Save Me, Daddy

She clears her throat.

Her fingers push her hair behind her ears.

Her lips open and close, but nothing comes out.

“Kita,” I finally say, “do you want to come in?”

I see her swallow several times, and she nods, eyes downcast. She walks in the front door. She shifts from foot to foot as her eyes flicker around the dimly lit foyer area. I close the door behind her, aware of what a solid sound it makes.

“Are you all right? Is everything okay?”

She nods quickly, but won't meet my eye as she bites her lips together and looks away. I realize her hands are trembling.

“Kita? What is it?”

Startled, she turns to me. She takes a step forward, and before I know it she has wrapped her arms around me. Automatically I hold her to me as she quakes, quietly crying, shaking and unable to speak.

Chapter 8

Kita

Daniel doesn't ask me to explain, and I don't think I could have put it into words anyway. As soon as he opens the door it is though a wind picks me up from behind, pushing me into the house and into him.

Somehow, in his arms, everything makes at least a little bit more sense. I don’t know why, but once I’m there I can let go a little bit and my emotions overwhelm me. I find myself trembling and whimpering in his arms, unable to hold back any longer.

He strokes my hair automatically, supporting me with a strong arm behind my shoulders. I let myself be weak in his arms and he holds me up until I'm done.

But then, embarrassment comes back to me. What am I doing? Here I am, crying like a little kid. It’s just stupid, really. I should be able to handle this.

“I'm so sorry,” I mumble as I push myself away, noticing the egg-shaped splotch of wetness on his shirt that my tears left. At least my nose isn’t running. At least I'm not that kind of a mess.

“It's quite all right,” he says in a low, comforting rumble. Just the sound of his voice is so thick and deep it's like honey. Like caramel. Just hearing those words really does make me feel better.

“It's just, I didn't know where else to go…”

“Come and sit down,” he says, tugging me by my hand. I follow him obediently to the sofa and curl up in the corner of it, pulling a throw pillow over my middle and hugging it tightly.

“Can I make you some tea?” he asks me, his face a mask of concern. I nod gratefully, thankful for the tea as much as for a couple minutes to collect myself.

As he walks back into the kitchen, I can't help but notice the strength and grace of his movements. Reminds me of the dancers and gymnasts my mother knew. I wonder if he can dance.

Wait, what am I thinking? Who cares if he can dance?

I'm being ridiculous.

“Honey?” he calls from the kitchen, and I flinch in surprise. Some part of me seems to think he's calling me honey, and a bubble of giddiness bursts in my chest.

No, stupid, I tell myself. He's asking you if you want honey in your tea. Don't be a dope.

“Yes, please,” I call out, my voice reedy and weak in the large space.

And suddenly, I realize how ridiculous this is. Why am I here? I just show up on his door like an orphan? What must he think of me?

But in a few moments, he returns to the sofa with a tray holding a steaming mug of tea and a small plate with more berries on it. From the looks of him, so fit and strong, he is probably one of those healthy-eating people. I like that. I was raised that way, before I had to go into foster care and learn how to eat Cheetos and French fries as a whole meal. Berries and yogurt… roasted vegetables and cucumber salads and briskets… that’s the way I prefer to eat.

“Here… careful, it's hot,” he says as he hands me the mug then settles a safe distance away on the sofa. His eyes are hazel green, I notice as he peers at me intently. It's hard to look at them directly, but I sneak small glances, just to assure myself that he's not angry with me for returning so quickly.

“I’m very glad to see you again,” he finally mumbles, brushing away my remaining concerns. “I was troubled by your return to the sorority. That's not the right place for you. Did you say that you do not have access to campus housing?”