"No, Salome, I don't call it a wedge. Nothing is changing save for Delilah's surname."
This is pretty much his last conscious word before papa wolf snaps just a little. It's hard to say when exactly it happens, which word, which subject, is really the one that pushes him furthest. Maybe it's this nonsense about wanting the same privileges he has, once again failing to understand that she is still a child and he is still the adult. Maybe it's the tone she uses. Possibly the mocking. The way she punched the wall and got herself hurt certainly isn't helping it, at any rate. But either way, with each word, a shadow falls across Daddy's face, and the puppydog eyes melt into unreadable blackness. Anger clutches at his chest. The entitlement is astonishing. Oh, teenagers, teenagers, it's a phase, it's a phase, phase phase phase. He has to remember that. It's not her fault, it's because she's seventeen.
And fucking her Daddy.
Finally, with a dark look after regarding her for a long, icicle minute, he tells her, "If you want to go run around and let some noxious little animal your own age stick his hand in your pants, then fine. You do that." He steps up next to her, towering over her. "You are a child, Salome, and I maintain the rules that I do to protect you. You are seventeen. I am the adult, I am your father, and I make the rules in this fucking house."
With a glance of frustration at the hand she nurses, he takes her by the elbow of her unharmed arm and proceeds to frog-march her back down the stairs before him, saying, "I won't care when you're not living at home, when you're an adult capable of making your own decisions." Mostly, generally. Once he accepts the idea of her being away at college a don't ask, don't tell sort of policy will probably be maintained. But oh, that first year there will be plenty of stalking, just to make sure she doesn't go too crazy the first time on her own. "But for now, you are seventeen. You are still my little girl. And for a multitude of reasons, I would like to keep you unmolested," by the hands of strangers, "for at least as long as you a minor."
Still with ink black darkness swimming in his pale face, Richard hauls her into the kitchen and flips on the light, gruffly taking her wounded hand. He gives it a gentle, instinctive kiss and then examines it in the light for bruising, all the while still saying, "You really want to know what Mommy did to make Daddy want to marry her? You want to try to replicate it, as if it's some sort of contest? Then fine. I have an idea that suits both our interests. How about you seduce some," he chuckles humorlessly, opening the freezer to grab the ice tray, then turning to get a little plastic baggie, "hapless, hormone-driven prick of any age, then bring him home," he drops the ice in to seal him up, "and introduce him to Daddy right before you murder him in front of me."
With a dark shadow of his usual paternal smile, Richard gently places the bag of ice upon her hand. "So ask yourself, princess, if that's what I would suggest to you for your little one-sided competition, do you really want to know what Mommy did for Daddy to get him to marry her? I'll tell you, if you like, and I'll tell you honestly, but you will not enjoy hearing about it. But you deserve to know the truth, if you'd like to hear it, so I'll tell you every detail you want to hear." He gives her a long, significant look, the frustration finally fading from his expression as he turns to close the freezer door.
"I love you, Salome. You are my only child, and you must believe me when I tell you that you mean more to me than Delilah ever could. I know I get frustrated, but it only happens because I simply wish I knew how to show you that. I try, I would give you everything you asked for so long as it were reasonable, do anything. I cannot solve a problem when I cannot possibly divine the solution, and the only way I'm going to do that is through communication. Perhaps telling you the whole truth if you are willing and able to hear its ugliness will open the door to that--but I leave it in your hands."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2013-01-09 02:57 am (UTC)This is pretty much his last conscious word before papa wolf snaps just a little. It's hard to say when exactly it happens, which word, which subject, is really the one that pushes him furthest. Maybe it's this nonsense about wanting the same privileges he has, once again failing to understand that she is still a child and he is still the adult. Maybe it's the tone she uses. Possibly the mocking. The way she punched the wall and got herself hurt certainly isn't helping it, at any rate. But either way, with each word, a shadow falls across Daddy's face, and the puppydog eyes melt into unreadable blackness. Anger clutches at his chest. The entitlement is astonishing. Oh, teenagers, teenagers, it's a phase, it's a phase, phase phase phase. He has to remember that. It's not her fault, it's because she's seventeen.
And fucking her Daddy.
Finally, with a dark look after regarding her for a long, icicle minute, he tells her, "If you want to go run around and let some noxious little animal your own age stick his hand in your pants, then fine. You do that." He steps up next to her, towering over her. "You are a child, Salome, and I maintain the rules that I do to protect you. You are seventeen. I am the adult, I am your father, and I make the rules in this fucking house."
With a glance of frustration at the hand she nurses, he takes her by the elbow of her unharmed arm and proceeds to frog-march her back down the stairs before him, saying, "I won't care when you're not living at home, when you're an adult capable of making your own decisions." Mostly, generally. Once he accepts the idea of her being away at college a don't ask, don't tell sort of policy will probably be maintained. But oh, that first year there will be plenty of stalking, just to make sure she doesn't go too crazy the first time on her own. "But for now, you are seventeen. You are still my little girl. And for a multitude of reasons, I would like to keep you unmolested," by the hands of strangers, "for at least as long as you a minor."
Still with ink black darkness swimming in his pale face, Richard hauls her into the kitchen and flips on the light, gruffly taking her wounded hand. He gives it a gentle, instinctive kiss and then examines it in the light for bruising, all the while still saying, "You really want to know what Mommy did to make Daddy want to marry her? You want to try to replicate it, as if it's some sort of contest? Then fine. I have an idea that suits both our interests. How about you seduce some," he chuckles humorlessly, opening the freezer to grab the ice tray, then turning to get a little plastic baggie, "hapless, hormone-driven prick of any age, then bring him home," he drops the ice in to seal him up, "and introduce him to Daddy right before you murder him in front of me."
With a dark shadow of his usual paternal smile, Richard gently places the bag of ice upon her hand. "So ask yourself, princess, if that's what I would suggest to you for your little one-sided competition, do you really want to know what Mommy did for Daddy to get him to marry her? I'll tell you, if you like, and I'll tell you honestly, but you will not enjoy hearing about it. But you deserve to know the truth, if you'd like to hear it, so I'll tell you every detail you want to hear." He gives her a long, significant look, the frustration finally fading from his expression as he turns to close the freezer door.
"I love you, Salome. You are my only child, and you must believe me when I tell you that you mean more to me than Delilah ever could. I know I get frustrated, but it only happens because I simply wish I knew how to show you that. I try, I would give you everything you asked for so long as it were reasonable, do anything. I cannot solve a problem when I cannot possibly divine the solution, and the only way I'm going to do that is through communication. Perhaps telling you the whole truth if you are willing and able to hear its ugliness will open the door to that--but I leave it in your hands."