Sunny and Alex

Father

His thumb rubbing down my pantie line...getting closer and closer. I close my eyes tight and think this can't be happening again. Again, why again and again and again. Hot tears burn down my face while he unbuckles his belt. I try to get up, but his hands are too quick and they grab my wrists holding me down. Tighter and tighter as he moves more and more. My underwear and skirt have disappeared...again. I should try to resist, but it is too late. I'm just not fast enough for this monster of a father. Up, down, up, down...again and again. Grunting, panting, sweat glistened on his brow making it harder for me to resist. Again and again, this agonizing feeling washes over me. He touches me, brushing his thumb up and down my side. Licking me with his tongue, while he goes up and down...again and again. It feels like an eternity till it finally stops. The pain is gone. He tells me to get dressed and fix myself up before dinner. I sit up slowly, no more tears no more feelings. I get up looking at the red marks that surround my wrists and sides. I get dressed ever so slowly counting from one to ten over and over again. I can still feel him. I push it down because I know it will happen again and I can't start getting feelings like this. I take five minutes to stare at myself in my big door mirror before I head downstairs for dinner...with him.

I step heavy as I walk down our crooked steps. I can hear him hymn The Saint Go Marching In as he cooks leftovers...again. I sit down across from the stove watching his every move. The ceiling light is going dim swinging back and forth. My bedroom is right above the kitchen so whatever happens upstairs you can see it downstairs. As I watch the light move back and forth my father swings the pan around and drops a big pile of food onto my plate. "Thanks" as the steaming food hits the plate. My father is very into politeness. It's really ironic because just not too long ago he was just bending on top of me for a better view. I'm not sure if I should be thanking him, but if I don't it will only get worse, just like the last time.                                                                                      "Eat it while it is hot," he said as he sits down across from me taking a huge mouth full of mush, "I was thinking that maybe we should try a different recipe since all of this is shit." I didn't say anything to that. This is my mother's recipes. Was I should say. She left all of her recipes and cooking ideas behind after she shot herself in the upstairs bathroom. That was two years ago, only one month, three days, and twenty-seven minutes till her head is blown off...again. He waits for me to pitch in my ideas for some new food. He stares at me as food dribbles down his chin and onto his gray shirt.                                                                                                                                             "I like what we eat," I said quietly, "Maybe we should stick to what we love." I slowly look up at him. He just stares, no words, no sound.                                                                                                           "Why would we stick to the things we love if one of them shot herself upstairs in the bathroom!" He yells as he stands up knocking the chair onto the floor. I jump up as it hits the floor with a thud. I instantly regret what I said. He glares and snarls at me like a dog, I tilt my head down to my plate. Having the steam hit me with like a train. He walks over to me. His fingers grab my messy ponytail, yanking me back in the chair. My eyes fill with tears as he pulls harder and harder. I let out a squeak as he starts to drag me out of the chair and up the stairs. My shirt starts to rip on the broken steps. Splinter hit my back making we scream in pain. He doesn't release his grip as he stumbles up the stairs. My head hits hard against the top step, where a big chunk of wood has been torn out. I don't remember anything after that.