“What is up with you, lil bit? You’re very silly tonight.”
“Just excited, Daddy.”
Finally, she’d reached into the bag and gotten her hands on something that wasn’t just packing. She felt something made of the softest cotton, like it had been washed a thousand times, and maybe some lace. Oh how she loved some good lace.
But when she pulled the item out of the bag, her heart fell and her brow crunched.
It was a sweet, cap-sleeved babydoll dress in white and yellow gingham with pastel hearts embroidered on it and white eyelet lace trim on the bottom hem and the sleeves.
It was a beautiful dress, but not something she would ever pick out for herself. Not even something someone who loved her would pick out to try to make her happy and didn’t quite hit the mark. Sure she’d look nice, but she didn’t just want to look nice. She wanted to look like herself.
The pretty frock in her hands felt like a Easter egg-colored kick to the stomach. What was her daddy trying to say?
“Go on, little girl, there’s more.”
Normally she fucking loved presents but now she didn’t think she wanted any more. Not if they were going to be like this—her daddy’s fervent wish that she be someone else disguised as a gift. It hurt a lot.
Hoping it would get better but knowing in the pit of her stomach it wouldn’t, Lilith reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of dainty white ballet shoes. No thick soles, no buckles, no fake blood spatter, no skulls or bats embossed in the leather.
The thing was, if she thought she were just being misunderstood, it would be one thing. Not awesome, but they could have a conversation about that. Although if Vance thought being goth was “just a phase” he could jump into the lake back in Thistledon. But him trying to dress her up like Sunshine Barbie didn’t feel like he didn’t get it; it felt as though hedidand he wanted her to change.
That’s what the white ankle socks with the yellow tulle ruffle around the top said, as did the pastel heart barrettes. People might think her soul was dark but she fucking well had one and right now the person she’d trusted with her body and her heart, who she’d started to trust with her future, was stomping all over it.
She’d been worried about Vance turning out to be like Doug and making her all sorts of promises that would never come true, but apparently what she should’ve dreaded was that he didn’t really likeherat all.
But that didn’t quite add up. He’d never tried to do this until he was going to take her to Hive and introduce her to his friends. He had sometimes seemed twitchy when they were in public together but she’d assumed it was because he wanted to start a fight with the people she knew pointed at her and made comments. Maybe that was true but now she understood that it wasn’t so much about her feelings as it was about his.
Vance was embarrassed by her. A lump as hard as one of her crystals formed in her throat. She’d made some less than ideal decisions in her life but she’d never allowed anyone to shame her into normalcy—whatever the hell that was anyway—and she sure as hell wasn’t going to start now.
* * *
Lil was sitting cross-legged on the bed, surrounded by a sea of pastel tissue paper, her new dress and shoes in her lap, holding the barrettes and socks in her hands. And fuck did she look devastated. Little girls weren’t supposed to be gutted when they got presents.
“Hey, princess, what’s up?”
When she slid her gaze to meet his, he regretted asking. She looked…flat. Sometimes in all her makeup she could look like a doll but never had she looked so two-dimensional. She was always animated. But now, even without her black contacts in, she projected cold.
All those barriers that had been between them at first were back up and then some. Chilled him to the bone, more than if she’d had a knife to his throat.
His stomach did a funny flop, and not in the excited or too-many-bratwurst ways. It was more of awow-have-you-fucked-this-up-Yardleyway, and his brain hadn’t caught up yet.
What? Little girls loved presents, and he’d made sure Lilith would fit in better with the other littles at Hive. No one would point, no one would stare, unless they were doing a super hot scene in public and then staring—from a distance—was welcome. He was taking care of her, like a good daddy should take care of his tender-hearted girl.
“Come on my little Hell Child, better get you in the bath and dressed so we’re not late,” he tried since she was still sitting there in a desolate heap.
“I’m not your Hell Child.”
Even her high-pitched voice was flat. A couple octaves above his, sure, but a creepy monotone.
Then she turned to him and all he wanted to do was hug her. She wasn’t keening like she had been when she told him about Damien but she looked like someone had dismembered Flaps. Nah, sadder than that, because she’d probably just stitch the little bat back together with some truly shocking thread colors so he looked like a fluffy, winged Frankenstein’s monster.
“Did you get me this dress because you thought I’d like it or because this is what you want me to look like?”
“You’re going to be adorable, princess.”
“That’s not what I asked you.”
Sure hadn’t been. He’d slap a witness on the knuckles for an answer like that, too, and he sure didn’t care for being on the other end of the testimony.