Logan's Flower

Chapter 17

"So you two are dating?"

I shake my head.

"Okay..." Dante drawls. "Now I'm confused."

"I told him I don't have feelings for him. He deserves better than a knocked up hussy," I say with a lump in my throat. I wish so badly that things would have been different. Logan is so loving and supportive and funny. He's one of the most handsome men I have met in my life and unlike most of the others, he isn't arrogant or mean. Logan is perfect, literally. He deserves better; a beautiful girl who would love and cherish him, someone who could marry him and didn't have the other man's baby in her body. Someone who could devote her life for him, someone smart, not leftover trash who had to give up on her dreams.

"Hey! No! Don't you dare to talk like that about yourself." Dante leans in closer, cupping my cheek. "You're my baby sister, so it automatically means you're the coolest girl who has ever walked on the Earth."

I smile faintly looking at Dante.

"What about the father, does he know?"

"He doesn't want... my baby." I feel tears gathering. "He said that I need to have an abortion."

Dante climbs in the bed next to me and hugs me tightly.

"My little Daisy," he murmurs, kissing my temple. "It's going to be all right. Don't cry, sweetie."

We sit for a while in silence, Dante holding me as a few silent tears roll down my cheeks.

"Has Logan met the guy?" Dante speaks up.

"Yeah. We needed his blood work for my doc."

"How the guy looked after you left?" Dante snickers.

"The same as when we met him."

"Logan didn't beat him up?"

"Nope. But it might have something to do with the fact that I was there," I add, snuggling closer to my big brother. I have always been affectionate with my family, but lately, I want more of them because my love for myself slowly slips away and I desperately cling to their love for me.

"Hmm... Can I beat the shit out of him?" Dante asks.

I laugh out loud. "Sure, if you can find him."

"What's his name?"

"Pencil-Dick."

Now Dante is laughing.

"That's a good one, sis."

"Can you not tell Dean about this? At least for now. Please? I don't want him looking at me like you do," I whisper.

"How do I look at you?" Dante asks, sounding surprised.

"With pity."

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"It's okay."

"You know when you were a baby, like two or three months old. I got flu at kindergarten. Of course, I wasn't allowed to have contact with you, but Mom needed to give me medications and she sang to me and all that. So, in the end, she got the flu from me and you got it from Mom. Dean was so angry at me that I got you sick; he didn't talk to me for more than a week. He said that he won't be friends with anyone who hurts his baby sister." Dante chuckles.

He continues to tell me stories about the times when I was a baby, and soon I feel my eyes getting droopy. I think that was his point of baby stories, to calm me down and get me sleepy.

"Dante? Can I sleep for a few minutes?" I yawn.

"Sure, Daisy. Rest a little," he says, kissing my forehead as I scoot down the bed. Dante slowly slides his hand over my hair as I feel the sleep taking me.