hat�s that? Where am I? Why�s it all dark? Jesus, I can feel my heart
beating through my toenails! What the hell�s going on?
Wait a minute Tommy, you�ve got a brain, let it sort out this mess. Now, breathe a little slower and think. This whit thing covering me, it�s a sheet isn�t it? That�s right I�m in bed, and it�s dark because it�s night time. I was sleeping, that�s right, I remember now. I was dreaming about- no wait, wait, wait. What�s that noise? Oh sweet jesus there�s someone else in here with me.
�Who-who�s there?�, my thin voice ventures into the darkness of my bedroom.
�No need to panic, Tommy. It�s only me.�, he says.
Ugh, that voice. It�s always slippery at this time of the morning. No prizes for guessing what arse-face wants. And no he doesn�t want to discuss Tolstoy. Well, I�m not going to this time. He�s going to have to knock me out if he wants to do that to me now. I�m not going to give in without a fight. All I have to do is make enough noise so that someone else wakes up. Then they�ll come and see what the noise is and they�ll catch him doing it to me. Oh god if only someone would catch him doing it to me.
Yeah right. As if I�m going to be able to make enough noise or any noise with his ten tonne weight pinning me face down into the mattress. Besides which, they sleep like they are all dead here. I remember that time I got one arm out from underneath me and started banging the side of the bed. Nobody woke up. And boy wasn�t he pissed off. Nearly broke my arm as he wrenched it up behind me, pinning it between him and me. Also he�s so hairy, that if I do manage a squeak, it�ll be muffled by all that hair. I never knew people could get that hairy. I mean sure, I know I�ll have hair down there, but all over my stomach too, like him? I sure as hell hope not. And he�s always just a little bit sweaty and greasy. How someone can get that oily in bed four hours after they�ve showered, I�ll never know.
Oh god, no. He�s sitting on the bed now and touching me. Why can�t he just do it and go back to mum? It�s bad enough that I�ll have to wash all his sweat and oil off me tomorrow before I go to school; but I haven�t yet found a soap that will wash off the goosebumps his fingers give me. C�mon you bastard, hurry up and get it over with, will you? I�m not going to like it no matter how much you paw me, so just do it and go.
I�m such a coward. God how I hate myself for being such a weak sod. So much for him having to knock me out this time. But if I struggle it just hurts more, and he�s so much bigger than I am. But one day that�s going to change, you know. One day I�ll be big enough to beat him senseless and he�ll get the message that I don�t want him to do this to me, that I hate him for doing this to me, and me for letting him. One day.......
And here it comes. I can hear him scooping vaseline onto his fat furry finger. Christ on a bike, does he know how much this hurts, no matter how much fucking vaseline he uses? He�s got to be kidding if he thinks his finger is any gauge on the thickness scales. Oh yuck that feels so bloody disgusting, like having his sweat and oil glands pumped straight up my backside. Not much time now, I�d better start thinking of something else. It�s so much easier if I�m not really here when he�s doing this.
I know, I�ll think about the run I had this afternoon. I like running, getting out of the house away from all this. Just the constant rhythm of my feet pounding on the footpath and my head able to do its own thing. If I weren�t such a coward I�d just keep on running, leave this place behind me, run forever with my head drifting about in a world where there is only me and softness. No bad things ever happen to me when I�m running. And I can run for miles and miles thinking of nothing, just letting my whole head be still.
Ow ow ow ow ow, god that hurts. No, hurt doesn�t even come close to describing the pain that he causes me when he penetrates. Now there�s a word- penetrates- more like split me in two with that bloody thing. And here he goes like a fucking jackhammer ripping up concrete, ripping into me with all his strength. He is very strong, made so much stronger by the hatred he has found to pound into me. That�s right Tommy think of pounding- my feet pounding the footpath this afternoon. Slap, slap, slap, up the hill away from this house and out onto the wind that always blows at the top of the hill. Bang, bang, bang, almost floating along the road with the wind lifting me higher and higher, soaring above the day. Legs pumping like the shiny new pistons I helped put in my brother�s motor bike two weeks ago. Lungs breathing the fresh clean outside air without a trace of sweat or oil. My mind floating, wrapped in soft fluffy clouds of peace, not remembering; simply meandering on its own vacant little waterway, while I run. Free. And then the music always starts. When I�m floating through my run, this Beatles� song, Lucy in the sky with diamonds, starts playing. Not all of it though, maybe the first two lines about picturing myself somewhere, and then the chorus- Lucy in the sky with diamonds, lucy in the sky with diamonds oooooh, aaaaaah. I reckon this Lucy�s one lucky son of a bitch, you know. Floating up there in this weird psychedaelic sky, with these ungodly strange eyes surrounded by diamonds. I mean she doesn�t ever touch the ground and live down here, she just floats in the sky doing whatever, while people write songs about her. And that�s how I feel when I�m running, just floating along in this other, different world where there�s just me and I�m running.
Err, ow, ow, ow. It really fucking hurts when he pulls out. It�s odd, like I�m really relieved that he�s finally finished, but it�s like having my bowel ripped out my backside, just behind this rusted pipe that�s being twisted. And now the old prick�s trying to whisper sweet nothings in my ear.
�Don�t tell anyone about us Tommy. You know that I would have to kill you if anyone outside this house found out. So just be smart and keep your fucking mouth shut.� God but his breath�s as rancid as his body. It�s like he�s decaying inside and the smell is pouring out of him. And his decay he pours hot inside of me, eating me out the same way.
You watch, in the morning he�ll tell me he loves me. And he�s my dad so I suppose that he does love me. But how can he do this to me? This isn�t loving me; screwing me four or five times a month, isn�t loving me. What the hell is so wrong with me that I deserve this? What did I do to him for him to want to hurt me like this? And how am I supposed to get to sleep tonight so that I don�t get in even more shit at school tomorrow?
You know, I asked my sister Laura whether she ever heard noises at night, like, you know, someone creeping around. She didn�t really answer me, she just looked at me with this horrified expression on her face like I�d asked her to hold onto a funnel web or something. I really have to sleep, you know. Not just roll over and pretend to be sleeping when mum comes in about four o�clock before going off to work. It beats the hell out of me that she doesn�t know what�s going on. To tell the truth I can�t believe it. If a kid I�d given birth to was being screwed by his old man, my husband, I�d know about it; and by god I�d chop his nuts off. Maybe I do deserve this. Maybe I�ve done something to really piss them off and I can�t remember it. I must�ve done, or else he wouldn�t do it to me. He does love me, doesn�t he?
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