The bubbles pile high on top of the tub, a mountain of foam that I look forward to sliding into. I imagine the relief of the warm water on my aching body. The room fills with billowy heat; it steams up the mirror, creating the perfect canvas for a Daddy doodle, idly sketching a heart with horns as he waits for the bath to fill.
Every bit as exquisite as I imagined and I verbalise my appreciation as the warmth of the water surrounds me. “Ahhhh….oh Daddy that feels so good.” I smile up at him. Appreciative of his loving hands guiding me down, parting the mass of bubbles threatening to swallow me whole.
“There’s my girl!” Daddy beams at me, pushing a wall of foam away from my face. I giggle at him, puckering my lips and tempting him in for a kiss. He snatches the opportunity, smattering me with kisses, finishing with a large sloppy offering on my forehead.
He looks younger than he has in weeks. The weight of his recent challenges lifted. It makes my heart happy to see my Daddy smiling again, to see him here with me, carefree from the mission that had consumed him.
He’s almost childlike in comparison, with giggles that would rival my own as he bobs my rubber ducky around in the water, hiding her from me, pushing her down under the water then letting my bathtime friend float up, breaking the surface with a tiny “plip”.
My Daddy shines like the hero I knew. I feel the spark of hope that I might have him back now. That we might play like we used to, that he might push me on the swings and make me pancakes and help me learn lessons.
That he might use the boys and girls to teach me.
That our world will become small again, small like it was, before Daddy’s mission against God.
Maybe if I play pretend hard enough it will be like it never happened. If I distract myself well enough, building a beard of bubbles over Daddy’s rough stubble, then I can imagine that we really are alone here. If I just keep chattering I can disguise the gentle snores of the newly dedicated sinner slumbering in the corner.
Daddy wore her out, after he wore her down. After he helped her to see her foolish ways and embrace the truth. Opened her eyes to the potential of worldly pleasures. Opened her cunt to his hard cock. Hammered home the hedonistic message to seize life, it’s the only one you have.
I helped Daddy. I helped him when it took so long to help her. I took the heaviness out of his hands and the rage out of his heart; I gave him my body to get his release.
My hard earned injuries throb in the heat of the water. Each one singing a song of victory. It makes every scar worth it. Every fading bruise a reminder of his triumph, of our triumph.
I don’t know what happens now, they’ve never woken up before, they’ve never lasted that long.
Gently Daddy washes me, sponging away the dried blood and dirt. He looks pensive, a dark brooding that flashes across his features as he finds some the deeper wounds. He barely hides his recoil at the swelling that masks my fractured fingers; doesn’t disguise his response to the sore bald area at the base of my skull, my hair torn out in a fit of anger and despair.
I feel the tears rising and desperately force them down. Oh no, Daddy, please don’t be mad at me because I couldn’t take it. Please don’t be horrified by how I look. I tried my hardest to be strong for you. The words I don’t speak but repeat around my mind. Please Daddy, I tried. Please Daddy, still want me.
I force a smile and have it returned. Locked in a fake-smile battle of wills. I will not crack.
I change the focus “Daddy….” I offer quietly, “I’m really happy that you helped that lady.”
His expression softens and allows a genuine look of adoration to shine through. I relax. There’s my Daddy.
I continue on. “She needed help, didn’t she Daddy? And you helped her because you showed her the truth. Because we’re good people aren’t we Daddy? We help people learn lessons.” I nod as much as my stiff neck will allow.
“Yes.” He smiles at me, stroking his hand against my leg under the water.
“And now she’s all better, isn’t she Daddy? She was really quite grateful.”
“I think she was, my darkling, in fact, I know she was. I helped her see the light.” He pauses for a moment then asks, “What makes you say that?”
I falter. “I… I saw you.” I venture, hoping that I won’t be in trouble for spying, that Daddy won’t be angry.
“Ahhh… yes, you did now didn’t you. That’s why you were outside the door. And how did it make you feel? Did it make you happy in your special place?” Daddy’s hand wanders to my cunt to emphasise the question. I relax, I’m not in trouble. If I just let Daddy touch me then everything will be fine.
“That’s what wore you out, isn’t it my little filthy girl? That’s why you were sleeping when I found you.” Daddy fools himself and I play along, nodding and answering with a little white lie when his questions continue, “Did enjoy it? Did you touch yourself?”
