How They May Be: After the Fall

"Emily?" I announced myself for the first time as I came up the staircase, calling out with a certain hurried energy in my step. "It's your dad. Talk to me." I could hear the music more clearly now, a depressing dirge coming from her room. The Smiths, or the Cure, or one of those other gloomy bands that she sometimes liked to listen to. Her door was only slightly ajar, and I stopped in front of it, afraid of what I might find when it was opened.

"Emily?" I asked again, more quietly, and slowly pushed my way inside. I saw nothing at first, my eyes darting around the messy floor of her room. And suddenly terror touched my heart as I saw her stretched out upon her bed amidst her stuffed animals, staring face up. Silent and unresponsive, still wearing the same clothes I had seen her in the previous day. She looked so pale, so still. I was sure that I was too late, that I had lost everything.

Then she rolled over to face the wall, away from me, and despite the slight I felt a tremendous wave of giddily self-conscious relief wash over me. She was all right - still angry at me, but all right. It had only been paranoia after all, a father's baseless worries. I barely suppressed a joyous laugh, held back only out of fear that Emily would not understand or appreciate it. Moved to turn off her music, while I tried to settle the happy fluttering of my heart. "Your school called me today while I was at work," I spoke into the suddenly-quiet room. Still too much of relief in my voice, despite the situation.

No response - she didn't speak, didn't move. Pretending I wasn't there. I continued, this time managing more severe tones. "They told me that you didn't show up for your classes today, yesterday. Is that true?"

"What do you care?" Her voice echoed off the far wall, bitter and hostile. She still didn't turn to look at me. But at least it was a response.

"Pumpkin, of course I care," I uttered quietly. "Your classes are important."

"Can't be that important." Her words came rapidly now, animated by a biting acrimony. "Not so important that you you'd stay."

"Emily..." I sighed as I worked to keep my voice patient. "Even if you don't see it right now, you have to understand that I'm thinking of what's best for you, for your future."

"Stop it," she hissed fiercely, sitting up now to glare at me. "Stop lying. You're not doing this for me. You're doing it because 'it's a crime, it's a sin.'" Her voice dropped low in a mockery of my own, and she stalked off the bed. "Because you don't want to get in trouble. Because you don't want to think of yourself like that." And despite her small and slender form, her anger was such that I shrunk back as she drew up before me.

"That's not true," I protested automatically - but in the face of her conviction and her quaking ferocity, I found myself wondering at my own motives. I could not deny that it troubled me to see myself as a sinner, a criminal, an abusive father, and without a doubt the prospect of discovery and of punishment for my crimes was a terrible one. But could they be the reasons I ran away, hidden behind a façade of concern for her well-being?

I thought on that for a few brief moments as Emily's gaze burned into me, her arms held tense and shaking at her sides. I could see an ocean of pain in her expression, in the quivering of her chin and the low tightness of her brow, only barely held back by the anger she pushed to the fore. And then...no. These had been worries, but they were not the reason for my actions; I had not thought of them as I agonized over what I should do, but rather of her, of her future, her psyche and her soul. My decision to leave had been for her sake, not my own.

I did not get a chance to tell her so. I had hardly opened my mouth when the dam of her fury burst, a single sob escaping Emily's lips as she cast her arms around me, clinging to me as though I were a rock in stormy waters. "Oh, daddy, please don't leave." Little more than naked begging, her voice cracked with anguish. "Please don't leave. I don't . . . there's no point without you." Her arms tightened as though to hold me there even against my will. "Please stay. Please."

I had not wanted to face this, not trusted my ability to stand against her sorrow. And rightly not - between her touch and her tears, the proper path felt a million miles away. "I can't, princess." I tried anyway, while my hands rose to rest on her sides, almost of their own accord. "I can't. I told you, this is what I have to do."

"No, you don't," she whispered fervently into my chest. "I need you. If you don't want...even if it's just as my dad, I need you. Please."

I paused at that - it was as frank an offer of cooperation as I could have hoped for. I did not want to leave, wanted it even less after having had a taste of life without her. The thought of spending even one more night in that hotel room, with Emily fifty miles away instead of just down the hall, was unendurable. As a blueprint for the coming months, it was unimaginable - I could not will myself to step towards it, any more than I could my heart to stop. If there was another way, if we could fight this together . . . I brought my hands up to Emily's shoulders, pushed her to arm's length so I could look her in the eye. Bit my tongue at the tears I saw collected there.

