Her name was Clara Jean Mae. To her friends she was Jean. To her family and parents she was Clara. To those she didn't trust she was Clara Jean. To me she was my baby. She was precious, innocent, and kind. Her kindness emulated her every breathing moment. Her transparent innocence made her an easy target for people to extort and manipulate. My baby--my Clara-- gave her heart to anyone and everyone. She didn't know hatred, jealousy, or anger. She was a gentle soul and an unwithered daisy.
I despised the world for everything it had done to me. I was forced into shoes I wasn't ready to fill at a young age; my heart was hardened to everyone. I was incapable of trust; I was paranoid, envious, and ambitious. My hardness made my early twenties hell. My vengeful and impulsive decisions in my early twenties resulted in the severe misinterpretation of my nature. I was a "playboy" bachelor who was known for breaking hearts. I was a business tycoon who abused the system much like any other millionaire. I was everything my younger self despised. I was a womanizing bastard who used my machismo attitude and rage as an excuse for my actions. For a long time, I believed I was incapable of reinvention.
When my Clara--my baby--entered my life, she gave my world life, gave me life. Her gentle optimism and tendered nature lit the desolate skies. Her love for life made me believe in love. She was younger, childish, and naive. In my mind, she was as helpless as a child. She restored my youth by giving me a cause to do right again. To right to this girl who has been deprived. To give her kisses, hugs, love--my whole being. She began to rely on me, and I proudly accepted her trust. My sweet baby. I worried my protective and dominating nature suffocated her, but when pulled back I only hurt my baby more.
Clara Jean is my baby. She is my sunshine, my star, and the epicenter of my heart. I would kill for her, die for her. And if anyone made my Clara Jean cry, sad, or even slightly discombobulated they will receive the wrath of a man with no other purpose but to protect his sunshine.
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The Older Man
Romance"So fucking tiny," his rough skin touches the smoothness of her wrist. She blushes at his thoughtful gaze and wonders how she even got into the predicament she's in. He was an older man, so old she had to sneak around to see him. He was calloused an...
