Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.
Unbeta'd: Daily-ish updates. All mistakes are my own. Sorry for the mess.
Warnings: This story contains mature content such as daddy fetish. It will also be dark. No fluff. Lots of suspense and thrills.
Mr. Black's crooked nose is all shiny. So is his forehead. It's not all that hot in here, but he's gleaming with perspiration. Even little wet spots are forming near his pits of his button-up shirt. It's gross and awful to look at, but I don't look away. I can't look away.
"Are you listening to me, Isabella?"
I nod my head. I think my ears stopped working after, "I have something important to tell you."
He keeps rambling on. I see his lips moving. Two dark pink thin lines going up and down, covering slightly yellowed cracked teeth. A bead of sweat collects in the tiny valley above those two pink lines. Mr. Cameron called it the philtrum in AP Biology today. I'll probably forget it by the time I leave this office.
No. Scratch that. Forgotten.
"Your godfather has been contacted."
Show me the money! Is that how the quote goes? No wait…wrong movie. Doesn't matter. I don't even think I've seen either one of them. Wrong generation or what not. Dad keeps sayings we'll sit down together and watch it one day. I don't know how long ago that was, but too long to have kept track.
It's tradition you see. Every Friday, he'll say, "Let's watch a movie." And I'll say, "Sure." We never do end up watching movies. Friends. Work. Parties. Boyfriend. Mom. Dates. Something has always gotten in the way.
"I'm so sorry."