"Emily, if I stayed..." I started slowly, thinking it out as I went. "You would have to help me fight this, understand? You would have to do what I ask. It isn't a game." It was as much bluff as genuine demand. Even if she refused, I did not know that I could follow through, leave again.

She stared back at me a few moments, moist lips barely parted, before answering. "I understand." A long breath passed. "I'll do what you say. But daddy, I won't just give up on us."

"There isn't an 'us.'" I sighed tiredly. "There can't be, not like that. That's the point."

"I know you don't want there to be," she answered back, a bit of force returning to her voice as her eyes began to dry. "And if you ask me not to, I won't do anything about it. But you can't ask me not to want to." And her hands came up to grasp at my wrists, pulling my grip from her shoulders.

A long moment passed. "No," I admitted quietly. "I suppose I can't."

"And you have to promise that you won't lie to me anymore," she demanded, an ember of her earlier anger smoldering in otherwise mournful grey eyes.

I wanted to defend myself from her implication. But it was only a moment's reflection to see that, even if I had not lied about my reasons for leaving, the past few weeks had still seen from me a shameful number of deceptions. I thought of myself as an honest man - it was an ideal that I should have been living up to. So I swallowed my pride and nodded. "All right. No more lies. I promise."

She looked up at me a time with a critical gaze, gauging my sincerity. Smiled wanly. "Good. Then, um...you're going to stay?" Our hands hovered, loosely linked, in the space between us; she squeezed mine softly as she intoned the question, and a pulse of joy traveled up my arm.

I nodded again, swallowed uncertainly. "For now. If I can't make this work, if I can't trust myself to be here, I may have no other choice, but for now...yes."

Emily's smile bloomed bittersweet as she released a soft sigh. "Thank you, daddy. This means - thank you. Everything will be okay, I know it will." And she embraced me again, already making me struggle to hold my center against the gentle assault of her curves and her scent.

It was some moments before I could make myself push her away; a spark seemed to leave her as we broke contact, her shoulders slumping and her gaze turning to the floor. "Um," she said quietly. "I'm sorry about yesterday. What I said, and throwing the food at you."

"Don't worry about that," I answered in what I hoped were reassuring tones. "I understand - this isn't easy for either of us. How are you feeling, anyway?"

She laughed briefly, relief and self-consciousness and a tinge of madness all echoing in the sound. "God, I don't know. I mean, this is all so crazy, right?" Sitting down heavily on the bed, she rested her chin in her hands. "Yesterday, today - until you walked in a minute ago I felt like the world had broken to pieces. I spent half the day hating you and the other half just . . . crying. Now you're back, and I'm - I don't know." She rubbed absently at the bridge of her nose, laughed again. "I guess I'm hungry, actually. All I've had to eat was a thing of ice cream last night."

"Well," I tried on a hesitant smile. "At least that's an easy enough problem to fix. I can make you your favorite. Some carbonara should fill you right up."

"Are you sure?" Emily looked up through her eyelashes at me. "I mean, you don't have to. I could just go pick up some McDonald's or something."

"No, I'm sure." I shook my head with somewhat more confidence than I felt. "We need to get things back to normal. Get us back to the way we were." And beyond that, I felt an inward pull to do something for her, to make up for the offense of my temporary abandonment.

"Back to normal," she repeated with a certain lack of enthusiasm. "Yeah."

"Come on." I hesitated just a moment before offering her my hand. "Let's head downstairs. We can clean up that mess from yesterday, and then you can put on the pasta while I make the sauce."

---

We did just that, enjoying a quiet supper together in that early afternoon. Emily ate voraciously, and indeed, I found my own appetite to be healthier than I expected. I had scarcely eaten in the previous two days, the world made flat and flavorless in Emily's absence - back by her side, I rediscovered hunger. But we spoke little, my mind occupied with what I planned to do, now that I had so quickly cast aside my decision to leave. The possibility that it was a mistake, that I would regret returning, loomed darkly in my thoughts. But looking at Emily across the dining room table, I did not see that I could have done otherwise. Whether it was out of love or selfishness I could not say, but I could not truly stand to abandon her again, to leave her in the pain I had seen that day. Even if staying had its own dangers, I had to try to make it work.

