Trophy Daughter

Chapter 29 - Harvey Specter

Stream any Roddy Rich song mainly cause i hate selena no-talent gomez

Nikhil was in front of my room the next morning, a crease between his brows as he watched me warily as soon as I opened my door. I pulled my robe tighter and gave him what I thought would pass as a smile. 

By the instant scowl on his face, I knew it hadn't worked. He stood in front of me, large body blocking the way to the bathroom. The silence was heavy and I knew he had at least one question, I.E 'why is this bitch up so early?' 

Honestly, red bull. 

I sighed and stared back at him, wondering how mere information can make everything be so tiring. How just simply knowing one thing can press on your bones. 

"I'll make you breakfast." 

The words slipped into the silence, startling me because Nikhil was the one that said them. He turned away and walked impossibly quietly down the stairs, immediately busying himself in the kitchen as he made true to his promises. 

A small smile found its way to my face and I shook my head, finding my way to the bathroom we both shared. I slipped out of the bathrobe and into the shower, turning the water on to the familiar blistering heat that all women seemed to love. Water scalded my skin and I sighed, washing my hair and body with a  type of lethargy that you only feel when numbness creeps into your emotions. 

I didn't want to feel numb. I just wanted to sort my whole fucking life out. And I guess the first thing to do would be to confront my ex-adopted yet biological father about whatever the fuck was going on in his mind. 

I hopped out of the shower and dried up, quickly running to my room and pulling on an outfit for the day. Basketball shorts even though I've never played basketball in my life, a big hoodie I had swiped from Nikhil one night while he was tutoring me, a pair of normal black socks and some of my chonky shoes. 

The scent of some DAMN good food wafted into my nose and lightened my mood a tad, so I went downstairs to find a very strange image. 

A domesticated Nikky. 

He was placing the finishing touches on a large stack of pancakes, gracefully pouring syrup all over the ice-cream and bananas. A smile found its way to my face and I leaned on the doorframe to watch him finish his chef show. 

Who'da thunk?

And this beast of a man, with his brows furrowed and such an intense concentration on his face, made my heart jump a little in my chest. 

Nikky. The man who was always there for me. 

I took a deep breath and tiptoed in lightly, crouching low to come up behind him. Then, when he was standing up straight, admiring his work, i stood up and poked both my pointing fingers in his sides. 

"Hey Nikky!"

He jumped so high, I thought his head would hit the damn ceiling. I slipped in front of him, chuckling, then stared at all the food he had made. For me. Bacon, eggs, pancakes, waffles, what I was pretty sure was a frittata, different juices and three bowls of chocolate ice-cream. I gestured to the bowls and something close to a smile flitted through his face.

"Two for you. One for me." 

Well call me a donkey queef. 

Feeling a lightness that I hadn't for a while, I picked up the pancakes and ice-cream, then walked to the lounge and plopped in front of the TV. Nikhil carried the rest of the food and somehow the juice in those big, burly arms of him then sat down beside me, a gentleness in the way he moved. 

I put on an episode of SUITS and relaxed into his side, rolling up a pancake and dipping the cylinder into the syrup. One of his arms dropped onto my shoulders,  that familiar warmth comforting the ache in my chest. He watched me eat with a raised brow, those stormy eyes of his softening in a way I knew they did for those close to him. Then he turned his gaze back to Harvey Specter doing his walking and demanding thing, pulling me a tad bit closer to his body.

I happily obliged and sank into his side, gratefully being swallowed up by his big body. 

"Thanks Nikhil." 

I murmured, feeling tears come to my eyes for a completely different reason. 

"It's Nikky."

And he pulled me onto his lap, arms like steel bands around my waist, placing his chin on top of my head. 

The big man sure was touchy. And I would be lying if I didn't feel special. Or if I said I didn't love it. 

"Yeah. My Nikky." 

____

It was nearing 10pm and I was staring at my phone. Carlisle's contact was already pulled up and there was just his number, and the fear that was coiling around my throat. Since when was I this much of a pussy? Immediately, too many scenes popped into my head and I willed them away.

Ok, so I was a pussy. 

But this would not be one of those times. Harnessing the all the white-male privilege I could muster after watching 5 hours of Harvey Specter, I pressed the call button, my heart beating so hard I was afraid it would burst out of my chest. 

Adrenaline spiked through me as Carlisle picked up the call, answering in that indifferent yet vicious tone of his. 

"Circe. Is there something wrong?"

I took a deep breath, willing my hand not to shake and willing away the tears I knew would shake my voice. 

"I know you're my real father, Carlisle." 

There was a long, long pause. Or maybe I just thought it was long because his next answer would be important. It was like the final question in Who Wants to be a Millionaire. I just hoped he wasn't the dumbass to get it wrong, when so much was on the line for me. I just didn't know what was on the line. 

He exhaled loudly. 

"I'm sorry, Circe." 

Tears ran in rivers down my face, and my nose wasn't doing much better either. 

"Why Carlisle? Why didn't you want me?" 

Years of pent up loneliness poured over me and I sobbed. My voice cracked as I cried, loud, heart-breaking sobs that tore up my stomach and clawed through my body. He was my real father and he had only kept me out of guilt. And that guilt had destroyed so much, hurt me so much, that all I could think of when I thought of him was eighteen long neglectful years and a cold face that bore no hint of wanting me. 

"I'm so sorry Circe. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

 His voice was so small. 

I sighed. My tears were drying up for now, but I knew they would be back for a while. I remembered the look in his eyes when he had signed my emancipation documents. And that look just made me sigh again. 

"I just wanted someone to love me." I murmured, more to myself than to him. I looked out the window, watching clouds pass over a bright full moon. 

I just wanted someone to love me. 

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