“You know what to do, cunt,” he said, pushing my face into his groin. “This isn’t the first time.” No, it wasn’t.
The first time, I puked all over his pants because he pushed into my throat too roughly. I was eleven years old, and he thought it was the best thing ever to make me gag so hard.
Resolved, I worked my mouth around his penis, feeling it grow and slip into my mouth. The salty tang was revolting. It didn’t take him long to set the pace, forcing my head back and forth as he humped into my mouth. He grunted, hissed and enjoyed taking me any way he possibly could.
“Your mouth is the best one I’ve ever had,” he huffed as he came forcefully down my throat. A moment later, he pulled out. Saliva fell down my chin, dripping onto the floor. He zipped up his pants and patted my head like I was a good dog for doing a trick.
“Maybe after I get that money, I’ll sell you to the black market instead of killing you. You’d go for a good price. So many men want a pretty little thing like you to warm their bed.”
He laughed, seeing my face pale.
“You’re already perfectly trained. No one would be able to let you go,” he said, patting my cheek in what may have been a nice gesture. “Now, go make me my dinner.”
Two weeks went by with me being stuck in the house. Each day, he made sure to be as loud as possible before leaving. Each morning, I’d wake up and clean the house from top to bottom. I washed the laundry and made sure there was no reason for him to yell at me. I’d eat just enough food to keep my body from shutting down.
Each day was the same. He found a reason to yell at me. He felt the need to take my body. I had no more will to fight him. I had no energy to ward off his advances. The abuse wouldn’t stop either way, but it seemed like a game to him, now. A game to see how much damage could be done before my tears fell and I begged for death.
And I did beg. Daily. He made sure of it.
After two weeks, I was finally fit to go back to school—or so he said. The bruises around my neck were faded enough. Other places, not so much.
So Thursday morning, I was ready, each mark hidden underneath my clothes. I limped down the stairs, holding in the pain. My hip stung from not only a bruise, but also a knife cut. He thought since I wanted to take my life, he’d show me how much he wished it, too.
The cut on my hip was the newest one, and the deepest one, too. I’d patched it up the best that I could with the bandages under the sink. The physical pain was nothing compared to the words he thrown at me during every lesson he taught me. His words piled on my shoulders, holding every part of me captive.
He was already gone by the time I left the house and got on the bus at the end of the drive. I took a seat in the middle, knowing I’d blend in like any other time. I leaned my forehead against the cold window, letting the road and fields pass in a blur. Right now, I had no more tears left in me.
Before I knew it, the bus was at the school, and I followed all the students off and into the busy parking lot. All the chatter went in one ear and out the other. No one talked to me. No one even looked at me twice. I blended in, and it was ten times better than being at home with my father.
Class after class went by. I didn’t even try to write down what I’d missed from my fake sickness. I wouldn’t attempt to get caught up. There was no point.
The hallways were crowded as everyone headed to lunch. Everyone except me. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with so much noise with a pounding head. Instead, I headed outside to the small grassy area some of the students frequented on nice days…or days when they wanted to sell some weed.
I found a secluded spot against the wall of the building. I leaned my head against my knees and just sat there, not only soaking up some much-needed air, but also some quiet.
Lost in thought, I jumped when someone stood in front of me, clearing his throat. I lifted my head, meeting cloudy blue eyes. Whoever this boy was, he smelt like burnt skunk. I wrinkled my nose.
“I have something to take away your pain,” he said, drawing the words out slowly.
“No thanks,” I said, letting my head rest on my knees.
“It’ll take the pain away,” he repeated, taking a seat beside me but far enough away to not touch me.
“Not interested.” Couldn’t he take a hint?
“Just one pill. It’ll make you feel better, sad girl.”
“Why?” I didn’t bother to lift my head.
I felt him move, shifting around and touching my body slightly as he repositioned himself against the wall.
“Because you’re out here. Alone. Sad. Just want to make you feel better.”
“I’m fine,” I hissed, pushing myself to stand and picking my bag up at the same time. Without saying anything, I walked back into the school and headed towards the bathroom. No matter how tempting taking a simple pill to fix all my problems was, I had no way to pay for it. Money and drugs went hand in hand, and there was no way I would gamble into that crap.
I stayed in the bathroom until the last warning bell rang, and then I slowly made my way towards the next class—another class in which I’d just sit there and let the words go in one ear and out the other.
I bypassed a fistfight, which looked like it was about some girl. I dodged a book being thrown across the hall. I even stepped over the body of someone who had tripped over their own feet.
