A/N : This story is about Sara and her journey through times of "love". It's a one-shot, I thought I'd try my hand at something like this. Could you tell me if you like it?
XO
I
"Do you love me?"
Her big brown eyes gazed upwards, trying to look into his and see what he was really saying. Her daddy had always been a politician and words were easy for him. Sara just needed to see, not hear.
"Sara, sara, sara…" he clucked his tongue en let out a small chuckle. "You're my baby girl, Sara!"
His belly was too big for her to see past and she couldn't see a damn thing in his eyes. They were too far up for nine year old girls to stare in. She felt his hand ruffle her hair, that mommy had spent minutes trying to comb into perfection and she angrily pushed her locks back into position.
His big hand now handed her a fancy spoon with even fancier food on it, but she scrunched her nose and shook her head. "No, daddy, I don't want to."
She pouted and the next second, her father sunk down next to her and held his mouth near her ear. "Sara, honey – don't embarress daddy. This is a very important party and I need you to be a good girl."
Sara gave him a watery smile, before opening her mouth and swallowing the things he fed her.
The flash of a camera momentarily blinded her.
The next day, the picture was in the morning paper. 'The candidate - Governor Frank Tancredi shares a special moment with his daughter'
II
"Do you love me?"
He pulled her close for two seconds (she'd counted them) and then gently pushed her further down the couch, before reaching forward and grabbing the beer that was standing there, 'beckoning' him.
Sara folded her feet underneath her and stared at her boyfriend's sharp and lazy figure, waiting for his answer. When it didn't come, she nudged him. "Heey?"
He rolled his eyes, still glued to the TV-screen. "What do you want, Sara?"
She huffed. "Wow. What do I want? I just want to know if my boyfriend loves me. Do you mind?"
"If you want to know, then go ask him."
The girl frowned. "I thought I just did."
He shut off the television-set and turned to her with a sigh. "Listen, Sara. I've told you before : I'm not your boyfriend. We're just two..."
"...people who occasionally do more than just hang out and have fun together." She continued. "I know. I just thought..."
"Well," he smiled at her, " don't."
Lightly, he pressed a kiss to her forhead before turning back to the TV where South Park was doing overtime.
III
"Do you love me?"
He set the bottle of morphine back on the salontable and turned to her in annoyance. "Does this have to happen now?"
She bit her bottomlip and furrowed her brows. He sighed. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm just needing to scratch my itch, okay? I'll, you know –" he rolled his eyes dramatically "profess my undying love for you afterwards, alright?"
Sara punched him square in the shoulder. "Jesus, you bitch, what did you do that for?"
"Damn it, Ryan, you could at least pretend to mean it."
He barked a laugh. "Well if it's pretending you want – I'm not into that. The world is a fucked up place, darlin'. 'Sides..." He smiled, pushing a strand behind her ear."You know we're not like that..."
She turned her head away from him, trying to hold back the tears. He snorted. "Aww, don't go all Virgin Mary on me, Sara. You knew this – right from the damn beginning of it. Now leave it be...and scratch my itch for me, baby."
IV
This time, she never needed to ask that question.
She could see it in every little thing he did, from the moment he woke her up by pressing small kisses to her nose, to the moment he tenderly kissed her ear and pulled her closer to him, whispering "Sweat dreams".
Michael never needed to say the three little words, and when he did, one day – she already knew.