The truth is that Richard is a masochist, through and through, and the poison Susan offered him was more appealing than any dream he could have possibly conceptualized.
"You were, you were adorable, even to me. And I detest babies; even moreso when you showed up." Ah, yes, the warm and fuzzy bullseye. The truth is that she certainly is something good that came out of the nonsense, but still, every now and then he wishes Susan were never a part of his life. Of course, if it wasn't for her, and Salome, he'd be in prison. So, there are distinct benefits.
Often, he doesn't believe that Salome is Susan's. But it seems irrational to accuse the mother of being unrelated to her daughter, so he's pushed the moments of doubt aside and focused on the clear evidence of his own relation.
His tongue digs in against his teeth. Richard wants to be with her, but not in the way she wishes, so he lets it go. "You're not crazy, baby." That's a lie. "You're just a teenager." Truth. "You're too young to worry about all this bullshit, kitten, you're seventeen. Wait until you're my age to let it stress you out. I'm glad, though, that you're savoring every moment for what it is. Because it's the truth." His grip tightens. "There's nobody who could ever take your place. I'll never have another child, and even if, by some miracle--or nightmare--I did, then that child would never manage to compete with you. Never, ever." Certainly not anymore. "You're my darling Salome. It's impossible for you to have competition."
Then, she tugs down his collar, and her teeth sink in, and he groans softly while she suckles against his flesh. The fabric of her shirt gathers in his fist and he sighs sharply. "Oh, yes, baby, your papa, your daddy, nobody else's, never, no matter what." Her fingers creep into his scalp and his eyes roll. He hates letting the girl have such control over him, but oh, God, he can't help it. "You're more to me than you could know, my blood, my life, my darling daughter. Who else would I drive ten hours for?"
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"You were, you were adorable, even to me. And I detest babies; even moreso when you showed up." Ah, yes, the warm and fuzzy bullseye. The truth is that she certainly is something good that came out of the nonsense, but still, every now and then he wishes Susan were never a part of his life. Of course, if it wasn't for her, and Salome, he'd be in prison. So, there are distinct benefits.
Often, he doesn't believe that Salome is Susan's. But it seems irrational to accuse the mother of being unrelated to her daughter, so he's pushed the moments of doubt aside and focused on the clear evidence of his own relation.
His tongue digs in against his teeth. Richard wants to be with her, but not in the way she wishes, so he lets it go. "You're not crazy, baby." That's a lie. "You're just a teenager." Truth. "You're too young to worry about all this bullshit, kitten, you're seventeen. Wait until you're my age to let it stress you out. I'm glad, though, that you're savoring every moment for what it is. Because it's the truth." His grip tightens. "There's nobody who could ever take your place. I'll never have another child, and even if, by some miracle--or nightmare--I did, then that child would never manage to compete with you. Never, ever." Certainly not anymore. "You're my darling Salome. It's impossible for you to have competition."
Then, she tugs down his collar, and her teeth sink in, and he groans softly while she suckles against his flesh. The fabric of her shirt gathers in his fist and he sighs sharply. "Oh, yes, baby, your papa, your daddy, nobody else's, never, no matter what." Her fingers creep into his scalp and his eyes roll. He hates letting the girl have such control over him, but oh, God, he can't help it. "You're more to me than you could know, my blood, my life, my darling daughter. Who else would I drive ten hours for?"