Take Me Daddy: Unholy Devotion

I'm sorry.

Margaret's POV

"Are you acting this way because Julie is a lady?” Sebastian said, and I raised my face from his chest and stared at him in shock. I really wasn't expecting to hear this from him. Honestly, it came as a shock to me, a sudden punch that caught me completely off guard. My mind raced, trying to piece together what he meant, what he was implying. Was it anger? Was it suspicion? My stomach twisted at the thought that after all this time, after everything we had shared, he could even think of such a thing.

"Pardon?" I asked, my left eye narrowing sharply as I tried to steady my voice.

"Babe, look..." He turned to explain, but I was already off his body. My heart beat faster than usual, partly from anger, partly from the sudden surge of disbelief that surged through me. He reached out, trying to stop me, holding me gently at first but firmly enough to halt my movement. I stood there, my face expressionless, but my mind screamed.

"What is really going on? Talk to me," he inquired. I could hear the concern in his voice, but it did nothing to soothe the storm brewing inside me. I smiled, a tight, bitter curve of lips, and pushed him away. He fell backward onto the bed with a thud, the sound echoing sharply in the quiet room.

"You must be out of your mind to ask me that question. Like seriously, you really think of me so low. I can't believe that you still have this thought hovering in your mind. Just because you know my past doesn't give you any right to judge me by that," I said, my voice rising slightly with indignation. My footsteps rang on the polished floor as I walked out of the room, slamming the door hard behind me. The sound reverberated like a punctuation mark on everything unsaid, everything unspoken, everything that had been festering silently between us.

"Babe! Babe! I'm sorry!" he shouted behind me, running after me to the guest room. His voice carried urgency, desperation, but also a weight of guilt I wasn’t ready to accept.

"I just wanted to keep in check, to know if you still need help. I love you too much to lose you to anyone, babe." He kept talking, his words tumbling out in a mixture of panic and sincerity, but I wasn’t listening. I felt hurt, raw, as if his words had dredged up some old wound I thought had healed. That part of my past should remain buried. It wasn’t fair for it to resurface now, as if to test my present.

"Babe!" he said again, reaching for my hands as I moved toward the wardrobe to pick up my pack of cigarettes.

"Let go of my hands," I demanded, my expression unyielding, my eyes cold. There was no room for jokes, no room for his attempts at softening the moment.

"Let's talk this out, please," he pleaded. But I wasn’t buying it. I had heard this before. I had felt this before. Words could not undo the weight of implication, the sting of judgment I felt pressed against my heart.

"Let go of my hand now," I said firmly, and this time he didn’t argue. He let go. I picked up my pack of cigarettes and walked past him, each step echoing my determination to reclaim my own space.

I went to the bar and took a bottle of bourbon. The amber liquid caught the light as I opened the bottle and poured myself a generous mouthful. I opened the balcony door and stepped into the night, the cool air brushing against my skin, a small relief against the heat of anger and humiliation I carried. I lit a cigarette and inhaled, feeling the smoke curl around my senses as I drank directly from the bottle. I had forgotten the glasses, and I wasn’t going back inside just to retrieve them.

I picked up my phone and dialed Melissa’s number, but the call didn’t go through. I dropped it onto the table and took a long puff from my cigarette, letting the smoke mingle with the night air.