Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 106065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Why didn’t anybody else? I thought I’d been funny.
“Hold up.” Greer stared at me. “Did he tell you that he was gonna try to FaceTime you on your birthday if you were a good boy?”
I nodded, confused.
“Jesus Christ, I’mma murder that motherfuckin’ cunt.” He started walking out of the living room, leaving me absolutely lost to what was happening. “Youse fill Corey in on our plans for tonight. I gotta get to work.”
“I’ll help you hide the body,” River muttered with a scowl.
“I’ll help whoever will coax out the crass New Yorker from Greer more often,” I offered. “That was hot.”
“Brooklyn!” was the last thing Greer yelled before he left.
I scrunched my nose. “Last time I checked, Brooklyn was part of New York.”
“Don’t get him started,” Sloan replied. “It’s a whole thing. He can call himself a New Yorker, but if anyone else does it and he’s in a bad mood, he’ll correct you and say he’s from Brooklyn.”
Master Greer was strange sometimes.
“Also, I thought it wasn’t okay to use the c-word anymore,” I mentioned.
“It’s not,” Sloan told me in his sternest Daddy tone.
“I mean, spend a week in the UK and…” Archie trailed off at Sloan’s pointed look. “Nope, it’s utterly wrong, love.”
It was kinda funny to see. Reese was amused too.
I snickered.
What a wild morning this turned out to be.
River cleared his throat and brought out his smokes. “This is where I put on a posh British accent and announce I’m headin’ out to smoke a fag.”
Oh my gosh, I fucking lost it. I laughed so hard. Inappropriate jokes were my favorite!
“I give up,” Daddy groaned.
“You should quit, Riv,” Reese told him. “Fags can kill ya.”
“But I love my fags,” River argued.
I was laughing so hard that I couldn’t breathe. “Please stop it,” I wheezed.
“Now I know why I’ve been warned about you two,” Daddy told the twins.
“They’re funny, Daddy,” I laughed. “I have a whole section about this with my Attention Deficit Dinos.”
“What do you mean?” Archie asked curiously.
“Shay,” Reese said. He nodded to the door. “We’re not gonna drag out the exposure therapy any longer. Come on, baby.”
“Aw, fuck.” Shay made a face and pushed out of his chair.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“I have to get used to being in the cabin again,” he muttered. “I’ll see you guys tonight. Um, where do I put the—”
“I got it,” Archie was quick to say. “I’ll tidy up. See you tonight.”
So Shay left his plate and trudged toward his Doms, and I could only imagine how triggering it would be to return to Mclean. Because I knew I’d travel down a similar road when it was my turn, although probably to a much milder degree. But River and Reese were right. We might as well jump back on the horse, so to speak. The cabin was Shay’s home. He shouldn’t dread going out there, and he couldn’t be on the run forever.
After setting Kyla down on the floor so she could play, Archie sat down across from me, and Sloan opted for the chair next to me that Shay had just vacated.
“I actually created a Twitter account yesterday and started following you,” Archie admitted. “I scrolled through dozens of posts and realized I really need to learn more about your…well, what would you prefer I call it?”
I knew what he meant, and this was the whole point. And I genuinely adored that he wasn’t too afraid to ask, because many were these days.
“You, specifically, can call it whatever you want because I know your intentions,” I answered. “Intentions matter. That’s all.”
I reached for Shay’s deserted triangle of toast and nibbled on it. The butter had already melted into the bread, thankfully.
“That’s not all,” Archie replied with a hint of teasing in his tone. His gaze softened right after. “I’d like to hear more about that section with your dinos that you mentioned.”
Hmm, all right. I guessed I could ramble a little bit.
“It’s about language and terminology, in short,” I said. “You can call it a disability, condition—hell, even illness, which I would just kindly correct. And the reason I try to include dino posts on the matter is because it’s become a very sensitive topic, and that’s awful.” I scratched my forehead and figured it was best to start at the beginning. It wasn’t a long story at all, but it was important to me. “Look, I’ve been autistic all my life. I’ve heard all the words. Sicko, weirdo, future school shooter, retard, plain quirky, you name it.”
I sensed Daddy tensing up next to me, and I knew why. I knew why he was getting angry and probably protective of me. He was a good person. One of the best. But the discussion was important.
“There’s one thing I’ve learned when it comes to this,” I went on. “Words cannot hurt me, but people can. Lots of people agree, and lots don’t. This is just me. But context and intentions pack the punch behind a word, not the word itself. And it’s why I like inappropriate humor among friends because it’s freeing, and I think it’s fun to attack some stereotypes. It releases some of the tension, some of the pressure.” I shrugged. “Granted, I try to never say an unacceptable word in a crowd where I’m not sure it’s okay, but personally? I just want to have the discussion. I don’t want anyone to hold back questions because they fear they’re using the wrong terminology. That’s when we lose epically. Today, it’s become forbidden to make mistakes.”