Daddy's Girl: Raised To Please Him

Chapter 5

Sydney bolted upright in her bed, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The nightmare clung to her like a second skin-Nick's face, twisted with rage, her mother's desperate cries for help, and the crimson stain spreading across the floor. She could still feel the knife in her hand, the sharp edge of survival slicing through her innocence that night.

She clutched her chest, trying to calm her racing heart, but it was no use. The mansion's oppressive silence only amplified the chaos in her mind. She rubbed at her face, feeling the tears streaking her cheeks. For a fleeting moment, she thought about waking someone, asking for comfort. But who?

The truth was, she had no one.

Her foster family tolerated her existence at best. Alan... Alan was an enigma, a man who was more walls than windows, someone she couldn't read, let alone lean on.

The weight of it all pressed down on her, suffocating her. She needed air.

Sliding out of bed, she wrapped her arms around herself, the thin fabric of her sleepwear doing little to shield her from the chill of the night. Barefoot, she wandered outside to the garden, drawn to the soft sound of the fountain.

The water splashed gently, its rhythmic motion soothing the chaos within her. She stared into its depths, the ripples catching the moonlight, and for a moment, she let herself feel small, and insignificant as if the water could wash away her memories.

"What are you doing out here?"

The voice sliced through the quiet, sharp, and cold. Sydney spun around, her heart leaping into her throat. Alan stood a few feet away, his arms crossed, his face shadowed by the moonlight.

"I..." she stammered, the words caught in her throat. "I couldn't sleep."

His eyes flicked over her, his expression unreadable. She felt the weight of his gaze, the way it lingered a moment too long on her bare shoulders, her exposed legs. Sydney wrapped her arms tighter around herself, heat rushing to her cheeks despite the cold.

"You shouldn't be wandering around like this," he said, his voice clipped. "It's freezing out here."

"I just needed some air," she shot back, the edge in his tone igniting something defensive in her.

Alan took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. "Air? Like this?" His eyes flicked briefly to her sleepwear, his jaw tightening.

The intensity of his gaze unsettled her and made her feel exposed in a way that had nothing to do with her dampened clothing. She took a step back, her foot catching on the edge of the fountain.

"Careful-" Alan's warning came too late.

Her balance gave way, and she tumbled backward into the water with a startled gasp. The cold was a shock, sending shivers racing up her spine. She scrambled to sit up, her wet hair plastered to her face, her sleepwear clinging to her like a second skin.

Alan cursed under his breath and closed the distance between them in two swift strides. He reached into the fountain, his strong hands gripping her arms as he hauled her out. His touch was firm, almost rough, but his movements betrayed a flicker of panic beneath his stoic exterior.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he snapped, his voice low and harsh.

"I wasn't-" she began, but the words died on her lips as she looked up at him.

The moonlight illuminated his face, the hard lines of his jaw, the intensity burning in his dark eyes. His hands were still on her arms, holding her steady, but the heat of his touch seemed to sear through her, igniting something primal, something dangerous.

Her thin, soaked nightgown clung to her body, leaving little to the imagination. She felt his gaze falter for the briefest of moments, flickering downward before he forced it back to her face. His jaw clenched, his grip tightening as if to ground himself.

"You're freezing," he muttered, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over her shoulders. The gesture was rough, almost angry, but his hands lingered a second too long.

Sydney shivered, though she wasn't sure if it was from the cold or the fire burning in his touch. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Alan stepped back, running a hand through his hair as if trying to regain control. His movements were stiff, his expression a mask of indifference, but she could see the tension coiled beneath the surface.

"You shouldn't be out here," he said finally, his voice colder now, distant. "Go inside."

"I didn't mean to fall," she said, her voice small, almost pleading.

"That's not the point," he snapped, his frustration slipping through the cracks. He turned away as if putting physical distance between them could extinguish the heat building between them.

"Alan..."

He froze at the sound of his name, his back rigid. For a moment, she thought he might leave without another word, but then he turned, his eyes locking onto hers with a ferocity that stole her breath.

"Don't," he said, his voice dangerously low. "Don't say my name like that."

"Like what?" she asked, her heart pounding.

"Like you're trying to pull me in," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Like you don't know exactly what you're doing."

Sydney's lips parted, a protest on the tip of her tongue, but the look in his eyes silenced her. It wasn't anger-it was something raw, something wild, a battle waging inside him that she didn't fully understand.

"I'm not doing anything," she said softly, her voice trembling.

Alan let out a harsh laugh, running a hand down his face. "Exactly... you haven't done anything yet you drove me crazy!... what makes me more mad is your innocence! You don't get it, do you?" he said, his voice sharp, almost bitter. "You think this is a game?"

