Brody took me to his house and asked, "What did you want to talk abo-"
I kissed him. He kissed back.
Other stuff happened.
Other other stuff happened.
It was good. Damn, it was good. I hate that. I hate that Brody is good. I should hate him because he wants Neal dead, but a lot of people do. I should hate him for being Vincent Adler's son. But Vincent is dead. And so is Kate. Thanks to the Adlers.
///////////
I woke up in Brody's bed, it was warm. I snuggled in toward him, but there was nothing there. "Brodyyyyy..." I might've been a tad bit drunk last night. (As In I was White-Girl Wasted)
Brody walked back into his room, smiling. I smiled back and cuddled into him on the bed.
"So..." What's he want? I was having fun.
"What?"
"Are we like together now?"
"It was one night, Brody."
"A really great night."
True.
There was a knock on the door. I heard the horrid voice that belonged to my father telling Brody to open the door.
He did.
//////
* flashback
I'm eight. I walked home ballet. My dad was home. Home and drunk. It seems that he's always drunk now. I walk in and describe the positions in ballet.
He yelled at me. Called me selfish. How could I think of ballet when my mom died just a year ago.
Then he pulls something out from the cabinet. A whip? Why?
I run, the door's locked. I run to my room, but he gets in. I try to curl into a ball, trying to be invisible. I'd never been that scared.
He screamed over and over that moms death was my fault. Finally, he grabbed my ankle and dragged me into our basement. He told me to take off my clothes. I obeyed. I was scared of him.
"Okay, you ungrateful brat. You are going to be punished. I don't want you telling anyone. If you do, I will kill you. If you so much as scream during this, I'll add ten. Right now, it's only 30 hits. Count or it'll be more. If you pass out, I'll start over when you wake up. I want you to feel every second of pain."
Pain. That described what came next very well. I was naked, so I had not protection from the leather whip coming down on my shoulders. I counted.
"One.."
"Two.."
When we got to 15, I screamed out. It hurt so bad. Wasn't dad supposed to love me?
It was now forty.
I was eight when the physical abuse started.
I was twelve when the sexual abuse started. I was sixteen when I ran away.
I was seventeen when he found me.
Ever since that moment when I was eight, I was his personal slave. The whips became daily, for some bullshit reason.
////////
Now that very man is walking into Brody's house.
I hate him.
/////////
A few weeks after the night with Brody, I noticed that I felt weird. I called him up, asking if he had an STD or something, but he said no.
I decided to go take a pregnancy test,
No.
I only puked once.
No.
We used a condom.
No.
Two lines.
I checked the box again.
One line... negative.
Two lines, positive.
I was pregnant.
With Brody's baby.
YOU ARE READING
The French Ballerina: A White Collar FanFic
Fanfiction"Casse Toi!" I said to the very handsome man who was trying to stop me. He rolled his eyes at me. That's when I recognized him. Nick Halden, which was an alias that he'd given me a few years ago. "Hey, Caffery."