We parted again after eating, but not for long; I had to retrieve the belongings left behind in the hotel room, Emily making me swear that I would return immediately after. An unnecessary precaution - I wanted nothing more than to remain by her side, to gaze upon her beauty, to hold her close against me . . . I needed an oath to stay away, not to return. But all the same, she was waiting for me when I walked back in the front door, wearing a heavy relief in her eyes.

"Did everything go okay?"

It was hardly a question; I just nodded silently, and she moved swiftly on. "Um, I called Sarah and got my homework for tomorrow. I thought maybe you could help me with it?"

I was quiet a moment as half a smile crawled onto my face, heartened and appreciative. Bless her, she was trying; it was a fine idea, a fatherly way for me to spend time with her, to restore the proper order of things. Precisely what we needed. I nodded acquiescence, and so it was that we spent the remainder of the evening in Emily's bedroom - she sprawled across the bed, and I in a chair beside, close enough to point into the book beneath her head.

She hardly needed the help, in truth; calculus was one of her strong subjects, and my own comprehension was not much greater than hers. My role was largely just to confirm her answers, a host of quiet "Mm-hmm"s as my rebellious eyes rolled down the curve of her spine and rested just before her derrière, in the gentle dip at the small of her back.

This was the true challenge. I could control my actions - mostly, anyway, when not drunk from wine or her embrace. But my eyes, my thoughts, my imaginings, they were more willful. They roamed the supple curves of her body, and as they did I was drawn back time and again to the night we had shared, the burning heat of her beneath me and her divine taste upon my tongue. In the back of my mind, we were there in the hotel room, bodies damp with sweat and thoughts delirious with pleasure; I wandered there repeatedly, only to be called back to reality by a cold equation, to give another approving nod, another low "Mm-hmm."

The night had grown late by the time the last of her work was complete, and I thought it best to return to my own room rather than face off too long against the desires that strained at my breast. I left Emily with a "Good night" and a gentle pat on the back, and was halfway to the door when she stopped me with a quietly questioning "Daddy?"

Half-turning, I faced her, and she asked in a voice that barely betrayed its inward tremble, "Goodnight kiss?"

Silence for a time. There was no hint of mischief in her expression now, only a delicately yearning, as she repeated the request that had helped push us to this point, testing me anew. I could not say she had no claim; we had traded such goodnight kisses for years, brief pecks upon the lips or the forehead, a tradition I had never until these past two weeks thought anything but paternal. And I wanted greatly to agree, wished as both man and father to feel those small, plump lips touched to mine, if only for a moment. But the very strength of that desire forbade it. Nothing I wanted so badly could be innocent.

"Princess," I spoke back quietly instead. "I think that's something we're going to have to give up."

She bowed her head, a weak, false smile playing around the edges of her lips. "I guess." Her throat tightened briefly as she swallowed. "Good night, daddy."

Righteousness is cold comfort, not that I had much of it to judge. I retired to my room with aching memories, and little satisfaction at having navigated this first day back with her; the promise and the temptation of her nearness weighed upon my conscience and tickled at my imagination. I knew that I was the only thing holding myself back, that if I gave in I could at any time return to my daughter's room and find the paradise within her. The knowledge, the responsibility, made my insides squirm; during my days abroad my decisions had affected the livelihoods of thousands, but it was a concern I had hardly felt compared to the worry which now gnawed at me. After a few dozen sleepless minutes, my mind busy with guilty thoughts and images I struggled to quash, I eventually took one of my sleeping pills, and soon thereafter managed to drift off into slumber.

---

It was morning, and I felt a presence at my side, a gentle warmth breathing upon my skin. My mind felt in a fog, but even before I turned, I knew that I would see her there, lightly pressed against me, my arm clasped lovingly in hers and nestled pleasantly in the low valley of her breasts. Her eyes met mine, sparkling with mischievous happiness, and as love and desire sounded in my heart I could hardly manage even a note of gruffness. "Emily, what are you doing in here?"

