My mother died when I was six. She was thirty-two, and the light and center of our family. Her death was sudden, a car accident, and my father had a very difficult time dealing, let alone explaining her disappearance to his three children. I was the easiest to pacify, being the youngest. All I needed to know was that mommy was in heaven and that she would always love me. My siblings, my older brother and sister, were not so easily subdued. My sister Ginny, who cried every night for months, was ten when it happened. No matter what anyone said, she thought it must be her fault our mother died, because she was on her way to pick Ginny up from a sleep over because Ginny got scared.
My brother Tom blamed everyone, and at the wise old age of twelve sought refuge in his high school 'friends' vodka, pot, and cigarettes. Then it was petty crime, and by the time he was fourteen he was incarcerated for stealing a car. My father started drinking when I was seven, then he started to go out at night, every weekend he'd stay out. I'd stay up in my room waiting for him to come home, but I'd fall asleep every time. As I got older, I'd stay up later and later. One night, when I was nine, he came home at three in the morning with a woman. I watched them get out of his car, and walk towards the house. He was stumbling, and his hands were undoing his pants zipper. She was fat, not very pretty. She was wearing a short skirt that did nothing good for her, and a low, low cut red shirt.
Two weeks later he told us he was marrying that woman, a week after that vows were exchanged and she moved in. Her name was Scilla. I always thought it was an odd name, but kind of pretty. On my tenth birthday she gave me the most beautiful red haired doll ever, and I named it after her. Tom hated Scilla, and after he got out of juvy he refused to come home. Ginny got shy, she was always quiet around Dad and Scilla, but once in a while she'd talk to me. She liked Scilla fine, she'd say, she just didn't know how Dad could want another woman after Mom. She thought it would make our mother sad.
I didn't see much wrong, really. Scilla seemed to make Dad happy, plus, she was losing weight, so I think she was happy too. When I turned fourteen Scilla finally realized she was actually skinny. On my birthday, she was braiding my brown hair, when suddenly she squealed.
"Look at my ass, Ellie! Ooh, it's so cute! Ginny. Ginny! Come see!"
My sister came running. "What is it?"
"Ginny, look at me! I'm cute!"
Ginny and I were laughing, but it wasn't at her. She was cute, but not really just because of her small ass. The lit up look on her face was adorable. Like a child who gets to buy both the bubble gum and mint chocolate chip ice cream.
"Ellie, I don't think you got enough for your birthday, and I need some new clothes for this butt. Let's go shopping, girls."
That day Scilla spent twelve hundred dollars on clothes for Ginny, herself, and me. The next month when the bill came, my father hit her. From then on, it was like he couldn't stop. Anytime he'd get mad, Scilla would get punched. He wouldn't hit me, he didn't hit Ginny. Only Scilla felt his wrath.
One night in July, two months after my birthday, Scilla didn't come home from work. Dad was pissed. He broke three plates making dinner, yelling at Ginny and me all night. Ginny cried, like always, which just pissed Dad off more. Late that night, when I was tossing and turning, trying to fall asleep, I heard Ginny crying. Then she stopped, and I heard her bed squeaking. I didn't even know what was happening, but I thought about it all the time. She was eighteen years old.
Ginny was changed. Where she was quiet and steady around everyone, now she was jumpy, and she snapped at me about every little thing. Every night her bed would squeak, eventually the noises changed. I could hear my Dad groaning, panting. Once I even heard Ginny squeal.
Ginny moved out when I was sixteen. She was twenty years old. I haven't seen her since. I got a card. On my seventeenth birthday. That's the last I even heard from her.
On my eighteenth birthday, Scilla gave me a dildo with a vibe attachment. It was the most amazing thing I'd felt. She gave it to me at breakfast, in front of my Dad. I might've imagined it, but I'm pretty sure I saw him lick his lips when I gripped the rubber phallus.
Two weeks later, when I was getting ready for bed, Dad came in my bedroom. He was only wearing boxers, and his penis was sticking out, stiff. He was staring me down, his hand pumping on his cock. I was in between outfits, so my breasts and panties were exposed.
"Take those off."
That was all he said, but there was this look in his eye, this raw anger. I was afraid not to obey. When my panties were off, he pulled my by the hair, twisting my body, moving me around until I was on my knees leaning over my bed. I cried out a little when his cock pushed into me. I wasn't even wet, and I was a virgin, but for the dildo that I'd only used twice, and even that hurt a bit.
My Dad rammed himself into me, giving no heed to my needs. His fingers didn't caress my clit, he didn't lovingly kiss my neck or shoulders, he didn't work my vagina till I was wet. Nothing. He just pushed into me over and over again. When he started to cum he pulled out of me to let loose his load over my asshole. I could feel it, sticky and wet, running slowly over my pussy lips, and down my inner thighs.
"Clean yourself off."
He left me like that, bent over my bed, his cum dripping from me, that night, and many nights afterwards.
I left home a few months after my nineteenth birthday to go to college. I moved all the way across the country, from Vermont to Portland, Oregon. I needed to get away from my father and his wife, Scilla, who, once a friend, for the last year of my life with her, pretended I didn't exist. She didn't help me, she didn't console me. She left me alone to be used and hurt.
The nightmares started my second night in school. In it, Scilla held me down while my father spread me open. He laughed as he unbuttoned his jeans, releasing a giant snake. The snake's eyes glowed red as it wrapped itself around my thighs, and finally pushed it's head into my vagina, filling me with venom.
Upon waking, my roommate met my eyes in an angry sort of way, informing me that I had kept her awake with my cries. I apologized, telling her I'd had a bad dream and that I was sure it wouldn't happen again. She agreed, but the next night, and the ten nights following, I had the same nightmare. Every morning, she'd look at me with the same angry eyes. After two weeks, she requested to be moved.
The girl who replaced her, was a mousy girl, ironically named Minnie. She, unlike my first roommate, wore earplugs, so she wasn't kept awake by my crying and moaning. It wasn't until I started fighting my dream demons that she had a problem with me. One night I kicked the lamp by my bed over, causing it to fall on her head. She needed stitches, and after that, a new roommate.
I wasn't surprised to be alone the rest of that first semester, what did surprise me was the suitcase and boxes taking up the other half of my dorm after my meeting with the academic advisor two days before the spring semester. For three days, it didn't seem like anyone belonged to those boxes, but then, the night after my first set of classes, I came home to find all the boxes gone, and the suitcase open on the bed.