Her brow furrowed, confusion mingling with the ache in her chest. "I don't understand-"

"No," he interrupted, his tone hardening. "You don't. And that's why you need to stay the hell away from me."

The words hit her like a blow, but before she could respond, he turned and strode away, his footsteps heavy against the stone path.

Sydney stood there, the weight of his words sinking into her. Her body still shivered from the cold, but her chest burned with something she couldn't name. She clutched his jacket tighter around herself, staring after him as he disappeared into the shadows.

And in the quiet that followed, she realized she wasn't the only one fighting a losing battle.

When morning came, she went to work. The office felt stifling. The hum of computers, the distant murmur of voices, the occasional ring of a phone-it all blurred into a meaningless haze. Sydney sat at her desk, her hands trembling slightly as she stared at her screen. Her mind refused to focus. Every word on the document before she seemed to swim, twisting into shapes that mocked her restlessness.

Her chest felt tight, her breaths shallow.

The nightmare from the other night refused to let go. It had followed her like a shadow, clinging to her thoughts and seeping into every corner of her day. Nick's face haunted her, his snarling voice echoing in her ears. The image of her mother-helpless, fragile-was a knife twisting in her chest. And the blood. She could still see the blood.

Sydney swallowed hard, her fingers clutching the edge of her desk. It wasn't just a nightmare. It was everything.

Her foster mother's cold indifference lingered in her mind. Always distant, always making Sydney feel like an intruder in her own home. Even now, her mother's voice echoed faintly in her head: clipped, dismissive, never warm. It was a constant reminder that she didn't belong.

The traumas she had fought so hard to bury were clawing their way back to the surface. She could feel it-her old fears, her old vulnerabilities, creeping in like poison. Every shadow seemed to hold a threat. Every loud voice made her flinch. She hated the way her body betrayed her, the way her mind refused to let her move on.

Sydney's hand trembled as she reached for her coffee mug. She needed something to ground her, to keep her from unraveling completely. But the bitter liquid offered no solace. Instead, her thoughts spiraled further, the chaos inside her growing louder and more dissonant.

She couldn't live like this.

With shaky hands, she reached for her phone. Her therapist's number was still saved, though she hadn't called in months. She had convinced herself she didn't need to anymore. That she was stronger now. That she could handle it.

But now, she wasn't so sure.

Sydney hesitated, her thumb hovering over the screen. What if her therapist thought she was weak? What if she judged her for spiraling again?

No. She couldn't afford to think like that.

She pressed the call button, her breath hitching as the line rang.

"Dr. Lindholm's office," a calm voice answered.

"Hi," Sydney began, her voice trembling. "It's Sydney. Sydney Evans. I... I need to schedule a session."

"Of course, Sydney. Is everything all right?"

No. Everything wasn't all right. But she couldn't say that-not here, not now.

"I just... I need to talk," she said instead, her voice breaking slightly.

The receptionist was kind and efficient, and within moments, Sydney had an appointment scheduled for the following evening. She hung up the phone and placed it on her desk, her fingers brushing against her temples as she exhaled shakily.

Her phone buzzed, making her jump. A text from her foster mother lit up the screen.

Get the signed contract in my office. Bring it to the management office.

No greeting. No acknowledgment of her existence beyond what she could do for them.

Sydney closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging. She felt so small, so insignificant. The walls of the office seemed to close in around her, suffocating her.

She glanced around, trying to shake off the oppressive feeling. Her coworkers moved about, immersed in their tasks, oblivious to the storm brewing inside her. She wanted to scream, to let someone know how much she was drowning.

But who could she turn to?

The hours dragged on. Each tick of the clock felt like a weight on her chest. By the time her shift ended, Sydney felt like she was running on fumes. She didn't even bother saying goodbye to anyone as she grabbed her bag and left the office.

Her hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel as she drove, her thoughts a tangled mess of fears and frustrations. The looming appointment with Dr. Lindholm was the only thing anchoring her. But even that felt like a distant glimmer of hope in an otherwise dark sky.

When she finally arrived home, the house was as quiet and unwelcoming as always. She barely glanced at her foster mother, who was engrossed in a television drama, her presence as indifferent as ever. Sydney dropped her bag near the door and headed straight to her room, the familiar weight of isolation settling on her shoulders.

She sat on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the wall. Her reflection in the mirror across the room caught her eye-tired, pale, and haunted.

Her traumas weren't just memories anymore. They were alive, pressing against her chest, threatening to consume her.

Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow I'll talk to Dr. Lindholm.

But tonight, she was alone with her demons.

