What kind of stalker buys clothes for his victim?
When I wander into my bathroom, I find more of the same.It’s also clean.Nothing on the counter.My dirty clothes are all in the hamper.The top is closed.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out.The incoming text is from…Daddy.A weird giggle escapes my mouth as I read it.
Daddy: Don’t you feel calmer inside?
I step back into my bedroom and head for my desk.My fingers shake as I sit, trying to think how to respond.Somehow, he knows I’m home.That’s unnerving, but again, not shocking.I’m certain he knows my class schedule.It’s pinned to a board above my desk.Probably the same way he learned my name.
Briana: I can’t believe you cleaned my room.Do you realize how invasive that is?
Daddy: Yes.And I wouldn’t have needed to if you’d obeyed me and done it yourself this morning.
I chew on my bottom lip.This ismadness.I’m texting my stalker.It’s even weirder communicating with him in the middle of the day.Our two previous interactions were at night.
I certainly can’t deny his existence.Not with my room looking like a display sample for incoming freshmen.
Staring at his latest text, I try to decide whether I want to reply with something snarky or not.Something like,Are you going to spank me?But I don’t dare antagonize him.He probably already plans to punish me.And frankly, I find myself kind of looking forward to it.
Before I can think what to say, another text comes in.
Daddy: Do your homework, naughty girl.Don’t put it off.Get it out of the way.And for the love of all that is holy, eat something healthy for dinner.You can’t live off snacks.You need brain power.I want you in bed at ten.Lights out.Blindfold on.I won’t come to you every night, but you should always go to bed prepared for that possibility.
Again, I stare at his words, reading them over and over again.He’s so bossy.How does he know what I normally eat?Why would I listen to him?I don’t have to.He’s not my actual father.
I jump up and hurry back to the door to grab my bookbag.Returning, I pull my computer out and open it.While it comes to life, I type out a response.
Briana: Yes, Sir.
It’s difficult to send that text, but it seems like the easiest thing to do for now.I’m obviously committed to living in an alternate universe.A secret side life.I’m an idiot.No one should entertain the idea of being ordered around by a stalker.It’s dangerous and irresponsible.
But he makes me feelalive.He makes my heart race—not always in a good way.Sometimes it’s from fear, but I can’t deny it’s also from what I can only describe as arousal.No one would understand, so there’s not a chance I would mention what’s happening to a soul.
Alive is not something I’ve ever fully experienced.So, call me stupid, but I’m going to play this game.He has told me twice he won’t hurt me.He hasn’t done anything to indicate he might go back on his word.
I’m pretty sure he’s neurodivergent, but fuck, I’m pretty sure I am, too.I certainly have my oddities.They might not be anywhere near as outrageous as his, but some part of me understands him.
On top of that, I’ve lived with people who have all kinds of different tendencies.I’m empathetic.Lots of kids in foster care have idiosyncrasies.Sometimes, it’s the reason they’re in the system to begin with.Their parents, or often just one parent, didn’t understand them and chose not to learn.
The first thing I search isDaddy Dom.He’s used that phrase, and I’m certainDaddywon’t pull up anything useful by itself.
In seconds, I’m sucked into a rabbit hole.I end up reading every article I can find for over an hour.I’m fascinated by what I’ve learned.I had no idea there are so many people in the world who feel like they need someone to take care of them.
There seem to be a multitude of reasons why an adult might feel that way, but the obvious one for me is that I never had a caregiver to begin with.I totally relate to that.I missed out on the nurturing part of growing up.
It’s not that people didn’t care about me at all.I was one of the lucky ones.I was never in an abusive or extremely neglectful home.But I also never had anyone truly love me.
Does that make me crave that sort of thing now?
Never in my life have I considered this possibility.A Daddy Dom.I sit back and stare at the computer screen, not really seeing it anymore.The image on the screen shows a grown man rocking a grown woman while giving her a bottle.
If my stalker thinks I want anything to do with that, he’s lost his marbles.But to each their own.I’ve learned there are so many types of relationships in which one party calls the other Daddy.The range is enormous.Maybe I would like for someone to care enough about me to tell me to eat healthy or clean my room or do my homework.Those things make me feel cherished.But I’m not remotely interested in pretending tobea child.
I grab my phone and shoot off a text to him.
Briana: I’m never ever taking a bottle or wearing a diaper.Just so we’re clear.
Seconds tick by while I wait for his response, chewing on my bottom lip.Finally, I see the three dots, and then a text comes in.