Love CursePosted by spike_survives on 2006.08.11 at 01:54
She should be back from school any minute. She's had gym today – I'm a freakin' soccer dad! Except for the part where I should pick her up from school, and I can't 'cause the sun's up. But I know her schedule better than she does herself. I hate it when she has gym 'cause she gets to shower before she gets home and I can't sniff her right. Can't smell anyone else on her. She's at that age where she's getting ready to do more than just hold hands with boys. I know that they sure as hell are ready for more. I know by smell all the boys who have ever touched her. I saw how they look at her when she walks away. The porch reeks of their arousal after she kisses them goodbye on the doorstep.
I chop off vegetables with too much gusto. I imagine chopping off their groping little fingers, their eager little dicks. But I can't do that, can I? Not with the sodding chip in my head. Not with a little girl who looks up to me like I'm a god. Yet, I know that if they ever touch her, if they ever defile her, if they... I'm gonna take the blinding pain and snap their necks.
I glance at the clock again. She's running late. It's only minutes, it's still daylight, but I cannot help the worry. Despite the bile in my throat at the thought of her snogging some dorky high school boy, I fuckin' hope that's the worst that can happen to her.
She's an hour late.
I zap through the TV channels while her meal is growing cold in the kitchen. I'm fighting the urge to pick up the phone. But who can I call? The whelp? He'd only take it as proof I'm not fit to be her guardian. I could call
I feel like exhaling when I hear her key in the door.
She's sauntering in, an hour and a half later than I expected her. I'm not showing her that I'm relieved to see her with arms and legs still attached. I want to go to my room to get some shut eye before I go patrolling tonight. Can't do that now. Have to give her a lesson first. We live on a Hellmouth and she should know better than keep me waiting.
I take her bag taking the opportunity to smell her as best I can without letting her know I do it. I throw it on the couch carelessly. She opens her mouth to say something. I can feel it in my bones that it's going to be something nice and carefree. I raise my eyebrow, and she closes her mouth.
"Food's cold," I say, sounding like a needy housewife even to myself.
No, maybe the growl in my voice says more than the words. It should say that I'm pissed off. It should sound even to her ditzy teenage ears like she should know better than to keep me waiting without as much as a phone call.
I'm going to my room wondering if she can read my anger in the set of my shoulders. I shake my head. At least she's not smelling of boys, or sex. Ice cream. She was smelling of vanilla and strawberry ice cream.