LUKE
I am at a mental war with myself and I really need to go to fucking sleep. I've been awake since 3am and it's killing me. My mind just can't seem to stop overthinking and it's putting me at unease.
Sighing, I drape an arm across Sophie's waist, pulling her in close. She smells like she always does; of strawberries and sugar because of the weird yet wonderful shampoo she uses, and the warmth is radiating between our bodies as we lay in my dimly lit bunk of the tourbus.
Sleep doesn't come as easily to me as it does to her. In some ways, I'm glad; I get to make sure that my little girl sleeps soundly throughout the the night because I know how much of a light sleeper she is. In other ways, I feel like downing a few of those pills I see Sadie knock back two at a time every evening, like tictacs from a yellow pill bottle.
I try to yawn but nothing comes out, much like how I force my eyes to water but end up with mothing. If it weren't for the fact that I have my arm under Sophie's head and it would be much too cruel to wake her up by shifting, I would be pacing the floor of the moving tourbus by now.
It's very rare that we get to spend nights together alone like this. We went out for a meal, she was giddy the whole time, we walked by the pier and she begged me to get her a bag of just green M&M's despite there not being a convenience store anywhere near us that sold the green ones on their own. Nevertheless, I drove to the closest 7/11, searched the aisles, and bought her two bags of the stuff just in case she finished the first one because whatever baby wants, Daddy gets.
"You spoil her far too much, Luke." Rachel had sighed, shaking her head as we watched an eight year old Sophie run across the lawn.
She had my You Complete Mess shirt draped over a shiny silver skirt, tainted with mud and grass and playground stains from endless hours of climbing the jungle gym, yet she still managed to look as pristine as ever.
I just shrugged, turning back to my notebook with a small smile on my face. I loved her so much that I could care less whether or not she ruined something I owned. I'd buy her a hundred of those You Complete Mess shirts if I could, and I'd even build her the entirety of an elementary school's playground course if it meant getting to watch her face light up.
I think about now, about the green M&M's and the one hour drive spent searching for a 7/11, and the way her hair blew in the wind of the car's air conditioner because she complained that it was too cold to let the actual breeze in. I think about how when traffic hit and I was slowly starting to get impatient, she plugged her phone into the aux cord and began to play songs I'd never heard of but would most definitely listen to in the future if that's what she wanted.
She sang along to those songs and I watched her, and I felt a pang in my chest, a gut-wrenching feeling in the pit of my stomach because I knew how innocently she viewed the world. I've been sheltering her from it for so long that I'm afraid it's too late to go back- hell, I don't even let her have social media in fear of her messaging a random stranger and getting tricked into meeting up with him.
She'd never know the dangers of those sorts of things because Rachel's never had the time to stop and warn her about it and I've never had the heart to. I hate seeing her sad and I know that if I even try to explain the whole thing about the world having it's variations of good and bad people, her beautiful eyes would water and I'd find myself taking it all back.
Life isn't always midnight car rides and playing hide and seek with someone you love in the middle of a 24/7 convenience store. It isn't always about getting to spend time with the one thing good in your life and thinking about how fucking lucky you are to be there. Life's about hardship and pain and more often than not, it's about dealing with things that snuff out the fire in your chest, the things that want to stop you from being truly happy and stopping at absolutely nothing to get it.
In my case, it's about the people bashing my baby for calling me Daddy.
I don't often scroll through my social media but when I do, it's mostly comments and likes from people I've never met but appreciate anyway. I try to drown out the hate and most of the time I'm successful. Other times, however, I see something about Sophie, and my face falls.
They don't like her. Most of them don't. They think she's a groupie, someone thirsty for publicity because I've posted pictures with her and so have the rest of the guys. Nobody understands our situation and it's terrifying to me that I might not, either.
I'm her father but I'm not her father. She calls me Daddy because she's never had one and I call her mine even though she's not mine, she's nobody's, because she doesn't have a dad and I'm the closest thing to it and I'm against fathers owning their daughters or people owning other people in general. It's been like this ever since I chose to succumb to letting her call me what she does, ever since Rachel gave up trying to tell Sophie what not to refer to me as and a picture was leaked of me leaving a restaurant with a child clinging onto my flannel for dear life.
I've always wondered the possibility of her real dad coming back. It often crosses my mind, even when I don't mean for it to. When we perform Jet Black Heart, when I hear Ashton humming Broken Home in the shower. The image of Sophie running along to some other man I've never met before and calling him what she calls me makes my stomach churn and my face contort into a grimace.
Unintentionally, my arms tighten around her in a protective way and she lets out a little groan. It's soft and quiet, surpressed by her slumber, but I soften my hold all the same. I don't want to hurt her.
She looks perfect the way she is right now, with her hair messy and unkempt and her skin free of any make-up her friends practically force onto her. Her natural state fascinates me and I love it. I like it when her face isn't filled with worry and dread of what the next day will bring, because I know she's a worrier and an overthinker. Sophie takes after me despite Rachel being her biological mother and having no connections to me whatsoever. She hates hearing this, though. She's never liked me saying it so I never bring it up.
I hold her and I hold her close. I fear for her future but I also fear for mine. I can't imagine a life without this kid, little Sophie Hayes with the holographic skirt and the stained You Complete Mess shirt and the mother who could never stay in one place for too long. I know she's growing up and with reaching a certain age comes a price, and that price usually isn't affordable- emotionally, at least.
She's homeschooled now but she can't be homeschooled forever. A new tutor from every city the band tours comes by to make sure Sophie learns new content but she rarely ever listens. The only subject I see her excelling in is Maths, and that's because I'm the one who has that responsibility and I almost always make sure that she understands a topic before we move on.
Sophie shifts and I'm suddenly reminded of how my arm's beginning to go numb. I've been cramped in the same position for hours and if I move now, she'll open her eyes.
Not that that's a bad thing- I love her eyes. I love everything about her. But that's what happens when you have a daughter, right? Bar the fact that Sophie's not my actual daughter. You fall in love with your kid and you begin to notice the little things about them, like their eyes or the way their smiles turn upwards or the way they look slightly different in one light setting than the other. You notice their laugh and differentiate their fake from their real. You notice a lot of things but most of all, most importantly, you notice how you love them a little bit more each day.
I have an interview with the lads in the morning so I decide to actually get some rest. There's not that much time left until we actually have to wake up, but minute time is better than looking like a college student fresh out of the night before their first final as a radio producer attempts to talk me down.
Yawning, I bury my head into the back of Sophie's neck. Her hair tickles my face so I brush it to the side, feeling the need to plant a small kiss on her delicate skin while I do so.
"I love you." I mumble sleepily into her ear. She's heard it before, numerous times while in her conscious, but this way she can't argue that she loves me more and I won't have to endure the cute tantrum she pulls once I prove that she doesn't.
I part my lips to let yet another yawn escape. Sophie shivers from the hot air of my breath, resulting in her cuddling deeper into me.
Smiling, I allow my eyes to flutter shut as her legs interwine with mine. I know that she can't hear me, but all of a sudden it seems like the perfect time to tell her the things I've no doubt told her before.
"Daddy loves his little girl." are the last few words to leave my mouth, before my eyes flutter shut, my arms tighten once again around her, and sleep consumes me.
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OK YES I KNOW ITS A LIL BORING BC NOTHING ACTUALLY HAPPENED IN THIS CHAPTER but I wanted to elaborate a lil more on their relationship, plus I wanted cute daddy Luke so :')
Thank you wonderful people so much for reading! I love you all, take care :-)
-M xxx