Chapter 5: Domestic Discipline
The coffee shop air was thick with the clatter of cups and the low hum of student anxiety. Sherman spotted them immediately. Tara, in a sleek black turtleneck, looked like a predator taking a polite interest in its prey. Tanya sat across from her, dwarfed by her own sweater, her shoulders curled inward as if trying to vanish. Her auburn curls were a wild frame for a face pale with sleepless torment.
Sherman slid into the booth beside Tara. Tanya’s head snapped up. Her eyes, bloodshot and glassy, locked onto him. The effect was instantaneous and physical. A full-body shudder ran through her, and color flooded back into her cheeks. Her breath hitched, a small, desperate sound.
“See?” Tara said, her voice smooth as oil. “He’s here. Everything’s manageable.”
“I can’t… I’ve been having dreams,” Tanya whispered, her gaze darting between them like a trapped bird. “My thesis data… it’s all gibberish on the screen. All I can think about is… is the library. The chair. My roommate has been acting so strange and I feel like I’m going to scream if I don’t…”
“If you don’t get what you need,” Tara finished for her. She leaned forward, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial level. “What you need is structure. Chaos is making you sick. We’re here to provide the structure.”
Tanya’s eyes pleaded with Sherman. “Is it true? What she said? About a… a place? Rules?”
Sherman nodded once. He let a fraction of the focus gather behind his eyes, not the full force, just a beacon. “A place where you belong. Where the noise stops. Where you serve a purpose.”
A tear escaped, tracking down Tanya’s cheek. It was a tear of relief. The offer of submission was a lifeline thrown to a drowning woman. “Okay,” she breathed. “Okay.”
They took her in Tara’s car. Tanya sat in the back, staring out the window, her fingers twisting in her sweater. No one spoke. The silence was a covenant.
Evelyn’s house awaited, a monolith of glass and order. She let them in, her eyes downcast, already dressed in the simple, collarless tunic and leggings Tara had dictated. She flinched when she saw Tanya, a flash of professional recognition—TA and professor—obliterated by shared, shameful knowledge.
“The bedroom is prepared,” Evelyn murmured, the words clearly rehearsed.
“Good,” Tara said. She turned to Tanya. “Strip. Leave your things in the foyer. Everything.”
Tanya froze, her arms crossing over her chest. This was the first, tangible threshold.
“Now,” Sherman said, the word quiet but absolute.
Her hands trembled as she pulled the bulky sweater over her head. She wore a simple bra and cotton panties beneath. She removed them, folding each item with nervous, automatic care on the marble floor until she stood naked, hugging herself, her body soft and curved in the harsh foyer light.
“Upstairs,” Tara commanded.
They filed up the floating staircase. The master bedroom was a landscape of controlled luxury. The setting sun bled through the golden dra