Embarrassed (2)
To conclude: I was confident that there definitely was something strange and supernatural at play here between me and Fiona. Thus, I turned to my best known source of knowledge of the occult and other unearthly happenings—the movies.
It wasn't my proudest moment to admit that I've snucked in movie and home theatres between my breaks and missions. As an orphan, there were only two things that composed up my childhood—one, amusement parks, and two—movies. While we did have a large but old television box and I had my fair share of favourite superhero films and whatnot, nothing could compare to the mystifying grandeur of the silver screen booming inside a room and theatre.
Ten years later, Rose was the one to finally, in person, introduce me to them. The first trip was a disaster—we'd almost got busted. (I did not know there were metal detectors). Chaos ensued, as you'd expect. Fires. Explosions. Blood. Casualties!
Thus, my second trip was up until pretty recently, when Rose's interest in me had changed—I was not ready for that so-called 'romantic' night with literal roses from her, and r-rated scenes plus awkward dialogue from that movie. That ended with quite a sour experience.
Since then, I found out I really enjoyed the supernatural settings of horror films and the bloody thrill it provides. Whenever I was in a good mood, I'd sometimes plan or kill my targets in a way that correlates or even identical to some of my favourite scenes, which was always the spectacle to listen on the news. Blame those murders on the scriptwriters, not me.
Feeling a tad inspired (and convinced) of some sort of underwhelming movie plot that was in the works here, I pried Fiona off of myself and held her in the air by her elbows.
She quickly made a grunt of dissproval that turned into a yelp of surprise then all giggles and cheers. "He-he, daddy! What are you doing?"
No matter how hard I stared into her eyes, I couldn't sense or see any swirling masses of insanity that was forming in her eyeballs or find traces that she was a zombie. I set her back down on the bed, crestfallen that the possibility of a murder mystery involving me not as the villain for once was near impossible.
On the other side and much to my relief, it wasn't just horror movies that catered to my tastes. As I recently looked towards and planning out my dream to become a doting parent, and as embarrassing as it sounds, I've developed both a love/hate relationship with movies that had an particular emphasis or something even remotely plot-related on father-daughter relationships.
I'll acknowledge it—with a long and drawn-out exhale—I either sat through those two-or-so hours trying to resist intense urge to slice up something, or trying my hardest to blink back tears.
My glance hardened on Fiona, whom was staring at me with sulking, puppy-dog eyes.
That pout of her's ballooned her cheeks to well... that of a balloons, whilst I noted a part of her tongue extending out as she bit her lips. Not more than ten minutes have past since I've met her, and already, her tens of dozens of 'daddy' calls seemed to have grown on me. Each one was sweeter and more knee-crumbling than the last, whilst each one of her micro-expressions was clogging up my internal memory slots in my brain.
I knew it at once that the source of everything inexplicable so far today was the result of father-daughter telepathic emotional bond at work, just as the movies depicted.
The only possibility of Fiona killing me was not from her psychopathic tendencies, but rather, this horrifying level of cuteness from her. This little angel was no villain, nor was I a victim of a gruesome scheme... this little angel wanted me to be her father, and it seemed that... I, and my dreams... certainly have already accepted her as my daughter.