Call Him Daddy

Two Years Ago “We can’t do this. This is wrong.” Whispering as he traces his lips down my neck. “You know you want this as bad as I do.” lightly nibbling my collarbone, sending chills down my spine. One hand tugged my hair loose as the other traveled down my frame. My breath hitched as he opened my silk robe revealing my full breast. This was too much. My skin was on fire, my lower drenched from puddles simply by his touch and kiss. My mind was screaming no but everything else was pushing me to this, to him. once his mouth latched on to my breast, all thoughts ceased. Dear heaven takes me now. “Relax, Ma petite poupée noire. I just want to taste you. Can I?” His warm breath against my body made me shiver. My head was shaking no but my body was screaming yes. This was beyond wrong, but it felt too good. I’ve had images of this moment since I was sixteen, now three years later and it’s happening. Yet I can’t seem to let myself go enough to enjoy it. “Stop. We can’t. We shouldn't.” I said scooting out of his grasp and off the bed. Embarrassment washed over me for being so skittish. I ran to the bathroom and locked myself in. What is wrong with me? I was the one who made the first move by kissing him, I was the one who pulled him to my bed. Now I’m all freaked out making a scene. I can hear him pacing around the room. I don’t want him to be mad at me, I can’t have him hate me for this. “Sun. I’m sorry. Please come out.” I didn’t answer. My voice was stuck in my throat. As he plead for me to come out and talk to him, all I could do is cry. Mama was right, I am a mistake that keeps making mistakes. I ruin everything. No wonder she left. With a daughter like me, who would want to stay? The tears got worse once I heard my bedroom door closed. He left. The only person I had left is going to walk out on me and it’s all my fault, again. It’s always my fault. Always doing things without thinking and hurting everyone else in the process. I woke up with a piercing headache on the bathroom floor. From the light shining through the window, it’s safe to say it’s morning. My body was stiff from sleeping on the floor making it hard to move around much. Catching a glance at myself in the mirror, it barely looked like I slept. Yet I don’t remember when I fell asleep. With the dry tear streaks on my face and bloodshot eyes, I looked better than how I felt. Last night's event was heavy on my heart. Thinking about it was suffocating. Rummaging through the medicine cabin, I found a bottle of ibuprofen for the headache and soreness. After taking the pill, I got in the hot shower. I was hoping for the boiling hot shower and strenuous scrubbing would clean me from the events of last night. That wasn’t the case, if anything it seemed to heighten the memory. The look of hurt in his eyes when I got off the bed and ran. The pain in his voice as he pleaded for me to come out of the bathroom. I hate myself. That hate only festered when I went to the living room for Lydia, our housekeeper, to tell me that he went out of town for the remainder of the month. He wouldn’t be back before I leave to go back to college. He didn’t even leave a note or a text. He just left. Guess mama was right about a lot of things. Eventually, they’ll all leave.