Call Me Daddy

“Chop-chop, sweetheart, we’re late. We can’t be late, Laine.”

His voice is stern and filled with irritation, and I feel mortified to have disappointed him in such a silly way. I rush to my feet and clear the plates with a clatter, then bound upstairs two steps at a time to brush my teeth and gather my messy hair into a ponytail. I throw on my clothes, still fastening my jeans as I race to the door while he’s waiting. I barely notice the lunchbox he thrusts in my hands, and follow him out to the car in a daze.

The frosty air wakes me up enough to attempt conversation, but he’s still irritated, checking the clock on the dashboard every few seconds.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I say.

“An early night for you, young lady,” he tells me. I don’t disagree.

I could sleep for ten years straight.I’m groggy when Kelly Anne catches me in the corridor. She’s grinning, bursting to tell me some stupid news or other. It’s about a guy, not Harrison, some other stupid stud called Mason she met down the fish and chip shop. Mason. I doubt that’s even his real name. She tells me he’s built like a bear, and fucks like one, too.

The way she talks about him you’d think he was the master of the female orgasm, but she’s full of shit, I can see that now.

I wonder if she’s always been so full of shit.

Probably.

She rolls her eyes. “You don’t seem all that interested. I guess Daddy Nick is sooo much more important than me now…” She follows me anyway. “So, have you actually fucked the guy yet?”

She clearly doesn’t believe for one second I’ve done it. I shouldn’t rise to the bait, but she’s been looking at me like such a prude for so long now that I can’t help but revel in the fact that I’m not.

I stop walking, and even though I’m exhausted and still so gutted I upset Daddy Nick this morning, there’s still a sizzle all the way through me.

“Yes,” I tell her. “I have. And it was great. It was amazing. He was amazing.” I grin, and once it’s on my face it won’t leave.

She looks so shocked, her eyes so wide as she gawps at me.

“Wow,” she says. “Congratulations.” It’s hollow and empty. Her insincerity is so obvious now I have Nick in my life.

Nick. I haven’t thought of him with just his actual name for days.

“I love him,” I tell her, and I’m so confident with the statement it takes me aback. “I love him and he loves me, and it’s amazing.”

She shrugs. “Yeah, well, I thought that about my first shag, too. You’ll get over it.”

I shake my head. “It’s different.”

“Oh yeah? How would you know?”

There’s a million reasons I’d know. The way he looks at me, the way he cares, the way he holds me and kisses me and his eyes turn so dark when he wants me. The way he breathes so steadily when he’s sleeping next to me. The way he speaks with me, shares things with me, the way he’s so tender when he brushes my hair.

“I just know,” I tell her, and there’s that confidence again. I’ve never been confident before. It feels so weird.

“So, what you gonna do now? Get knocked up and have two-point-four kids and live happily ever after in his fancy house?”

The thought of that makes me feel so tickly inside. “Maybe.”

She looks at me like I’m an idiot. A real idiot. “Jesus, Laine. What’s wrong with you? You want to have kids with creepy guy?”

“He’s not creepy.”

“He’s so fucking creepy. Buying you a phone and making your sandwiches, dressing you up sweet in your cute little pastel clothes.”

I look down at my outfit. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“Urgh. Nothing.” She rolls her eyes again. “I’m just worried, alright? You’re so weird lately.”

Happy. I think the word is happy. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her, but as usual she’s done with talking about me. “He does know you’re coming out for my birthday, right?”

My heart drops at the revelation. Kelly Anne’s birthday. I calculate the date. Saturday. The thought pains.

“I, um… I didn’t know we were…”

She looks genuinely hurt. “You’re not coming?! For real? Like we don’t always go out on my fucking birthday!”

I wouldn’t call it that. A couple down her local pub where they knew we were underage but didn’t care.

“We can go,” I say. “Just for a few, like normal.”

She groans. “No way, Laine! Clubbing on the beachfront. There’s a drum and bass night I want to check out.” My stomach lurches at the thought, and she must see the horror. “I said I was sorry! You can keep hold of your own shit this time if you’re so worried.”

I want to say no, want to tell her to go out with some of her fake Facebook friends instead. The ones who like her comments but don’t give a shit about her in real life.