My Savior 🔞 ( Part One )

Hear me..

It’s been almost three weeks since Dad dropped this toy into my life. I still can’t get used to it—feels like it’s glued to my ass.

I can’t even get a moment alone. The only peace I have is when I stay out after school for as long as possible. But every damn day, I have to sit through these "sessions" with it. Therapy, apparently. Right. I just mumble dry answers, or ignore it altogether.

So, I was just chilling in the park, enjoying the silence, when Lorette showed up.

“Babe! You didn’t even call me! I thought you’d wait for me after class, but you disappeared.”

Lorette and I have been dating for a month. I don’t usually date—I hate gold diggers—but she’s been the least annoying so far.

“...Sorry. I just needed some time alone.”

She was cute. Naive. Pretty, I guess. But I never really cared about looks. I just wanted a break from the guys constantly buzzing around me.

“Mmm? Wanna come to my place? Dad’s out, Philip’s with his girlfriend. We can do something special.”

She winked, clearly implying more than just board games. But I wasn’t into it. I hadn’t had sex in two years, and honestly, I didn’t miss it.

“I’m not feeling great today. Maybe next time...”

“Aww. That’s sad. Here, maybe this helps.”

She kissed me—soft lips, sweet breath—but it felt empty. Like she was trying, and I wasn’t.

“Thanks, yeah... I’m sure it’ll help.”

I forced a smile. Even I’m not always an asshole. She meant well.

“Good boy. Call me when you’re home. Take something and rest, okay?”

She stroked my face and left. I watched her adjust her bra strap under her top—nothing about that ever felt sexy to me.

Once she was gone, I stood up too.

“...It’s barely past 3 p.m.”

Still early. But I had nothing better to do, and it was jambalaya day.

Our Spanish cook made it once a month—her family recipe. And hell, it was the best thing in this house.

When I got home, Dad was there. Sitting in the living room, buried in the newspaper.

“Well, look who’s home. Second time this week, what a miracle.”

I said it with mockery. He didn’t even look up.

He never did. Great man. Brilliant at his job. But as a parent? Let’s just say he wasn’t made for that.

“Where’s Mom?”

Silence. Typical. I gave up.

“It’s jambalaya day, you know. If you two don’t eat, I’m stealing yours.”

Nothing.

My lips pressed together. Why ignore me when I’ve done nothing wrong?

I wanted to yell. To curse. To feel. But I just sighed. Appetite gone, I grabbed a glass of water and went upstairs.

My chest ached.

All I ever wanted was for them to spend time with me. Not just now—but always. They raised me with nannies. Left me alone. And now I’m grown, and still just... alone. Maybe it’s what I deserve.

I didn’t slam the door. Just sat on my bed, glass in hand, staring into it like it had answers.

It hurts. To be alone all your life. To know even your parents won’t catch you when you fall. To have so much to say, but no one willing to listen. To hate yourself as much as the world does—and still not care enough to change.

And the worst part? I know I won’t live long. Not because I plan to end it—just... because I feel it.

All my father cares about is his reputation. I’m a liability, an embarrassment.

The only thing I want is to be seen. Heard. Understood.

But with how I act... maybe I don’t deserve that.

My stare stayed locked on the glass, until—

“Is everything alright?”

The voice snapped me back. I looked up.

“What the fuck do you want? Who told you to come in here? Get the hell out, you stupid bot! I’m not in the mood!”

I yelled loud enough to rattle the windows.

“I knocked several times, Mr. O’Hara. You didn’t answer. I saw you storm upstairs. I just wanted to check on you.”

I laughed. Like a madman.

“You don’t care! You can’t care! You’re a machine! You’re only here because Dad ordered you to be!”

My voice cracked. I swallowed. No. No crying. Not here. Not in front of this thing.

“Let’s calm down and talk. Your father left a few minutes ago. He didn’t ask me to do anything. You came home late. You’re probably tired. And hungry.”

Goddammit—it wasn’t wrong. But my fury was louder.

The glass shattered in my hand.

Water spilled across the floor, tinged red from the blood dripping down my fingers.

The sting made me hiss. But it wasn’t the only pain.

Because even though my glass was empty... the other one inside me had just overflowed.

And before I could stop it—my face was wet.

Fat, silent tears began to fall.

And for the first time in years... I didn’t have the strength to hold them back.