Emily's Punishment: Part Two

Chapter Eight - Memories of Old Friends

Chapter Eight – Memories of Old Friends

"Just a minute," said Alex, hesitating as he reached for the door handle. "I want it to be a surprise."

"It is a surprise. I have no idea what you've got," replied Emily, feeling a surge of excitement as Alex stepped behind her and covered her eyes with his large, masculine hands.

"Close your eyes too," he said, pushing open the bedroom door and guiding her forward.

"What is it?" she said with a smile.

"You'll see in a second," he replied, gently directing her across to the other side of the room.

Emily bit her lip in anticipation. The awkward events of the day were pushed totally out of her mind and she now stood excited, like a child at Christmas. A quick series of thoughts flashed through her mind as she speculated on what the surprise might be. She envisioned jewellery, shoes, plane tickets to some exotic destination, a fancy item of furniture, or maybe even some new appliance for the flat.

"Ta-daaa!" he sang, as he suddenly pulled his hands away.

Emily slowly opened her eyes and blinked twice. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened as the shock hit her.

"It's...it's a..." she stammered.

"It's a highchair," he said, with a satisfied grin.

Emily looked the sturdy, white-painted, wooden frame up and down. Her initial shock passed and she felt a mix of anxiety, fear, and excitement. In her heart she was delighted, but she'd never openly express it. She checked herself and tried to project the correct level of disapproval at the object.

"Seriously?" she muttered, letting her face drop to a frown.

"I thought you'd be happy with it," said Alex.

"Meh," she mumbled, as she ran her hand across the heavy leather strap that was fastened to the arm rest. "It's not like I'm gonna use it."

"No? you don't think so?"

"Maybe you can sit in it, since you're the one who bought it," she said, glancing down at the brand-new waterproof cushion, nestled in the seat of the slightly worn frame.

"Actually, I was thinking I might keep it in the kitchen, near the dining table. That way you can eat your meals in it whenever you've been bad."

Emily shot him a disapproving glare. She turned her attention back to the white chair, casting her eyes down towards the heavy straps at the legs, which were clearly designed for fixing ankles into position and rendering the seated victim's legs wide apart. It began to dawn on Emily that this chair seemed familiar. The worn paint, the leather straps, and the sturdy frame and folding table with the brass latches to lock it into place; she was sure she'd seen it somewhere before.

"Where did you get this? It looks familiar," she said, in an apprehensive tone.

"You remember it?"

"I don't know. Maybe," she replied.

"You should recognise it. It was a gift from Jerry and Angela."

"A gift?"

"Yes, a gift. In our recent email exchanges, Jerry mentioned that they were clearing out some of their stuff and downsizing to a smaller place. He said they didn't really need two highchairs and offered me the spare one."

"And you accepted it?" she snapped, looking up at him indignantly.

"Oh, knock off the act, Emily. You can't fool me," he said dismissively. "Jerry mentioned he'd rather it went to a good home than see it bought by a stranger. I was more than happy to oblige."