were still there, and it appeared as if nothing had been touched. She carried the handbag out with her. "From the look of things, I doubt they left anything in my apartment except the furniture, or I would ask you to take me there."

  After a moment's hesitation, Krista admitted, "I want to help you, Pam. But if I took off with you in my car without telling Rob, I'd find myself on the FBI's most wanted list tomorrow, let alone unemployed. Talk to him. If you can't reach a peaceful resolution, I'll take you wherever you want to go. As long as you tell him first."

  "Honestly, Krista, I don't think I can face him right now without doing something violent."

  Nodding, Krista rose. "Okay. I definitely don't want you to hurt yourself. If you must leave, I'll take you—" Her words were cut off when Rob stepped into the room; his pleased smile vanishing like someone slapped it off his face.

  "I see you found your room without too much trouble." He folded his arms over his chest. "Though I'm surprised to hear you're thinking of leaving so soon."

  Krista gave Pam a guilty glance. "I'll wait downstairs."

  "No need, Krista," Rob assured. "Pam won't be going anywhere."

  Pam glared at the man who barred her exit. "Are you planning on holding me prisoner?"

  "Not at all. But while I'm your guardian, you will not leave this house without my permission, and I'm not giving it."

  Pam surged to her feet, stopping only when Krista put a hand out. "Rob, I really think you should dial down the testosterone a bit and hear her out. She's upset—"

  "I can see that, Krista, but unfortunately her mood cannot and will not alter her circumstance. I think you'd better leave. However, I need to go to the office Sunday for the day, so if you could come back for a visit, I believe Pam would appreciate it, as long as you don't offer yourself as the getaway driver again."

  Krista nodded. "Sure. I can come back. Pam, I'll see you tomorrow.

  Though Pam gave her friend a nod, the moment Krista stepped out of the room, she headed toward the bathroom. "I have a killer headache, so I'm going to take some aspirin." Not waiting for a response, she marched across the shiny tile floor and pulled back the recessed mirror over the sink. After moving a few bottles, she realized, with everything they had moved, there wasn't a single bottle of aspirin or any other sort of pain reliever, and she'd had several of them in her medicine cabinet at her apartment. She started to remove items from the glass-shelved compartment to double-check.

  "Don't bother. You won't find what you're looking for."

  Slamming the mirrored door, she glared at him. "Why not?"

  "Because I will dispense any and all medications you require."

  "What? You're saying I can't even take a freaking aspirin without your permission?"

  "Lower your voice, please. And that is precisely what I'm saying. You took an overdose, Pam, so all medicine is considered a controlled substance for you."

  "That sucks!" she yelled, her head pounding so hard now she thought it might explode.

  He bolstered a shoulder against the door. "Yelling isn't going to change the situation or ease your headache."

  "No?" At a shake of his head, she flung the medicine cabinet door open again. "Well, maybe this will." And once those words were spoken, she began pitching make-up bottles and jars onto the floor. When they refused to break, she slammed the small drinking glass into the sink's deep marble basin, finding the tinkle of splintering crystal immensely satisfying.

  She expected him to charge in and manhandle her into submission, but he remained propped against the doorframe with his arms folded. Blinded by fury and driven by need, she grabbed two jagged shards from the shattered drinking vessel and squeezed them in her fists until blood oozed out.

  "Stop it!" he ordered, rushing forward and grabbing her wrists. "Open your hands. Slowly."

  The pain helped clear her brain and remove some of her anger, but she knew her battle had just begun. All the same, she did as he commanded without an argument. The instant she eased her fingers back, a steady stream of blood dripped into the sink. He turned her hands so gravity would draw the broken glass from her bleeding flesh. It worked for the right hand, but the piece she'd gripped in her left remained wedged in the creases of her palm. He flipped on the water and shoved the glass-free hand under the tap, while his other hand reached into the cabinet and grabbed a pair of tweezers. Yeah, she'd been allowed those.

  "Hold still. This may hurt." His fingers gripped her wrist hard as he tweezed the lodged splinter out of her hand. Pam drew air between her teeth but didn't attempt to pull away. At that moment, she wanted to hurt. Once her palm was free of the triangular shard, he rinsed it and inspected the damage.

  "The left is deeper than the right, but I don't think you'll need stitches. Hold them palm up," he ordered. Grabbing a towel from the rack, he guided her to the lowered toilet seat, directed her to sit, and draped the terry cloth over her lap. "Place the back of your hands on the towel while I get some gauze and bandages." Then, with the efficiency of experience, he cut several small ribbons of adh
esive tape off a roll. "I'm going to stretch these across the cuts like butterfly strips to help keep the wounds closed. They should work in lieu of stitches."

