Daddy's Girl Part Two

I'm late again. But, this time I'm sick and I'm not happy. My hair is dripping down my clothes and onto my boots and the doormat and a little on dad when he catches me as I slip in the foyer. He's red but it's a scared red that makes me think I look worse than I feel.

He coos, pulling me to the kitchen and hovering my hands over the stove plates while he fetches towels.

They feel wet on my skin. Heavy around my shoulders. And all I can think about is how the woman in Billie's notebook wasn't wearing any clothes and how she wants that to be me because I look good in front of the camera and Grace Pattin and sex tapes and waffles in a tin.

We stand like that for a bit: Dad and I, hands over warm, warm stove plates, staring at the cold burning from my skin.

"Where—would you like tea?" he asks, a pot where his hands used to be. There are two teabags in there with tap water. I watch the teabags swirl and swirl and swirl like Billie's eyes.

"I'm scared," I say, hiding my hands beneath towels, fingers sizzling. "I mean, I was scared. I don't know."

Dad trembles a little over the stove, stirring the tea, tasting its bitterness out of habit.

"What happened?"

I want to, but I don't know how to say it. I don't know if it matters anymore. But, it does because it burns hot holes in the bottom of my stomach and eats and eats. I tuck my hair behind my ear, shaking my head. Changing my mind. "Nothing. It was just a bit dark out. It was scary."

"Were you with Billie ?" He stares and I guess it seems to him that I hadn't heard. He smiles a bit, looking scared, too. "You're partner?"

"Yes," I say, then change my mind again. "No. I mean, not right now."

So, we sit, silent and sipping, at the kitchen table, feet wet because of my wet feet. I stare into the odd russet red in my tea and dad stares at me. We don't talk. I can't talk. I can only drink tea that burns my mouth and my tongue and my throat and my stomach. A dad says nothing about that, too.

There are goldfish against the ceiling, swimming in the white paint as if it were pale water. They're glossy and their lips are popping and they're all singing. I reach out to touch them, but something tells me I shouldn't so I don't.

Then later I do and they turn into half-naked women cutouts, making kissy faces at me with their sharp lips and bleached teeth and I'm scared again so I imagine cute little goldfish, but they turn into Billie. So, I lay with my eyes open until the next morning.