“I’m sorry,” she whispers shamefully under her breath.

Her daddy doesn’t say anything at first. Silently, he stares at the blood, thoughts churning through his head. What he must do. How he must react. What would maintain his code of conduct. Decidedly, he leans his head so that her view of her hand in his is obstructed. But she can feel his breath inch toward her and then . . . a harsh kiss. When he lifts his head, the balloon of blood is gone and does not reappear.

“No need to be sorry, my sweet. Accidents happen. I only want to make sure you’re okay.” He forces a smile, hunger roiling within him all the while like a winter’s storm. I will not become angry. She will feel safe with me.

He reaches into his suit jacket pocket and pulls out a small square package and a bandage.

Magic, she thinks.

He tears apart the package and removes a towelette that smells like sharp stink. She scrunches her nose and gags, but then becomes obediently still at his glare. He grips her hand and wipes down her finger with the towelette, keeping her hand forcefully in place when she flinches from the wet sting.

But she does not protest. No matter how much it hurts, she does not protest.

He peels away the protective layer of the bandage and wraps it around her finger tight enough that she can feel her blood pulse in place beneath. The wound is hidden.

“There!” he says when the fix is done. “Do you feel better?”

She nods.

“Good! Now, let’s replace that finger with something sweeter.”

From his back pocket, he conjures a lollipop, new and perfectly encased. He peels off the wrapping and her lips part without thought.

He grins.

He holds the lollipop near her mouth, but not near enough. When she leans in for a bite, he clicks his tongue and shakes his head. She hesitates, understands, and returns to her original position.

“Will you lie to me again?”

“No.”

“Are you my sweet little girl?”

She brightens and answers, “Yes!”

“Good.”

He places the lollipop on her tongue and she chomps down on it with glee. As the sugar seeps in and the euphoria chews on her brain, she forgets about the pain from her finger. She forgets about the two purple dots below her wrist and the horrible red smudge she sucked down into her stomach. She forgets her curiosity over any of it, because she no longer wants to know.

I will only know what Daddy tells me because he will keep me safe, she thinks. He will keep me safe and happy.

And in this moment, as her daddy picks her up and she drinks down the melted sugar, she no longer feels painful loneliness. She no longer feels the want to tear out of her skin and run around, just muscles and tendons, in circles forever. She doesn’t feel suffocated by claustrophobia or strangled by impossibly untamed outbursts. Instead, she feels elevated happiness, gushing gratitude, complete ecstasy.