STEPUNCLE DISCIPLINES ME PART II
811 Words
I hesitated. My fingers curled around the edge of my doorframe.
I shouldn’t go in there. I knew that.
It was his personal space. He probably wouldn’t like it if he found out I’d been snooping. But… he was out. And I was curious. No, more than curious. I wanted to know more about him. Understand why he was the way he was. Or maybe… maybe I just wanted to feel closer to him, even if I didn’t want to admit that out loud.
I crept down the hall, my heart thumping louder with each step like I was doing something dangerous.
His door wasn’t locked.
I turned the knob slowly, holding my breath, and gently pushed it open.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the streetlight sneaking through the blinds. It took my eyes a second to adjust, but when they did, I just stood there and took it all in.
It was exactly how I imagined Dante’s room would be.
Dark. Clean. Organized.
The walls were painted a deep charcoal gray, almost black, and the bed was massive—king-sized with black sheets tucked in perfectly, no wrinkles in sight. The headboard was tall and made of dark wood. There was a shelf with books, not a lot, just a few that looked worn like he’d actually read them. A framed picture of him and his sister sat on the nightstand.
And it smelled like him.
That mix of sandalwood and spice. The scent I always caught when he walked by me in the hallway. It was stronger here, clinging to the air, the pillows, the clothes in the corner. I swallowed hard and stepped further inside.
Everything felt so… him.
I wandered slowly around the room, letting my fingers glide over the desk, the dresser, the smooth wood of the bedframe. My skin tingled with every little touch, like I was doing something I shouldn't but couldn’t stop myself.
My feet carried me toward the closet before I even realized what I was doing.
I opened the door.
Inside, it was just as neat. His clothes were lined up on hangers by color—black, gray, dark blue. So many button-up shirts, jackets, and a few sweaters. His shoes were lined up on the floor, polished and placed just right.
I stepped in.
The closet was surprisingly spacious. I reached out and touched one of his black shirts. The fabric was smooth, and I pressed it between my fingers, curious. I held it up to my face and took in a breath.
God.
It smelled just like him. That warm, rich scent that made my stomach twist in the weirdest way. I stood there for a second too long, just breathing it in, wondering what it would be like to wear it. What it would feel like to have him hold me while smelling like this. My face got hot at the thought, and I shook my head quickly.
Snap out of it.
And then I saw something shiny.
A glint of silver caught my eye, and I turned my head slowly. Hanging from a small hook inside the closet was a pair of metal handcuffs.
Real ones.
I stared.
My first thought was: Why the hell does my step-uncle have handcuffs in his closet?
My second thought was: What kind of freaky things is he into?
My cheeks turned red, but I couldn't stop staring. My heart started to race. I hesitated for a moment, then reached out and touched them. They were cold and heavier than I expected. I lifted them off the hook and turned them over in my hands.
I should’ve put them right back. I knew I should have.
But my fingers were already sliding one of the cuffs around my wrist.
Just to see how it feels, I told myself.
Just for a second.
Then—click.
I froze.
The metal snapped shut around my wrist with a soft but terrifying click.
I tugged.
Nothing.
I pulled again. Harder.
Still nothing.
I had just locked myself into one of Dante’s handcuffs.
Inside his closet.
Wearing nothing but a tiny tank top and my shortest pair of pink sleep shorts.
Panic shot through me like ice.
“Oh no,” I whispered, eyes wide as I looked at the cuff around my wrist. “No, no, no…”
My breath picked up. My heart was pounding so fast it felt like it might burst out of my chest. I looked at the door.
What if he came home?
What if he walked in right now and found me like this—half-naked, in his closet, trapped in his freaking handcuffs like some crazy girl?
I tugged again, wincing as the metal pressed tighter against my skin. I was well and truly stuck.
I was screwed.
So, so screwed.
- Writer
