Page 71 of Saving Little Clark

The mansion felt too big, too quiet without Daddy there to fill it up.

It had only been a few months since he'd swept into my life like a hurricane, all charm and acceptance. With Daddy, there was no constant, gnawing dread, the certainty that it was only a matter of time before I shattered the illusion, the careful house of cards I'd built around myself labeled 'worthy of love.'

He loved me through every stumble. Like the day I'd dropped a full glass of chocolate milk on our expensive rug, sure he'd scold me for my clumsiness. But he'd just smiled. Kissed me on the forehead and ruffled my hair, murmuring reassurances as he'd guided me out of the splash zone.

"No use crying over spilt milk, baby," he'd chuckled. "Especially not the chocolate kind. What do you say we get you cleaned up, hmm? Maybe break out the bubble bath, since we're already halfway to soggy."

I'd gaped at him, stunned speechless by the fondness in his gaze. The easy affection, untempered by so much as a hint of annoyance.

And when he'd scooped me up, peppering my face with kisses as he playfully rushed us to the bathroom, I'd thought my heart might burst.

He'd just accepted it. Like he did with every part of me. Every raw, tender piece I'd long since resigned myself to hiding, to hating with every fiber of my being. Daddy had taken them into his hands, his heart. Held them up to the light and called them beautiful, in a reverent voice that never wavered.

And slowly, painstakingly, I'd started to believe him. To see myself through his eyes, generous and gracious.

I missed him. Missed his smell. The rumble of his voice, the way he'd curl around me, surrounding me in warmth and steadiness. But he'd be back soon. Just a few more hours until I could burrow into his arms and breathe him in, let his presence fill up all my hollow spaces.

The interview for a news channel had been a part of that. Terrifying and vulnerable, a laying bare of the rawest parts of me for all the world to see. I'd been so hesitant, at first. So certain that it would only bring more pain, more pitying looks and morbid fascination.

But Daddy had been there. Holding my hand, reminding me of my strength. Of all the people out there who needed to hear my story with Sterling, who were drowning in the same lonely dark I'd fought my way out of.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to, baby bug," he'd murmured, tucking me close against his side. "But if you do decide to speak up, know that I'll be right there beside you. Cheering you on every step of the way."

And so I'd done it. Sat down in front of those cameras, those hungry eyes, and told my truth. The ugliness, the desperation. The moment I'd looked my abuser in the eye and refused to be cowed, even with hands at my throat and murder in his eyes.

I'd laid it all bare, every messy, painful second. And when it was over, I'd felt curiously light.

The fear lingered, of course. I startled at the doorbell, these days. Tensed up when it rang out in the stillness, half-convinced it would be Sterling standing on the stoop. Smilingthat thin, feral smile, madness and menace glinting behind his eyes.

Daddy had offered to spirit me away instead of letting me stay home alone. To tuck me safe in Alex and Will's guest room, surrounded by love and laughter.

But I'd refused. This was one monster I needed to face on my own, to prove to myself that he had no power over me. By staying home alone.

Now I had my movies to keep me company. My fluffy friends, the ones Daddy had left behind to guard me. I was curled up on the couch in my dinosaur jammies. Stuffie clutched close, enraptured by the colorful antics playing out on the screen.

If Daddy could see me now, he'd probably scoop me up and smother me with kisses, call me his silly boy. I wished he was here. Wished I could curl up in his lap, feel his rumbling laughter beneath my cheek as we giggled and gasped our way through the movie.

Just a little longer, a few more hours. And then he'd be home, and I could drown myself in his presence.

The doorbell rang. I jolted, pulse kicking into high gear. I found myself rising on shaky legs. Crossing to the door, keeping my breathing even. I pressed my eye to the peephole, stomach clenching in anticipation. But there was nothing.

Probably just a prank, then. Kids being kids, tittering in the bushes as they waited for some hapless sap to answer.

Rolling my eyes, I made to turn away. But then I heard it. A rustle, faint but unmistakable. Coming from the window.

And then the world exploded. I screamed, high and sharp as the window shattered inward. Showering the floor with glittering shards, razor-edged and lethal.

Hewas here, vaulting through the ruined frame with a gracelessness that spoke of pure, single-minded purpose. Of determination, of the manic light in eyes that landed on me andburned, feverish with rage and something even darker.

"Hello, Clark." Sterling smiled, brittle and jagged as the glass that littered the floor at his feet. He looked awful. Gaunt and sallow, eyes bruised and sunken in their sockets. Hair long and matted, the straggling ends brushing thin shoulders that hunched beneath the weight of his fury, his madness.

He looked like a feral thing. Rabid and cornered, ready to tear out the throat of anything that moved. And he had me dead in his sights, pinned and paralyzed beneath that horrible, empty gaze.

"Sterling," I croaked, the name like ashes on my tongue. "What are you doing here?"

It was a stupid question. We both knew it, in the ringing silence that followed.

What else would he be doing, but hunting me down? Stalking me like prey, a fox to run to ground and tear to bloody pieces.

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