That was the right answer, it makes him smile widely and slide a finger inside the delicate folds of my broken cunt. There’s a pleasure there, despite the ravaged skin screaming in pain. It’s a pleasure from making my Daddy happy. It’s a pleasure from seeing him respond so positively.
“Good girl, that’s just how I raised you, isn’t it? Not like those silly girls dedicating themselves to a life of foolish denial. You know yourself. You know how good life can be. You make Daddy so proud.”
I pant a reply, “Thank you Daddy.” Over and over again.
It sparks his words, the more I respond, in pained moans taken for pleasure, the more he talks. The more he talks, the more I’m convinced I have my Daddy back. My Daddy. My adoring Daddy.
The spark of hope grows until I am a swirl of butterflies at the idea of getting our life back. Of days in the park and nights in our bed. Of blood and the sound of breaking bones. Bones that aren’t mine. Of the jangle of chains around new friends and the taste of salty treats.
“You know how this world works because I teach you, Daddy teaches you the truth. I teach you how girls should be taught. Not with stories full of lies. Not with a teacher you can see or feel.”
He forces his fingers further. “You feel me, don’t you Blade?”
“Yes Daddy, thank you Daddy.” I confirm, careful to keep encouraging him, not to reveal the true depth of the pain in my broken body. If he feels the tears in my delicate flesh that open again so quickly, he doesn’t stop, flooding the bath water with swirls of fresh red blood.
It matches the desire flooding into his eyes. “Good girl,” he growls, unbuckling his belt, lifting himself to take my eager mouth. Yes Daddy, like that. Show me you want me. Show me you’ve returned.
“What did you do to me?” The harsh accusation in her tone stops Daddy in his thrusting.
He turns and pulls his jeans up again in one movement, I strain to see around him.
Eyes burning she glares at him from the opposite side of the room. I didn’t even hear her wake yet she’s both up and dressed. Her auburn hair is still wildly tusselled from their night of passion and at odds with her conservative clothing. She pulls the black cloth around her protectively and demands again. “What did you do to me?”
Daddy barely has a chance to stammer a response before she screams at him, a high pitched screech that pierces the air. I clamp my hands over my ears but still I hear her.
“You raped me. You, the most vile of men in the kingdom of God. You raped me, you demon. You are cursed by Satan. God knows, he sees all and he will judge you. You raped me. You raped me…”
Over and over she declares him evil, she repeats her claim. She is a wall of noise, fuelled by hatred.
Daddy doesn’t say a word. I can’t see his face. My anger bubbles on his behalf but I stay quiet, awaiting his response. A response that doesn’t come.
Finally her voice cracks, she stops and takes a breath. The quiet is a welcome respite.
“You must have raped me.” She spits. “I am bound to God and God alone.”
She throws her lies and they hit Daddy like bullets. I watch him recoil.
He doesn’t even move to stop her leaving. Still like a statue, motionless, holding onto the side of the bath.
The slam of the door jolts Daddy back into action. He turns to me and without expression says plainly: “Bath’s over.” pulling up the plug and starting the slow gurgle of water running down the drain.
Daddy stares into the distance, seemingly devoid of thought or response to what just happened. It takes every ounce of my being not to panic. I want to throw my naked bleeding body into his embrace and beg him. No Daddy, come back to me Daddy, you were so close.
Instead I sit and curse her quietly. Her taunts and lies lay heavy in the air, they fill the void that hope abandoned. They hurt my heart.
I watch the water drain away, pulling with it the remaints of once full and luxurious bubbles, now just milky swirls in the dirty water. Pulling with it the sense of hope I’d tried so hard to hold onto, devastated by her words, her stupid fucking words, and my Daddy’s silent sobs as he walks to the far corner of the room.
The cooling air raises goosebumps on my naked skin. Exposed and hurting I wait, like Daddy’s good girl. I wait whilst Daddy begins to pray. His words bring question after question after question. Daddy’s tone increasingly enraged by the lack of response, angered by the lack of answers.
I wait and I know it’s not over, that God still has something to answer for.
Finally, Daddy speaks, his tone aching with anguished decision. “Blade, I have too many questions to be able to teach you. Let’s see what they can teach you now, if they’re so fucking righteous. It’s time for you to go ”