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She could hardly swallow. “Do-do you think I could have something to drink?” Chad nodded and left the room, going straight to the fridge. He grabbed one of Kyle’s Mountain Dew cans, opened it, and hurried back into the room, quiet not to wake Kyle or Dom. As soon as the bottle was in her hands, she lifted it to her mouth with her trembling hands and took a long swig. The cool, fizzy soda soothed her throat and Dom’s taste was finally lessened. She drank so fast her stomach hurt again, but she didn’t care. Now, she could hardly bare to swallow the sandwich, but hardly was enough. “Did he hurt you?” His voice came out, quivering. She looked at him but didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. He already knew. His instinct to protect this girl returned and his arm extended and his fingers brushed against her cheek, before she instinctively pulled back. She scooted backwards towards the radiator, pressing against it. She saw the pain in his eyes, felt that he was hurt by. I wasn't daddy's girl and he wasn't a doting father. He drank a lot. He definitely liked his drink and he got silly when he drank. Don't get the wrong impression. He wasn't a bad person. He was an ordinary, average-looking, average-built man in his mid-40s. He was just dad. And I was just his daughter. We didn't mean to step over any boundaries. We just did. It began innocently enough. It was September and I was going to the local college, taking afternoon classes. Dad had his own construction business and worked odd hours. My mother worked in an office and didn't get home until after five in the afternoon. One day, I was in the bathroom, still dripping from my shower, I had my leg propped up on the edge of the tub for balance and was bent over, drying my hair. I heard a car door slam and, soon after, I noticed a draft and I looked toward the door. There he was, his eyes fixed on my ass. I don't know how long he and I stood there (well, I was bent over), but it seemed like a long.
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