CHAPTER FOUR
Phillip
I knock on the door to the little studio apartment Lyric has for her six-month gig at the club. I don’t know exactly why I’m here. Oh, I know the bullshit excuse for why I’m here but really, in the scheme of things, it’s as bullshit as bullshit gets.
She answers and she still looks humiliated from last night. “Yes?” she says. She doesn’t want to make eye contact. She doesn’t want to do anything at all that makes her relive the humiliation of that ride home. I hold up the plastic bag. “I drove by the pond this morning and got your clothes. I think I’ve got them all.”
She brightens a little and I hand the bag over. “Thank you,” she says in a voice that’s tentative but no longer so guarded.
“There was something else there,” I say, “and I don’t know if it’s yours or not but I got it just in case.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a little resin sculpture of a frog with a flute.
When she sees it, her eyes light up and she cries out, “Freddy!” Before I know what’s happening, her arms are around me and she’s squeezing me tight. “Thank you,” she says and it almost sounds like she’s about to cry.
And then, there’s no aboutto. She presses her head against my chest and weeps. As I put my arms around her and hold her, I’m just enough of an asshole to find myself happy I have the chance to hold her, even if it’s because she’s crying. “Invite me in,” I whisper.
“What?” she doesn’t take her head from my chest or stop weeping.
“I want to help you sit down, not stop holding you,” I whisper back.
“Okay,” she says. She’s still holding me, and even though she didn’t specifically invite me, I decide it’s enough and I lift her up in my arms like a groom on his wedding night and carry her into her apartment. She holds onto me and her face never leaves where it’s buried in my chest. I kick the door closed behind me as she weeps and look around. Though it’s a studio apartment, it’s very nice. There’s a half-wall dividing the sleeping area from a small living area with a television and a loveseat-sized sofa. I carry her to the sofa and sit down so she’s on my lap.
She continues to hold me and weep and again I feel like a bit of an asshole because I really love that the girl is depending on me right now. I should be a hell of a lot more empathetic, I know. I stroke her hair as she cries and her weeping gets softer and finally stops. She still holds me, though, and it might make me a complete asshole but the closeness feels so wonderful that I don’t do anything to figure out what’s wrong. After about fifteen minutes, I realize her eyes are closed and she’s asleep.
I gently lift her off of my chest and lower her to the couch, placing her head on one of the throw pillows. In the relaxation of sleep, her face is soft, almost cherubic. She stirs and mumbles softly, “Thank you, Daddy,” then falls fast asleep.
I remain there staring at her for several minutes. She is the most perfect creature in the world. She is not only attractive, she is beautiful. She’s attractive too, don’t get me wrong, but it isn’t lust I feel as I watch the soft rise and fall of her chest as she breathes.
I want to protect her.
I want to care for her.
I want to help her become everything she wants to be and accomplish everything she wants to accomplish.
This is what has been missing from my past relationships. I’ve had great sex with beautiful women, some of whom I’ve had a powerful emotional connection with, but none of those relationships allowed me the chance to take care of someone and help them grow and achieve their dreams. The exhaustion and fear and even the frustration of the past few hours has fulfilled me more than all of my past relationships combined because I spent those few hours taking care of someone.
No, not someone. Taking care of Lyric.
I recall the first time I heard her sing the week before at the club. Lyric’s voice wasn’t as powerful or as polished as Rollie’s but she sang with a sincerity and passion that even Rollie couldn’t match. When she performed, the rest of the world faded into the background. There was only Lyric.
I’m falling in love with this girl. No, I’ve already fallen. I realize what an incredibly foolish thing that is to say about someone I’ve only had one date with, especially when that date ended with both of us nearly eaten by alligators. Nonetheless, it’s true. I’ve fallen in love with the spirited little girl in front of me and I could not be happier.
“You’re welcome, princess,” I whisper.
She stirs once more and when she rests again, her perfect apple-cheeked ass is pointed straight up at me, and the lust I didn’t feel a moment ago returns in full force. I remember how she touched herself in the dressing room while fantasizing about me and I have to stand and go to the kitchen to prevent myself from waking her up right now.
I wash the few dishes in the sink and tidy up, more to distract myself than anything else. When I finish, I take a quick inventory and make a list of things Lyric needs that I can buy later.
Jesus, I’ve got it bad
“Hi, Daddy,” she says.
I turn to reply but I don’t actually say anything. I can’t. I’m too distracted.
Lyric is completely naked and if I thought I was turned on earlier, it’s nothing compared to the raging need that rises instantly within me.
“Hello, Princess,” I growl. Then I stride toward her and kiss her forcefully, almost desperately. Her hands grip my arms, not to push me away but to steady herself as she returns my kiss with equal desperation. After a moment, her hands drop to my waist and she gathers my shirt up and lifts it over my head. I pull away and regard her. She stares up at me, eyes smoky, lips gently parted and I kiss her again.