When morning came, she immediately went to her therapy session. The office was quiet, the kind of silence that could either comfort or suffocate. Sydney sat on the edge of the cushioned chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her therapist, Dr. Wells, sat across from her, a notebook in hand, though the pen rested idle.

Sydney hated this room, not for what it was but for what it represented-a place where all her carefully hidden pieces were exposed, laid bare under someone else's scrutiny. Yet, here she was. Again.

"How have you been, Sydney?" Dr. Wells asked, her voice calm and steady, like an anchor in the storm.

Sydney hesitated, her mind racing. How could she put everything into words? The nightmares, the haunting memories of Nick, the suffocating tension in her new life, and the growing fear that she was spiraling back into the darkness she'd worked so hard to escape.

"I don't know," Sydney finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Wells leaned forward slightly, her eyes kind but probing. "Start wherever you feel comfortable. There's no rush."

Sydney swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the carpet. "The nightmares are back," she admitted. "Worse than before."

Dr. Wells nodded, her expression encouraging Sydney to continue.

"They're... vivid," Sydney said, her voice trembling. "It's like I'm back there. With him. With Nick. I can feel everything-the fear, the pain, the desperation." She paused, her breath hitching. "In one of them, I keep reliving that night. The night I-"

Her voice broke, and she clenched her fists, trying to steady herself.

"The night you acted in self-defense," Dr. Wells said gently, her tone free of judgment.

Sydney nodded, unable to meet her therapist's eyes. "I thought I was past it. I thought I'd buried it deep enough. But it's all coming back, and I feel like I'm losing control."

Dr. Wells waited a moment, letting the words settle. "Trauma has a way of resurfacing, especially during times of stress. What else has been happening in your life, Sydney? Is there something triggering these feelings?"

Sydney hesitated. She thought of Euri's cold indifference, of Alan's piercing gaze, of the dangerous game she felt trapped in. She thought of how alone she felt, even in a house full of people.

"I... I don't know," she said, though she knew that wasn't entirely true.

Dr. Wells tilted her head slightly. "Sydney, you've been through a lot. It's okay to feel overwhelmed. But to heal, we need to confront what's causing us pain. Can you tell me about the people in your life right now? Your relationships?"

Sydney let out a shaky laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Relationships? That's a generous word. I live with my foster family, but they don't care about me. Not really. I'm just... there."

"What about your foster mother?"

Sydney's jaw tightened. "Euri? She barely looks at me unless she needs to make a point. She's distant and cold. I don't even know why she took me in sometimes. Mom doesn't even acknowledge me half the time, and Alan..." She stopped abruptly, her cheeks flushing.

Dr. Wells's gaze sharpened slightly. "Alan?"

"My foster Dad,"

"What about him?" the doctor asked.

Sydney hesitated, her mind racing. How could she explain the tangled mess of emotions she felt around him? The way his presence loomed over her life, was both comforting and suffocating at the same time.

"He's... distant," she said finally. "But then he's not. It's confusing."

"Do you feel safe around him?"

The question hit her like a slap, and for a moment, Sydney couldn't breathe. Did she feel safe? She wasn't sure.

"I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely audible.

Dr. Wells didn't press further, instead giving Sydney a moment to sit with her thoughts.

"It's not just him," Sydney added quickly, desperate to change the subject. "It's everything. The tension in the house, the feeling that I'm not really wanted there. And now, with the nightmares, it's like I'm falling apart all over again."

Dr. Wells nodded, her expression unreadable. "Trauma has a way of resurfacing when we're vulnerable. It's not a setback, Sydney. It's a sign that your mind is trying to process what it couldn't before."

"But what if I can't handle it?" Sydney whispered, tears spilling over now. "What if it breaks me?"

Dr. Wells leaned forward, her voice steady and firm. "You're stronger than you think. You've survived things most people can't imagine. But you don't have to face this alone. We're going to work through it, one step at a time."

Sydney nodded, though her chest still felt tight.

"For now, let's focus on grounding techniques," Dr. Wells suggested. "When the nightmares come, or when you feel overwhelmed, try to bring yourself back to the present. Focus on your senses-what you can see, hear, touch, smell, and taste. It can help remind you that you're safe now."

Safe. The word felt foreign, almost meaningless. But Sydney nodded anyway.

As the session came to an end, Dr. Wells handed her a journal. "Write down your thoughts when they come. Sometimes getting them out of your head and onto paper can help you make sense of them."

Sydney took the journal, her fingers brushing over its smooth cover. It was such a small thing, but it felt like a lifeline.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

As she stepped out into the crisp evening air, Sydney took a deep breath. The weight on her chest was still there, but it felt just a little lighter. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep going.

For now.