Daddy's Girl

Ch. 3 Home

Chapter 3
Home

Emma
     Sylas. But you can call me Daddy. The words replay over and over again in my head as Sylas walks through the labyrinth that is his home, pointing out different rooms and floors as we go. I lose track easily the more twists and turns we take but it's obvious the place is huge, perhaps even larger and even more grand than even Father's estates and lands. Everywhere I look there is polished marble and stained glass, cathedral ceilings and gold-veined floors decorated in expensive rugs, tapestries, chaise lounges, sofas and artwork, an assortment of vases, paintings, sculptures, and live flowers scattered about the walls and halls. By the time Sylas finally sets me down in the vast area that is the kitchen (all stainless steel and spotless surfaces) I am dizzy and more than a little overwhelmed.
I clutch Pesty tighter and try to make myself small as Sylas begins rummaging around the kitchen. "Forgive me, Princess, I am not so familiar with where Marsha hides the good cookies. She likes to keep them all for herself" He throws me a wink as if I'm in on the joke and keeps foraging.
My little side can't stand the curiosity. "Marsha?"
Sylas smiles as if pleased by the question. Perhaps he's merely glad I'm talking to him now. I stick my tongue out at his back. Nuh uh, still don't like you. "My housekeeper and cook. She has quite the sweet tooth and enjoys hiding all the good candies for herself."
I pout. "Meany."
He chuckles. "Not mean, baby girl, just clever. Daddy has a bad habit of stealing them." He pats his tummy (chiseled and defined) as if he has a big stomach.
Daddy. Sylas. But you can call me Daddy. Why did he ask me to call him that? He is not my Father- I hate my Father. The thought makes me both angry and sad and I bury my face in Pesty's side, willing myself not to cry again.
     Sylas emerges triumphant with the cookies and puts them before me on a Beauty and The Beast plate with a pretty purple cup. "I hope the plate and the cup are okay."
     I love both of them but me not going to tell him that. Instead I lunge forward and devour one of the cookies hardly stopping until I have to come up for air. Then I attack the juice, spilling half down the front of my nasty sweater before finishing it. Sylas watches me as I eat, saying nothing. It is the best thing I have ever tasted after months of living on the streets.
     "Careful, Princess, you don't want to choke. Slow down."
     "Nuh uh" I mumble around a full mouthful.
     "Yes, little girl. Don't sass me."
     I flush, tips of my ears burning red. Still I do not stop eating.
     Suddenly the plate is yanked back as I reach for my second cookie and I whine, looking up to see Sylas watching with a serious frown. "Little girl. I asked you kindly to slow down because if you don't you might choke and not be able to breathe. I don't want to see you do that. If you can't eat slowly I will take the cookie. Do you understand?" His voice is firmer than before, more dominant.
     I immediately flinch away, relinquishing the cookie and even the juice. I feel myself slipping even further into my headspace, too stressed from swinging back and forth so rapidly between safety and fear. Sylas watches all of this, the frown lessening until he looks curious.
     "Why do you think you have to eat so fast, Princess? Do you think I would take it from you to be mean?" He asks.
     For a moment I'm quiet. He is a big meany and he is taking my cookie- but he also beat up the mean man. He let me sleep in his pretty pink princess bed instead of the cold ground. "Peoples is mean. And hungry. They takes my food if I doesn't eat fastly enough."
     Something like devastation passes in Sylas's eyes before he slides the cookie back to me. "Eat slowly" He tells me, more gentle than before. "You'll get a tummy ache if you eat too quickly."
     "Tummy already hurt."
     "That's probably because you haven't eaten much lately, Princess. Tell me, when's the last time you ate good food? Really good food you didn't find in a dumpster?"
     I begin eating the cookie again, groaning as the chocolate melts into my tongue. I'm so absorbed in the flavor that for a moment I forget someone is asking me a question and I look back up to see Sylas smiling at me, amused. I swallow and think hard. It's so hard with me so deep in little space. I hold up 6 fingers.
     "Six days?"
     I shake my head.
     "Six weeks?"
     I shake my head again.
     Sylas's frowns that serious frown again. "Six months?"
     I nod. "Maybe more."
     "And why is that? How did you manage to wind up on the streets at your age? How old are you anyway?"
     I grin and hold up five fingers.
     Sylas's dark brows pull together. "Five?"
     I realize my mistake too late. My actual age, he meant my actual age. I had thought he meant what age I am now, here in my head space. It is then that I realize this stranger has no idea who I am. He has no idea I'm little, that I'm different. Immediately I begin to think of all my mistakes so far: crying for Pestilence, crying when I hit my knee in the pink room, allowing him to carry me on his hip, the cookies. Does he suspect something? Will he throw me out like Father did? I have been in my head space so long I didn't even realize it.
     With great effort, I force myself to be big, to bring myself back to my adult conscious mind and focus on the problem at hand like a big girl. I hate it. "Eighteen. I'm eighteen is what I meant."
     Sylas raises an eyebrow at my change of tone, the more adult wording. As if he recognized the difference. My chest twists tight. Before he can say anything I hurry to continue. "Father cast me out. I could not access the trust funds in my name or the monthly allowance he gave me and I had no friends or other family to take me in. The streets were the only place to go."
     "Six months ago."
     "Yes."
     "And why did he cast you out?"
     This is the hard part. I stuff the rest of my cookie in my mouth to avoid answering.
      He blinks as if to tell me he can wait all day.
      I take as much time as I possibly can to chew, then swallow slowly as I search for a lie, something bad enough that Father would want to kick me out but not so much that Sylas would want me to leave. But don't I want to leave? I don't know this man. He is a complete stranger and now I am in his home, alone. But you were unconscious and he didn't hurt you. He's fed you. He didn't call the police. He defended you from the man on the sidewalk. He could be a good friend.
     But friends leave. My own father disowned me the moment he found out I am a little. If my father could do that so easily, what's to say Sylas won't make me leave as well? And then where will I go?
     The words sound faraway when I finally answer. "An argument. About my future husband."