Calm. He was always so damn calm. She had tried to break through. First with her silence, then with her voice, raised, harsh, and angry. With her hands, balled into fists and pounding on him and getting no more reaction than if she were pounding against the ocean.
She struck out again, with more force this time. He didn’t block it, he didn’t do anything against her, but the energy dissipated as he caught her arm, redirecting it into a tight hug.
And yet she still struggled, squirming and kicking and meeting no resistance, finding no bite as he manoeuvred her over his knee.
Then there was bite, sharp bite as his hand descended. The resistance she was looking for, though perhaps not the way she had intended to find it. Or did she? She continued to wriggle; this was not how this was supposed to end.
Except it was, and they both knew it, as she gradually grew still and accepting. He continued on a bit more, well after her spasms of anger abated and were replaced by flinches and sobs.
“Calm now?” he asked softly, still holding her tight.
“Yes, Sir,” she whispered before adding even more quietly, “Thank you.” Without resistance, she let the sleep envelop her and carry her off to a fresh start at another day.
Acknowledging Imperfection 