She giggled once, an exquisite sound like the ringing of a bell, and laid her head upon my shoulder. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Hunger swelling in my loins, I could think of no reason. I rolled over on the bed, pinning her beneath me, and she hummed in soft delight as her hips twitched under me. My mouth hovered an inch from hers, only waiting for the proper moment to pounce, while I stared deep into the liquid beauty of her eyes. My fingertips traced admiringly down the side of her face. "You're just a little minx, aren't you?" A question for a question for a question.

A grin spread upon her face, and for a moment she bit enticingly at her lower lip. "Not just."

It was enough. My mouth lowered to hers, caught upon it in a slow and powerful kiss, my want for her like the beam of a searchlight cutting through the haze in my mind. She had the sweetest taste, as though spun from sugar; I drank deeply from her lips, and my pulse hummed as the sensuous flavor suffused my consciousness. Our tongues flirted with one another, sharing wet caresses at the border between us and muffling Emily's wordless murmurs.

My left hand rose to her bosom and rubbed it roughly through the thin fabric of her shirt, savoring the soft and pliant feel of her young body. Her small nipples stood rigid, pressing up visibly at the cloth, so sensitive that she moaned into my mouth when my hand first brushed against them, and again with rising urgency as I thumbed and pinched at those delicate nubs. "God, Mark," her hands gripped at my back, at my neck. "You make me feel so good."

Devilish pride stormed through me, and I only wanted more. It seemed just a moment later that we were naked, and I could feast my eyes upon her delectable body, my gaze roaming between her petite, creamy-white breasts, her taut, flat stomach, the soft and girlish curve of her waist. And all the while a primitive satisfaction slowly building in the back of my mind, a voice I could barely hear. She's mine. Mine to enjoy, mine to taste, mine to love. There was no reason I should give her up.

Her long and lovely legs were shyly closed and curled on their side, hiding her treasure from my sight. It would not do; gently I took hold of her knees and spread her legs apart like the wings of a butterfly, bringing slowly into view her triangular thatch of thin ebon hair, and the deep pink rose bedded within. She glistened wetly as she came further into bloom, her legs spreading obscenely wide in my hands without a trace of resistance.

Her breath came fast and shallow as my hands slid up her inner thighs, her eyes focused at my waist, at my manhood standing rigid and tall, ready for duty. I saw her tongue sneak out to briefly lick her lips, and an exultant pleasure solidified on mine. Such a feeling, to be desired by so beautiful a creature - it coursed roughly in my veins, impelled me forward with a thunderous power. I was upon her again, forceful kisses bombarding her elegant neck, my organ lying hot as fire at the junction of her legs, a gentle arch of flesh pressing at her groove. I shifted, and she moaned as it slid against her, its underside slick with the honey that trickled from her flower.

Pulling back, I hesitated at her gates, one arm sliding beneath her shoulders to hold her for what was to come. It was time. A single, powerful thrust, and she gasped adorably as I squeezed inside her, her fingers clenching tight at my back. "Oh!" Just a sound, a note of sensation, her eyes wide with intensity. "Ohhhh . . . ohh, oh my god," words returned slowly, "my god, you're so big."

I almost smirked, a surge of masculine pride blending with the delicious pleasure of our coupling. "Just for you, princess," I answered low and husky, pushing further inside her, clutching her close as I deepened our union. Pulling her down onto me until her thighs were jammed against my hips, until I felt her stretched tight around every millimeter, until I could hardly keep a lustful growl from my throat. I kissed her again, savagely, while my left hand rose to paw at the pliant flesh of her breast, pale skin bulging in the spaces between my fingers as she hummed her pleasure against my lips.

There was a moment then of something like stillness, Emily's small tongue venturing boldly into my mouth before I retreated to look at her. Her breathing was already heavy, her silver eyes staring intently into mine, demanding and pleading all at once. And then she took her own initiative, lunging up to kiss hungrily again at my lips, and I groaned as she twisted her waist, grinding upon me deliciously. I pulled back from her slowly, wet skin sliding with a nearly audible suction, and thrust back faster, a sound between a gasp and a moan escaping her as we crashed together. And again, working into a pattern, a rhythm of gentle withdrawals and fierce attacks, my tempo increasing until she could only lie back upon my arm with an arched spine and wide-opened mouth, overflowing with helpless squeals of rapture.