Furious hands swiped at her reddened face again, eyes smarting with tears as the glowing sting of her backside brushed over the sleek, wooden surface of the chair. Stupid, stupid chair.

The sound of Mama scribbling away served as a painful backdrop to an occasional hiccupping sob, impatient grumbles and clicks of her tongue over faulted reports enough to make the little girl’s skin crawl. The one time Mama had called out of work and she still managed to bring the entire office home! Well, maybe not the entire office, per se. Rather than gluing herself in front of the computer, as per usual, she’d only brought a handful of manila folders to thumb through and mark up. She counted herself lucky Lena hadn’t even touched her desk, opting for a casual spot on the couch instead, but she was still technically work—

“So, what’ll it be, Dallas?” Mama’s voice startled her shamefully back to the present, the upward curve of her brow stalling all disgruntled musings. She turned—or, at least, she would have if she hadn’t been peering over her shoulder the entire time—and eyed her stony features warily.

“Huh?”

She swore she noticed the arch of that stern brow climb a little higher—if that were even humanely possible—just as she realized her mistake.

She fumbled to correct it. “Ma’am?” Her expression softened, but only just. “I said, what’ll it be?” Mama repeated calmly. “Will we be needing the spoon or the ruler this time?”

Watery eyes spaced at the prospect alone, the heated glow of her bottom resonating at full force. A warm gush of tears plagued her vision. “No, Mama. No—”

“Then, I suggest you turn back around and stay there. Your time isn’t up yet.” She dropped her gaze back to her red-ticked notes. “You are in more than enough trouble as it is.”        

Lena couldn’t bring herself to feel entirely bad. Dallas’s unrepentance had shone clear as she blazed around the house far, far away from her, Lena unaware of anything being thrown directly at her until her clothes came to suffer under a spray of syrup across her chest. And she’d felt it, aligned with the crushing stab of disappointment, cold, gunky and wet; she’d made damn sure Dallas felt it too, sticky slathers of it coming off onto her legs and thighs, all the way up to the black underwear Lena wrestled off on their downward struggle to the chair.

A light sniffle compelled her to look again, green eyes darkened and bitter, screwed stubbornly in her direction. She mirrored her with a crippling gaze of her own, voice lowered dangerously, pen raised pointedly to her bratty little subject.

“Nose in the corner. Now. I should not have to say it again.”