  Once he did that, he pulled two square pads from a box, used tweezers to set them in the center of her palms and wrapped them in swaths of white gauze. After her hands looked like props from The Mummy, he pointed to the bedroom. "Go in there and sit down."

  Torn by a sense of guilt she shook her head as she rose. "I'll clean up the mess."

  "No, you won't, Mrs. Andrews will. And, your first punishment will be to watch and do nothing while someone else is obliged to tidy up after you. Now, go take a seat on the padded bench." When she hesitated, he added, "I strongly suggest you not challenge me on this, Pam. The only reason you're not spread stomach down over my knees at this moment is because this mess needs attention, and I don't want to upset Mrs. Andrews any more than is necessary."

  Nodding, Pam rose to hand him the towel, but he shook his head. "Keep it. You'll most likely need it later," he advised her, whipping out his cell phone.

  "Mrs. Andrews? I realize you're about to go home, but we've had an accident. Could I ask you to stay a little longer and assist with the cleanup? Thank you. Pam's room. We have some shattered glass and blood…. No. No, everyone is fine. Just a few small cuts I've bandaged, so all we need is some jars replaced and the broken glass seen to before anyone else gets hurt. I hate to ask, but…. Thank you. I appreciate it."

  He flipped his phone shut and stepped back into the bedroom. "When Mrs. Andrews arrives, I'll get some tablets for your discomfort. No doubt your hands are throbbing."

  "They're okay," she murmured lifting her hands.

  "No. Keep them palms up, fingers open and relaxed on the towel, so I can check for seepage."

  "You seem extremely knowledgeable. Do you do a lot of bandaging?" she asked, her heart rate slowing in response to his calm assertiveness.

  "No, but I did take a Red Cross first aid class several years ago. What about you?" At her puzzled look, he added, "You do this sort of thing often?" He nodded toward her bandaged hands.

  She leaned back against the bed's low footboard. "I used to do it all the time but haven't felt the need for a few years."

  He sat down next to her. "It's clear I need to impress upon you that I will fulfill all your needs for pain." Pam didn't respond. She knew he'd make her pay one way or another for her rashness. However, cutting herself helped ease her inner turmoil.

  "So, what set you off, if I may ask?" When she gave a nod toward the closet, he frowned. "Your clothes?"

  "Among other things."

  He considered her words for a moment. "I see. You were upset we moved your belongings without discussing it with you first."

  "Wouldn't you be?" she asked, but his answer was forestalled by Mrs. Andrews' arrival with mop, broom, pail and cleaning supplies.

  Robert rose to meet her. "Thank you. I'm most concerned about the broken glass. I can request housekeeping do a thorough scrubbing of the room on Monday. In the meantime, Miss Weston was instructed to remain seated, so if you require any help, I'll assist you after I get her some pain relievers."

  Mrs. Andrews gave a brusque nod. "I'm sure I can handle it, sir." Then she conferred a warm smile on Pam. "You all right, lass?"

  "Mr. Peterson took excellent care of me. Thank you."

  "Very good. I'll get everything tidied up while you sit and relax." She went into the bathroom while Rob pointed at Pam with a mouthed instruction to stay before he left.

  The moment he walked out, Mrs. Andrews popped back into the bedroom. "I suppose you're in a wee spot of trouble, aren't you?"

  Pam shrugged. "I sort of lost my temper. He's not happy with me, but he's being civil about it."

  "Dinna fash yourself over it, lass. This isn't the first collieshangle I've seen, and I doubt it'll be the last. You're not scared of him, are you?"

  Pam's eyes burned. "No. Yes. I'm not sure. It was a stupid reaction on my part, so I probably deserve whatever he dishes out."

  "It's plain he cares deeply about you. He was truly distraught over you bein' hospitalized. He doesn't say much, but his expression speaks volumes when he thinks you're not lookin', so you may take heart from that."

  When Pam smiled and nodded, Mrs. Andrews winked. "Good. I'd best get to it, then." She returned to the bathroom, and Rob entered less than a minute later with a small glass of water.

  "Open," he ordered and when she obeyed, he popped two pills into her mouth then held the water to her lips. Amazingly enough, she managed to swallow the tablets without choking or slobbering. "Good," he murmured, putting the glass down on one of the night tables and retaking his seat on the bench. He bent forward with his forearms on his knees and lowered his head. The wrinkles on his brow stood out, giving him a troubled expression that touched her deeply.

  "I'm sorry," Pam said finally.

