Daddy's Healing Little Girl (Wounded Daddies 9)

“I don’t know what there is to talk about,” I reply. “You’re either going to be my Daddy and I’m going to be your little girl or that isn’t going to happen. Unless you can find a magical way to do that without having to do that, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“But I love you Candy!”

I nod. I say softly, “And I love you, too, Thaddeus. That’s what makes this all so sad and so unnecessary. You and I could be happy together if you weren’t so afraid of being sad.” I start to walk to my room and then stop and turn around. “I remember when I was in fourth grade and my grandfather was sick. She’s gone now, Gramps, too.”

He looks at me and his face is pale. I understand he’s afraid of losing me, and I don’t have the slightest idea how to get through to him. I certainly don’t think the story about my grandma and grandpa is going to change anything. I give it a try anyway.

“So, he had a breathing problem. I was little. I don’t know all the details. It was very painful, though. In the hospital, the doctors gave him pain medication. Probably morphine back then, I guess. It helped things to stop hurting.”

“Okay,” he says.

“Anyway, one day she was talking to my mom. I was in the backseat. She said she was tired of him still being sick when the medication wore off. The medication made him feel better but the doctors weren’t working on fixing him.” He looks at me and I realize he doesn’t see the point. “I need you to listen to me,” I say.

“I’m listening.”

“I’m not going to be morphine anymore. It takes away your pain but it doesn’t heal you. Worse, you just get addicted to morphine and you don’t even care about getting healed. I can’t do that anymore.” I can’t bear to look at him anymore so I turn around and head up to my room.

I feel sick inside.

I feel horrible.

And that’s probably when he knocks on my door, I’m open to him when he says, “I understand what you’re saying. I don’t think I can change it but can we end on a good note? Can we maybe spend one last night together?”

I know it’s foolish. Hell, it’s more than foolish. It’s downright stupid. I say, “I’d like that,” and I resolve this will be it.

Period.

Last time.

After all, tonight isn’t just morphine for him but for me, too, and that’s no good. This will be the very last time. It has to be that way and I can’t back down from that.

And in the morning I decide the wake me up blowjob will be the last time.

What the hell is wrong with me?