Down Twill Pass

Chapter 2

"Please! Don't do this daddy." He tugged at her skirt, "Come on Matilda," he slurred. The little girl screamed a frightening scream and kicked her legs. She wondered who Matilda was; and if this was perhaps just a fever dream. "Lydia Mara Smith." She thrashed about. "Lydia Mara Smith!" The woman slowly stroked her cheek. "He isn't here, you mustn't worry sweetheart." The girl awakened, nearly in unfamiliar surroundings because of the damage her sleep paralysis caused. Once laid sprawled uncomfortably on her sheets she rose out of bed and closed the blinds. The woman at this point had left, as this was quite normal. Her father was never around but she refused a complaint of any sort. Her father was a sick man, an alcoholic with harmful tendencies. He previously was a kind outspoken man, who brushed his daughter's hair for her school day as her mother flipped uneven pancakes.

She stumbled into the bathroom and onto the scale. It read 54 pounds; she took her one and only magazine from the windowsill. Playboy. She flipped to page 94, a tan very toned topless woman stood clutching her breasts. Her mother entered and stole the magazine off of her. "54 pounds still, you must gain another 10 before you are classified as anorexic!" Her jokes were never very funny. Have a look, Johnny!"

Taking the magazine her step-father furrowed a brow. A puff of charcoal colored smoke escaped his pipe. He gazed off nearly gaining heart filled eyes. Her mother slapped him and he shuddered. "Ah, how low the appeal. Who supplied you this darling?" He patted Lydia's bony stomach. "Well my father, you must know, Liam Brown." Lydia strongly despised of her father. The only good things to come out of him was his simple magazines, one would be tossed and another mailed to her the next. It was noticeably perverted to most but Lydia did not notice as she was only 12 at the time, her hatred for him stayed fueled either way. He laughed and and walked out, mumbling something or another under his breath.

Her step father was nowhere near as bad as her biological father. He had strange tendencies but acceptably because he treated her mother well. Her mother was unfunny but a lovely most caring person who spent her time quilting beautiful blankets for patrons of the town. Yearly she would knit a warm winter scarf for Lydia, one year it was emblazoned with teddy bears another it was a solid teal. Nonetheless Lydia was very happy to receive the kind gesture.

Her father was not allowed to visit nor have Lydia at his home because he was certified as deranged. He never even tried to accept any help for his issues. If he did, perhaps, just maybe, Lydia would actually like the man. Maybe if he would write something more than "Take care, I will be driving off London Harbour by morning." every time he wrote her she'd actually worry for his well-being. But for now she did not a single one of those things, and she was content with it being that way.