  He tilted his head to stare at her for a while before he leaned back. "This won't work between us, unless you're willing to discuss your feelings with me. I'm not perfect. I will make mistakes that will piss you off, but you're an adult, so I expect you to communicate verbally, not physically. I can't make things right if I don't know what's wrong."

  "I know. But I can't see how you could have made this right."

  "I could have apologized for my shortsightedness right off. It might not have made a huge difference, but it might have eased your panic a bit. I could have forewarned you. You weren't in any condition for us to converse about your move beforehand, but that doesn't mean I couldn't have found a moment to speak with you either before or after dinner. Unfortunately, I never considered you would be upset, so that's my failing."

  His admission made her feel small and petty for throwing a tantrum. "You're not a mind reader, Rob."

  "No, I'm not, which is why I need you to talk to me. Trust me. I'll be more than blunt in my discussions when you do something that upsets me."

  "Like tonight?"

  "Exactly so. Another thing I didn't foresee was your medication wearing off. You left the hospital swathed in a protective haze this afternoon, but when the effects of your shot started to wane, I suspect your uncertainty and guilt returned in full force. So, the intensity of your reaction was not entirely your fault either. What bothers me most is your desire to do yourself injury. That's something we'll need to address, because I will never allow you to do anything like that again."

  She blinked. "So, you're not angry with me for breaking things?"

  "No. I would rather you talk to me than empty the contents of your medicine cabinet, but considering you had already worked yourself into a temper before I arrived, I wasn't all that surprised by your outburst. What did surprise me, however, was the way you fisted the broken glass on purpose. You needed to suffer pain right then, and had I recognized the urgency behind your mindset, I would have spanked you on the spot. No questions asked."

  "So, what happens now?"

  "We'll talk. How's your head?"

  "Better."

  "Your hands throbbing?"

  "That's eased, too."

  "Good."

  "You do realize your concern is a bit ironic, if you intend to punish me for what I did."

  His eyebrows rose in surprise at her question. "I clearly didn't do a proper job of explaining domestic discipline to you."

  She shrugged. "I heard what you said to Dr. Jackson, but that doesn't mean I understand it. Not entirely."

  "Domestic discipline is a tool intended to prevent undesired behavior. Yes, a spanking hurts, but the pain is localized and deliberate with an expected outcome of improvement. Granted, the cleansing ritual of a punishment can be embarrassing and emotional, but the process is meant to be healing, not destructive. If you feel debased or degraded afterward, rather than relieved, I've done something wrong."

  "But your intent is still to cause me pain, right?"

  "No. My intent is to teach you a lesson. How I choose to do that can differ widely based on the circums
tances. A punishment is supposed to be unpleasant enough for you to want to avoid a repeat, but it is not always painful."

  "I still don't understand."

  "Perhaps I should assign you to do some research on the subject while you're convalescing. Suffice it to say that I seek for you to achieve a new clarity of understanding when a session is over that you would struggle to reach in any other way."

  Uncertainty crawling inside her, Pam turned away.

  Mrs. Andrews stepped out of the bathroom at that point. "Well, I managed to get all the broken glass picked up, the bottles resorted, and all traces of blood removed, so the cleaning service won't think there's been a murder here."

  His smile tight, Rob rose. "Thank you, again."

  "You do realize, Mr. Peterson, that not all mistakes are intentional."

  "Yes, Mrs. Andrews. I do accept that possibility."

  "Good. Then I hope you'll keep the likelihood in mind, later." She stepped closer to Rob. "She is not a brat like some of your other young ladies."

  He chuckled. "Actually, this young lady is quite capable of being a brat when she so chooses. However, I believe she is doing her best to impress you."

  Rather than reply, Pam held her head down. Despite Rob's teasing, she felt weighted by guilt.

  "All the same, sometimes tenderness is more effective than sternness."

  He nodded. "Thank you. I'll be sure to remember your sage advice. You and Miss Weston will get plenty of time to chat without my presence looming over you tomorrow. And I invited Miss Rensler to join you. You may all discuss chances and probabilities in the morning."

  "Humph. Fine. Tomorrow, then. Goodnight."

  After Mrs. Andrews left, Rob remained standing. Pam couldn't face him, not yet, so she kept her gaze lowered. A part of her wanted him to sweep her up and hold her, while another part of her hoped he would take her to task for her stupidity.

  "First, I think you need another shot."

  Her head snapped up at that. "Why?"

  His expression was a mask of incredulity. "Why? Because you suffered another panic attack in the bathroom a few minutes ago. That's why."