Page 55 of Watercolor Skulls

“Shh, stop crying, sweetie,” my daddy says. He makes a weird sound.

I don’t like it.

I don’t like it.

Jumping to my feet, I cover my hand over my mouth, trying to stop the vomit that seeps through my fingers.

The door swings open. Daddy only has a pair of pants on, unbuttoned and hanging loose. He closes the door quickly, not giving me a chance to see who is crying. “What are you doing up, Lily?” he scolds. He’s angry.

“I…I don’t feel so good.” I pretend I didn’t hear anything.

He sighs, turning me towards the bathroom. He busies himself, turning on the shower as I wash my hands in the sink. “Get in the shower and rinse yourself off.” He walks out of the bathroom not looking at me.

When I finish I see he has placed a clean set of pajamas on the counter for me. I dress quickly. When I open the door, he is leaning against the wall, running his hands through his hair. It makes him look scary. I’ve never seen him with a hair out of place.

“Feeling better?” he asks.

I nod, dropping my eyes to the floor. My ears strain for any sign of the crying girl but it’s quiet now.

“Let’s get you back to bed.”

I startle awake, running for the bathroom. Leaning over the toilet, I cover my ears trying to silence the crying. It never goes away. It’s become a white noise in the background of my life. Sometimes it’s quiet but it’s never gone. Rocking back and forth I try not to get sick. “Stop crying, stop crying, stop crying,” I whisper my chant to the porcelain.

A warm hand touches my back, making me jump. “It’s just me, Lily,” Dan says quietly, removing his hand from my back.

Shit, I forgot he was here. My eyes drop back to the toilet, praying for this to be part of my nightmare. But it’s not. His warm hand lands on my back again. He rubs circles over it until my heartbeat slows, the nausea retreats and the crying crawls back to the corner of my mind.

I sit back on my haunches and take his hand, allowing him to pull me upright. I scoot over to the sink and splash some cold water on my face. When I stand to pat my face dry my eyes connect with his in the glass.

He frowns. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head no. “It was nothing just a nightmare,” I tell him, tucking the towel back onto the rack I pulled it from.

When we climb back into bed he pulls me into a spooning position. His hot breath rushes over my ear as he leans in. “Lily, I want to know everything about you. Not to punish you but so I can understand how to love you.” He squeezes me, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “I want to love you. Please let me love you.”

I choke on a sob, letting him comfort me in his arms. “I want to tell you everything. I just don’t know how,” I murmur softly into my pillow.

“That’s okay,” he says quietly. “As long as you don’t shut me out.”

“I’m afraid you’ll hate me.” Another sob escapes me.

He presses his mouth to my temple, speaking against it. “I could never hate you.”

I try to shake my head and pull away from him, but he doesn’t release me. Instead he growls and wraps one of his big legs across me. “I. Will. Never. Hate. You,” he says almost angrily, seemingly insulted that I could even think such a thing.

He relaxes when I cease my struggle. “Tell me what your nightmare was about?” he suggests softly.

I close my eyes and fall. “When I was young I heard girls,” I pause, thinking about it, “sometimes women, crying.”

“Why were they crying?” he asks, holding me tight.

“I think my dad was hurting them.” He stiffens behind me, but he doesn’t move away.

“Lily, why do you think that?” His finger brushes over my stomach in a relaxing motion. He’s trying to keep me calm and talking.

“He was the only one in there with them.” I bite the inside of my cheek.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks gently.

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