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She sat me up and untied my hands. “Now, get yourself into the bathroom and fill that tub with soap and water. You’re going to scrub all the pissy things from today and last night.”I moved my hands to my mouth to remove the gag, but she slapped my hands away. “No, THAT stays on. I don’t want to hear you all day”.I sighed into the gag, realizing that I had been beaten by her and that all I could do was do as she said.***On my hands and knees near the tub, I scrubbed and scrubbed the yellow stains from my sheets and clothing.“It’s best you keep scrubbing, young lady. Or else I’m going to make you rewash them”, she warned as I scrubbed harder.***After my clothes had been cleaned, she stuck her hand down the back of my diaper to check for wetness. Luck was on my side because her hand came up dry.She nodded in approval towards me. “I see that you’re starting to remember how to behave yourself. This is very good. I will let you come downstairs and lay in your playpen until your Daddy gets. She had walked the familiar paths feeling like an intruder; it had been an effort to keep herself from skulking. From shuttered windows she felt accusing eyes burning her skin. Or was it her own guilt she felt?For the most part, the place was as she'd left it; certainly Jon hadn't changed the locks or anything, or else she wouldn't've been able to get back in. Everything was a little dustier and dirtier, but she supposed that was to be expected. Her harps had not been touched, which didn't surprise her; Jon was about as knowledgeable about harps as Stephen Hawking. There were dishes drying on the dishrack—ugh, why did he always insist on having the glasses in front? Some nonsense about how they went into the cabinet first. The fridge contained nothing but a half-eaten box of pizza. There was a blanket and pillow on that terrible hammock-couch: why had he been sleeping out here? There was a perfectly good bed in the bedroom; she should know, she had slept in it for most of her life..
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