Chapter Nine
Rosie
“I called him Daddy.” I close my eyes and lay back on the bed I’ve been sleeping in since childhood. I haven’t even updated the sheet set. I’m still rocking hot pink unicorns. How sad is that?
“And it sounds like he liked it.” Ellie laughs and sips her Cherry Coke. “I told you he was a freak.”
“I don’t even know why I said it. It just came out of my mouth.”
“Who cares why you said it? He was into it. Let him be into it.”
“I don’t even know if I’m into it.”
Ellie rolls her eyes and shakes her head like she’s utterly annoyed by all of my bullshit. “You’re into it. Trust me.”
“Why would I be into calling a grown man Daddy? It sounds… kinda of sick. Also… I don’t need a daddy. I’m actually trying to get away from my dad, not find another one.”
“No, you’re trying to get away from your father. The man who’s weighing you down with responsibility. Professor Wilder is your daddy. The guy who wants to take all the responsibility away. You need someone who’ll pull you out of your head.” She grins. “I like the idea of Professor Daddy for you.”
“Oh my God.” I shake my head back and forth as the doorbell rings downstairs. “Speaking of,” I bite back a grin, “he said he’d stop over and talk to my dad, who’s already drunk off his ass, so this should be fun.”
Ellie raises her brows in solidarity and offers a hug. “Good luck. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be home all night trying to convince my mom that I don’t need a post-graduation bodyguard.”
“We need a full talk about that for sure. Call you later?”
She nods as we hop down the steps toward the back door. Ellie and her family only live a few houses down. She’s been coming through the patio door since we were kids. Most of the time she didn’t even knock. “Love you, babe!”
“Love you too!”
A moment later, the doorbell rings, and my chest tightens. I was just bouncing on the man’s cock, but for some reason, seeing Professor Wilder in my home is another experience entirely.
Here, everything is more real. Here, he sees the layers of me.
Where I hang my coat, where I set my shoes, where I let the mail pile up, and where Dad leaves the crushed cans of beer by the couch. Somehow, letting a man impale you with his massive penis on the edge of his desk feels less invasive than this.
However, the second I open the door, my entire body feels lighter, and everything I was worried about melts away.
“Hey, princess.” He leans into my lips and offers me a kiss as though we’re together, as though I belong to him.
Why do I like it there? Why does it scare me to like it there?
“Hey, Daddy!” The name slips from my lips like his God-given name is Daddy. “Umm,” I swallow hard and glance down at his boots before drawing my gaze up again, “sorry. I—”
“Don’t apologize for that, remember? You’re my little girl.” He kisses my forehead again. “How’s your father today?”
“He’s in the living room watching TV. I told him you were coming. He’s not happy about it.”
I’ve barely finished my sentence when I smell the yeasty breath of my father before I hear him. “She told me you were coming.” He reaches his hand out like he’s going to greet Professor Wilder, except he reaches for the lamp by the door instead, yanking the plug out of the wall.
Everything is happening so quickly that my brain doesn’t catch up until he’s pulled the lamp back. I feel a sting and my lip is bleeding.
My lips are bleeding.
What the hell?
I’ve never known my father to be an aggressive man. Sure, he gets drinking and throws things around from time to time, and once he yelled at the neighbor nonsensically for an hour over a dirt pile, but he’s never hurt me.
Professor Wilder does not like this. His eyes glaze over and his jaw tightens before he steps forward, his big hand landing on my father’s shirt.
“You see what you did to her? You see what you fucking did to your daughter?” He turns my father around to look at me, but Dad is so drunk he’s not connecting the dots.
He only sees the giant man holding him back.
He thrashes and pushes away, punching aimlessly.
What the heck is happening?
I bite back tears and back away.
How has it gotten this bad? When Mom was alive, he wasn’t like this. He was kind and loving. We’d spend nights putting together Legos, playing video games, or going for ice cream. I never dreamed he could ever be this guy.
I need to do something.
“Dad,” I say, wiping away the tears and blood that have mixed, “come on. Stop. We’re trying to help you.”
Professor Wilder stands taller, his gaze on mine. “Go get your things. You’re coming with me.”
“I can’t leave him like this,” I say sobbing, my vision blurry with tears.
“Then we’ll call someone to help, but you’re not staying.” His tone is firm and direct, letting me know there’s no other option. “I mean it. I’ll carry you out of here if I have to. So, call whoever you need to call, but you’re not staying here.”
I swallow hard and think over my options. I’m not used to letting someone else have control over what I do, especially when it comes to my father, but I’ve never seen him act like this. It’s obvious I’m in over my head.
I nod toward my professor and shrug, my heart somewhere in my stomach. “I don’t actually have anyone to call.”
My father slumps over in the recliner like whatever energy he had is gone now. His chin sinks toward his chest, and his fingers dangle over the armrest, twitching ever so slightly as though he’s dreaming with his eyes half open.
When did it get this bad?
Professor Wilder turns, his size dwarfing me. “If there’s no one to call, then you have to let him work it out on his own. He’s a grown man, baby. He’s going to have to fall so he can pick himself back up again.”
“And what if he doesn’t?”
He wipes a tear away from my face. “Then that’s a choice he’s allowed to make. You can’t carry him forever. He has to be willing to help himself.”
My heart squeezes for a million reasons all at once. Partly because I know Professor Wilder is right, and partly because it hurts that I could lose my dad to this. And then what? My entire family will be gone.
Tears fall quickly as he pulls me against his chest and holds me close.
“Give him the night. He’ll sober up a little, realize what he’s done, and maybe he’ll come to terms with the fact that he needs help.”
“Okay,” I say with a sniffle, allowing my professor to dot away the blood on my cheek. “I’ll go pack a bag.”
“Good girl.” He tugs me in by the waist and kisses the cut on my face. “I’ve got a first-aid kit in my truck. We’ll get you cleaned up out there, and we’ll go to my cabin in the mountains for the night. Does that work?”
I nod slowly, allowing myself a deep breath.
A cabin in the mountains with a man who wants to care for me sounds almost unreal, foreign, pretend.
Maybe this is all part of that big coma delusion I’ve been having since I drove over to his house the other night.
A delusion makes way more sense than assuming any of this is real.
How could it be? He’s perfect.
Big, strong, tall, kind, smart, and now protective too?
It’s not real.
He can’t be real.
But God, I hope he is.