Bambina

47. Protection against Honesty

Raphaelle's POV

And there her face goes dead, pale, her heart broken. Cazzo. She can never know the truth. Not a tiny detail. I'll kill anyone trying to break her further apart. I can't stand it. 

I put my cup of coffee back on the table, standing up from my seat, lifting her off of hers and around my waist. I rock her, back and forth, trying my best to quiet her sobs. They fucking kill me. Her tears are knives, each stabbing, the next more painful than the previous. Is there a way to turn it off? God, I wish I had a recipe, one that always works. Cazzo. 

"Shhh, daddy's here." I whisper softly, my voice almost breaking as I hold her close. Her small body trembles against mine, the weight of her sorrow pressing heavily on my chest. I wish I could shield her from this pain. But I'm no miracle. I'm no Jesus. I can't walk on water. Fucking wish I were Jesus right now. But scars once there, will always remain. Scars never leave. Cazzo.

The room is dimly lit, only light comes from the few rays of morning sun beaming through the windows. Outside, the world moves on, oblivious to the heartache that consumes her. What I can't understand is how anyone could be so oblivious to angel like her, when her wings are wide and beautiful, pure. Danielle... I fucking hate the ghost of you. I fucking wish you never were born in the first place. But then I wouldn't have her. Cazzo. I can't wish she never were born... I can't. Cazzo.

I stroke her hair gently, the strands silky beneath my fingertips. She inhales sharply, a ragged breath that speaks volumes. How do you explain to an angel that sometimes the people we trust the most are the ones to hurt us the most? Danielle fucking pulled a Damon on her. Fuck, no, what she did is actually worse than what Damon did. I thought of him as a brother, just like this beautiful little angel of mine thought of that heartless bitch as her sister, but Damon never conspired to kill me... at least not until we weren't friends anymore. After... well, after my last Little. A Little who turned out to be the brattiest brat I've ever met in my life. How to explain? I can't... she'll lose her pure precious heart. I can't have that. 

"It's not fair, daddy," she whispers, her voice barely a whisper against the silence of the room. "Why? Who? I don't-" she tries to explain, but her sobs only worsen. 

I have no answers, only answers I can't give her. I hold her tighter, as if my embrace alone can chase away the shadows that threaten to engulf her.

"I don't know, bambina," I lie. "I wish I did." I lie again. I wish I never gained this knowledge. Wish someone else did, someone taking the problem for me, so I wouldn't feel so shitty about it. I don't wanna be the bad guy. But for her, I'll be whatever is demanded. And right now, in this case, I'm demanded to be the bad guy, in order to keep her safe. 

I continue to rock her, trying to steady her sobs. I have never felt as useless. 

Eventually, her sobs quieten, the storm of tears giving way to a gentle rain. She pulls back slightly, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen, exhaustion painted across her beautiful face. But there's a flicker of something in their depths – resilience, perhaps, or the first glimmer of acceptance. 

"It hurts, daddy," she whispers, her voice raw with emotion.

"I know, bambina," I reply, my own voice hoarse with unshed tears. But I'm freaking crying. I fucking hate her tears. "But daddy's here. You're not alone, baby. Daddy's got you." 

"C-can you t-try to b-baby me?" she asks, her voice small but determined.

"Baby you?"

She nods, "l-like g-get me into t-that s-space, I-I w-wanna f-forget," she hiccups. 

My heart breaks at the sight of her. My precious little girl. I'll do anything to numb her pain. Anything. 

I hold her close, her slight frame trembling in my arms. "Do you trust me?" I ask softly. What she has in mind... baby her... I don't... she has reacted so badly when confronted with diapers before. But if she is to stay in that space for long, she'll need them.