Page 28 of Protector

Where are they? What could they be doing?

Are they meeting people? Did they have another party that Puck forgot to tell me about?

I just want to see him and tell him that I won’t run away next time he kisses me. That he’s right, and we can find our own time. Our own Neverland.

The study door below me slams shut, and I hear Daddy curse as he stomps up the stairs. I try to shrink so he’ll walk straight past me like he always does.

But when he reaches the top of the stairs, for the first time in months, maybe even years, he stops in front of me and tuts.

“You’re still here, then?”

He goes to walk away and, slowly, my body starts to unfurl itself from the ball I crawled into as I straighten.

Puck said to me yesterday we could run, and I never once considered it before because I thought it would be impossible. Daddy would never allow it; he’d never take the chance of someone seeing me.

And even though I know he acts like I don’t exist, I never really considered it’s because he just wishes I was never here.

“Where else would I be?” I question, and he stops, his back to me.

And instead of cowering, like I’ve always done before, a new sense of bravery has stiffened my spine. I don’t know where it’s coming from, but I’ll use it while I have it.

It seems he has nothing to say, and he takes another step forwards, but something in me doesn’t hold back. My words have found a voice, my feelings have found a pillar.

“How could you?” I ask, standing now so I have a little advantage should I need to run.

“You keep me trapped here and don’t even acknowledge that I exist.”

I ball my hands into fists as he turns around, his eyes zeroing in on me.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” he spits, and I try to keep my spine straight. I can feel my body wanting to cripple in fear already.

“My father!” I half-shout. “I’m talking to my dad!”

He’s frozen on the spot, and I step an inch closer to him, trying to see through my watery eyes.

“I just want my dad,” I whimper, and without meaning to, let a few tears slip free.

When he has nothing to say, I step even closer, trying not to reach out to him because I don’t know what he’ll do.

“Why do you hate me? I just want you to notice me. I just want you to want me like you want King. Why do you hate me?”

My words are coming out all jumbled and rushed, and the little girl in me is yearning for his affection.

Why is this my life? Why has he dictated it this way?

“I just want my daddy,” I cry, and without thinking, wrap my arms around his huge waist.

I’ve never hugged him before. Not Carlo, the notorious mafia leader, and not Carlo, mine and King’s dad. I don’t think I’ve ever touched a single inch of his skin before.

But something in me reached out to him. Craved it.

And I know that he’s not a man full of hugs, but six-year-old Bonnie owed it to herself to try.

But it’s short-lived.

His hands grip my wrists harshly, and he throws me off of him with force until I land on the ground in front of him.

“I am not your daddy,” he spits, and I feel it on my cheeks. “You are not my child. You’re pathetic, and I’m surprised you haven’t drummed this into your head yet.”

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