LUKE
"Baby, I am so sorry."
"It's okay, Daddy."
I know it's not okay. She won't look me in the eye. We've been sitting in this hotel room for the past two hours now, trying to talk about what the fuck just happened yet getting nowhere whatsoever.
"I didn't mean for you to see that."
"I know, Daddy. I told you it's okay."
"But it's not," I don't exactly know what I want- maybe some closure that Sophie doesn't suddenly hate me now.
I take her hands in mine, her skin warm and soft against my calloused fingertips. I have no words to say and nothing intelligent to mutter, so I decide to go with the most pathetic line possible.
"Are you okay?"
Sophie nods, her hair falling in front of her pretty face, eyes still not quite meeting mine. "Yes."
"I really am sorry, baby."
"It's not your fault, Daddy," Sophie says. This makes my eyebrows furrow because I don't quite have an idea as to what she's hinting at.
Not my fault? It's entirely my fault. I'm the one who forgot to lock the stupid door and I'm the one who came over his fucking daughter.
She's not your daughter. I ignore the voice just like I've done in the past, wanting it to be gone as well as the inappropriate urges I have been starting to feel out of nowhere.
I stare at Sophie, at her doe eyes and her plump lips puckered into an unintentional pout, and I feel sick to my stomach once I realize just how badly I want to lean in and-
No. I think, alarmed. Shut the fuck up. Stop it.
"Daddy?" her voice echoes like a melody sounding through an empty tunnel and I find myself transfixed, eyes on nothing but the smooth skin of her mouth.
Stop it, Luke. I gulp. This isn't right.
"Y-Yes, little girl?"
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Like what?"
She pauses. It's as if she's too scared to say something.
My mind screams at nothing in particular for her to just come out and say it, to put my mind at ease, to put everything at ease.
"Nothing." she mumbles. Something in my chest deflates. What was I expecting? "But I'm not mad at you, Daddy. I understand."
She sounds like a little kid trying to be a grown-up and it's honestly the most adorable thing ever. I don't think I'll ever be able to have enough of Sophie being adorable and to be truthfully honest, I don't ever want to.
Nevertheless, her words make me swallow in confusion as I look at her, eyebrow slightly raised.
She understands? "Y-you do?"
"Mhm," she hops off of the table, feet landing on the floor as delicately as her hand reaches up, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear.
She smiles at me. It's so pure and so clueless and so kind that her next few words don't quite have a sudden impact- not until she makes her way to the door of the hotel room and pulls it open.
Looking back at me, Sophie parts her lips to speak. Her voice is innocent but her words are the complete opposite. "I do it too, sometimes."
And with that, she leaves the hotel room; leaving me wide-eyed, embarrassed, terrified of what I'm feeling and lusting over someone I can't have.
I do it too, sometimes. My mouth has gone completely dry and so has my throat, this one sentence mirroring a catchy ballad in my head.
I don't know how long I sit there, contemplating my life and every decision I've made up until now, but my legs refuse to cooperate once I finally decide to move them.
I end up wobbling over to the mini fridge, a cold hand raking through my tousled hair as I reach in to get a drink. I feel like pouring it all over me because the room currently feels like a hundred degrees, but I settle for gulping half of the contents of a water bottle down as Sophie's words echo like a song on radio-repeat.
I do it too, sometimes.
What on earth does she mean? She can't do "it", she can't masturbate, she can't touch herself because she's my little girl and last time I checked, my little girl failed all aspects of sex education due to the simple fact that she was scared of basic human anatomy. And now she's hinting that she does what I do, way more than I do?
I want to both cry and bang my head against the wall in frustration. Maybe she meant leaving the door unlocked when doing something private, maybe that's what she meant by "I do it too". Maybe. Hopefully. For the sake of me not having a severe heart attack at the age of twenty-five.
I decide to leave the hotel room so that I can get some fresh air. I take deep breaths, long inhales and sharp intakes, as I aim to pace the floor of the hotel lobby.
I do it too, sometimes.
Stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it, stop thinking about i-
Maybe Daddy can do it for you, sometime.
I end up tugging at the roots of my hair as I pass an elderly couple trying to get into the elevator. I give them a crooked, apologetic smile, stepping out warily. In return, they look at me with weird expressions.
My pacing takes me somewhere and to my relief, I soon spot Calum and Michael, seated on opposite ends of one of the lobby couches. There's really not much advice either of them can give me, but I can't be alone now. Not after hearing something like that from a person like her.
I rush over, shaking my head to clear it, before plopping myself down right in the middle of them both without so much as a greeting.
I breathe in, then slowly breathe out. Sadie used to make us do these breathing exercises before every show, a while back, and apparently they helped a ton with stage fright.
Right now, however, I think I'd rather the feeling of a stadium full of hundreds of screaming fans instead of this unknown flipping going on in my chest.
Next to me, Michael raises an eyebrow.
"You okay?" he asks.
No. "Y-yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" he rolls his eyes.
"Seriously?"
"What?"
"Luke, your leg looks like a pornstar's vibrator." he states, frowning. So do I. "Look at it," he then points, and to my complete surprise, my leg is bouncing up and down in the most alarming rate possible; unable to be controlled because my nerves have overtaken everything.
"Oh. Didn't notice."
"Mhm. What's your deal?"
"It's nothing."
"Dude, shut the fuck up. It's obviously something," he says, narrowing his eyes at me. That's the thing about Michael. He can sense when something's wrong without even having to reach a certain base of conversation. "What's going on?"
"I'm just dealing with some stuff, that's all." I lie.
"What kinda stuff?"
"Oh, you know. Unimportant stuff."
"Is it Holly?"
"Who?" I question, genuinely puzzled for a split second. Then I remember the hired actress given to me as a tour accessory and I grimace. "Oh, right. No."
"You sure?" he asks. "I mean, I wouldn't blame you."
I shake my head no. "I'm sure, Mike."
"Is it Sophie?" he questions. I suddenly feel like standing up and walking away without another word. The slightest mention of her makes me uneasy because I know myself what I did thinking about her in the bathroom just a few hours prior.
No, say no. "Yes." Fucking idiot piece of sh-
"Ooh, daddy issues," Michael says, swivelling around to face me fully. I begin to wonder how the fuck Calum's refrained from saying anything until I see him passed out conpletely; his head lolling on the other side like a tired puppy. "What's she done?"
Nothing. It's all me. "She hasn't done anything-"
"Is she going through that weird rebellion stage?" he asks. I wince. "You know, the one where she doesn't listen to you because she's 'growing up' and trying to 'find herself'." he adds quotation marks with his fingers, gesturing weirdly.
"No," I shake my head again. "None of that."
"Then what's the problem?"
I end up not giving Michael an answer. There's nothing much to say when the same damn thing keeps making a reappearance in the twisted fantasy embedded into my brain.
Daddy wants to do bad things to his little girl, sometime.
❥
Luke better chill his fucking dick out
ALSO IM SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING LAST NIGHT I was doing thangs but I'm back now so holla :-)
I love you all so much! Thank you for reading and for liking this story and for showing your appreciation. Take care :)
-M xxx