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Daddy

It's three am and sleep is far away as it always is. The dark shadows under my sunken eyes are testimony to that. And I can hear his footsteps and see his shadow on the wall. I know what he's up to as he tiptoes to my room. This is why I don't sleep anymore, for my fear of what he'll do to me while I am asleep, what I'll wake to. He's creeping along the hall and I can hear his breaths. I want to scream, but I know better.

I don't eat like I used to, my body doesn't want it, especially when I am sharing the same breakfast table with him. And he's telling Mommy all the great things he's done and he sings my praises to her like he doesn't hurt me through the night. She doesn't know the truth. My brother watches with jealous eyes, listening with envious ears. He thinks Daddy loves me more and I think he might be right, but not the way he sees it. He's too young to understand and I pray he never will. I pray Daddy won't show him when he comes of age.

Every night is the same and I have no power to stop him. What can I do? Tears are in my eyes and I bite my pillow so hard that my jaw hurts, the muscles clenching tight. It hurts and I don't know how I endure it. He's tearing me in half and there's blood, so much of it that I think I should be dead. He threatens me too. I better not let Mommy see or he'll be angry. He says I'll get it worse if she finds out and I nod silently, tears still trailing down my thirteen-year-old cheeks.

My sobs are silent and I am limping as I throw the soiled sheets in the lake. Mommy is none the wiser. She never will be. Mommy will never know what Daddy does to me.

Nothing ever changes. That's what I've realized as my fifteenth birthday finally passes. And I'm sneaking a cigarette as I sit on the rooftop. The moon is out and I can see without a light. The smoke feels heavy in my lungs and I treasure the feeling. A cold cup of coffee sits next to my hip and I don't care. Tears are on my cheeks once more. Will tonight be like every other?

I suck in another cancerous breath and smile bitterly. I look at the coffee in disgust. I am too young for this, aren't I? I smash my fist into the pale blue mug and watch as it topples over the edge of the rooftop, the contents falling to the ground like dirty raindrops. The stub of my forgotten cigarette burns at my fingertips and I wince, but let the butt stay dangling in my grasp until I let it fall. My fingers are red, but I don't mind. The pain is dull; it's nothing compared to others I've felt.

When I am inside once more, in the false safety of my bed, I am awake. Hours are slipping by and my eyes are burning with exhaustion, but I will not sleep. I know that he will come and I try not to panic when I hear the creaking of my door. There is no sense in screaming now. He'll only hurt me worse. And Nicolas' room is just across the hall. My baby brother is safe from this and I will not purge him of his innocence with the vision we present.

Daddy is already on top of me and I close my eyes real tight, trying desperately to imagine I am anywhere else, but here. He is whispering to me, asking me if I like it. Do I like the feeling of him inside of me? Do I? He wants to hear me say it. 'I do', I tell him, just so he'll be quiet. I can't stand to hear his voice. I cringe in pain from his weight, and his rushing in me. My eyes close just a little tighter and I forget where I am.

When I open my jade eyes again, he isn't there and I am relieved. My body aches, but it will pass, and I am relieved. I am pleased that it is me and not my baby brother sleeping peacefully across the hall. I wish Mommy would listen to me when I tell her what Daddy does to me, but she is deaf when I speak. She only hears his words. Him and I are so close, she thinks, like a father and son should be. He is a liar and what Mommy doesn't know won't kill her.

I am looking up at the pearl white ceiling and I'm thinking. I'm dreaming that he's dead. I'm dreaming that I killed him and I am smiling. Smoke drifts out from between my grinning teeth and the moon is nowhere in sight. I don't even sneak my cigarettes anymore and I've taken to biting my nails right down to the quick. Do you know how it is? Do you know what my dreams are like? Would you like to?

In the one I like best, I am standing over Daddy and there is fear in his eyes, eyes that match my own. And he looks like he might cry and I am hoping that he does. I ask him if he's scared and he doesn't answer. I smirk at him since I already know that he is, scared I mean. He's even trembling as he watches me. I yell at him.

In my dream, I'm not afraid of him anymore and he can't hurt me. But I can hurt him and I can make him sorry. He has to apologize. He has to pay for what he's done to me. He has to beg me. And in my dream, he always does. And then I rip his throat out and I wake up laughing. Do you know how I feel? Can you understand? He needs to pay after all.

I wasn't always like this, you know. He's made me this way. I'm so sad I want to die and I'm so angry that I want someone else to instead. Is it so wrong for me to want to watch him drown in his own blood? Is it so bad? And maybe Mommy too, since she called me a liar.

I tried to tell her what he's been doing, but she doesn't want to listen. She doesn't want to hear my words. She's covering her ears and ignoring what I have said. She screaming at me to shut up, that I am nothing but an awful liar. I'm not lying, but she's not listening anyway.

She can die with Daddy then. Since I am a liar and she isn't saving me. And Nicolas doesn't know. And he never will if I have any say. He doesn't need to hear it. He doesn't need the pain. He doesn't need the shame of it. I'll bury it with their bodies. That will be all right.

You know, I spent months planning what I'd do to them, just how I'd do them in. But it all went down the drain you see when Daddy didn't sneak into my room that night. Instead, he opened the door just across the hall from me. And that was the last time he ever saw my baby brother. I stabbed him right there in the hallway. He'd been planning to hurt my darling brother, my innocent Nicolas. That just wouldn't do.

And Mommy came to see what the thump was while Daddy choked on his own blood. It was in his lungs, you see. And I was smiling. Mommy didn't even scream. She just looked at me and then she understood. And the knife went in so easily and she didn't even scream. She looked so sorry right about then and I almost thought to regret that the knife went in. But then I remembered that Mommy had known before and I was a liar, wasn't I? Isn't that what she'd said?

I bet she didn't think I was lying anymore when the knife went into her chest. I bet she realized then. I bet she'd never forget it either, now that she was dead. Daddy's lips were moving and his eyes were getting foggy. He looked like he wanted to talk to me, but all the sound he could make was the blood gurgling in his throat and I kept smiling. Nicolas didn't stir. And Daddy was dying outside his doorway.

I stood over him and I asked him then, "Are you afraid of me now Daddy? Do you understand?" My voice was real low, like a whisper really, since I didn't want to wake my brother. He didn't need to know what I had done out here in the hallway outside his door. And Daddy didn't even answer me. I think he was dead before I got to finish asking. But I bet he was afraid. And I bet he understood.

The blood was everywhere. I hadn't realized just how much blood was in one human being. But Mommy and Daddy were lying in it and more was coming out as I dragged them down the stairs. They weren't as heavy as they looked or maybe I was stronger than I thought. But it didn't matter as I rolled them into the lake. Nobody had to know. Nobody ever would.

I scrubbed at the floors until the sun was rising. And Nicolas was stirring. He didn't even ask me where Daddy was. Or what Mommy was making for breakfast as he sat next to me at the breakfast table. But his hand held onto mine and I didn't mind. He didn't say a word and neither did I.

His fingers were cold and small entwined with mine, but he didn't say a thing. He didn't ask me why my hands were red or where the butcher's knife went. He didn't ask me why my clothes had to be burned or why he couldn't go to the lake anymore. He never asked about the stain in the hallway outside his door or why I wouldn't sleep in my own room anymore. And every time our eyes met, matching jade with jade and we didn't say a word. Nicolas understood.

Copywritten to Xander Bradeshaw.