I am thirteen god damn it I want it to end, I want to follow my mum and dive into the depths of hell, into the endless darkening abyss, because anywhere, even the fiery inferno that was below the ground has to be better than being here, in this council house in London, barely surviving living with my father.
“Please god, please stop this.” I beg and plead silently, tears spilling down my soft fragile cheeks and dampening the sheets beneath my head.
The heavy thud of his boots sounds through my room, a constant ‘thud’ ‘thud’ ‘thud’ directing towards me as he takes those even paced steps to the side of my bed.
“Evening slut. Ready for Daddy tonight. Those naughty ladies downstairs have wound me up tight, I think it’s time I had a little release don’t you.” That voice, the one that plagues my every thought. No matter if I was sleeping, awake, at school or hiding in the tiny expanse of trees behind my house, he is there, demanding space inside my head.
“Please, Dad don’t.” I beg him, like I have done for the last month. Every night since finishing my first period he has called upon me, torn through me and ripped me apart at the seams, with nobody there to put me back together again.
I tell myself it will get easier, that I won’t have to deal with this for too long but I know it was just a useless lie I tell myself to get me through the burning agony that is sure to come.
“Hmm, let’s think about that should we. Fucking your tight cunt and throat or going to bed. I think I choose the first you little bitch. Now do as you god damn told and get on your knees.” I tense up in my bed. I haven’t had to do that before. NEVER. I’d always just lay there and take it like a good girl. It is safer for me that way. I let him do what he has to do and then it’s over.
I have obviously not obeyed him quickly enough, because I feel some of my hair tear clear from the roots as his large fist grabs a handful and pulls me upright and to my knees. “Ow, dad, stop.” I say to him, tears streaming my face.
A pain sears through my entire face, shaking my brain inside my skull as his hand lands across my right cheek “You” he bites out, clasping my cheeks in one of his painful grips “do as I tell you Abigail, you are mine. Your mother is not here because of you, now the least you can do is please me you stupid whore.” I am sniffling as my nose begins to bung up a little. I nod my head, just wanting to get this over and done with. I don’t like the pain I know will come from his boot, belt or hand if I don’t obey.
One of his hands unclasps his belt and slides it through the loops, the leather tail swiping against his dirty trousers. He shuffles his bottoms down his legs, releasing that disgusting piece of male anatomy I am sure would taint me forever. I don’t think I can possibly enjoy intimacy ever again.
He doesn’t prepare me for what happens next, he holds my nose so I am forced to open my mouth to draw oxygen in, and as I do he shoves himself inside the tiny expanse. “Now suck, use your tongue I want to feel you Abbi.” I want to scream at him, to tell him not to use my name; that was mine; I don’t need this memory tainting my name as well. I am already filth, poison; nobody is going to want me now.
I try to stop the vomit rising as he slides in and out of me, his penis on my tongue, dirty, filthy and disgusting. I want to bite down, hard, to try and remove it from him. He isn’t entitled to have one; in fact he isn’t entitled to live in my opinion. I hope soon, one of us will die so that I can be free of this torture.
I cry inside, I keep thinking that my mother and father must have loved me at one point. Surely there wasn’t this pure hate from the day I was born. There must have been a time when the three of us were cuddled watching TV, or taking walks.
I gag hard as he pushes in further than he has so far, hitting my tonsils and cutting my airway off. I push at his thighs with my tiny hands, trying to dislodge him. His hands bite into my wrists hard as he removes them from his legs and brings them behind my back, restraining them.
The next ten minutes is hell, pure and utter hell. I beg the ground to open up and swallow me whole. He is forcefully raping my mouth and throat, in and out, in and out, before I taste the most disgusting thing I think I ever could. His face contorts in pleasure as he releases himself in my mouth.
The second he is removes from within me, I drop to my front and vomit all over the dirty carpet. I can’t stop the repeated convulsing in my stomach, as it expels the tiny contents it has. I am crying hard, loud sobs erupting from within my chest, as my heart fights to find a way out of my constricting ribcage.
I lie back down when all I can bring up is a painful gas. I bring my cover to my head, covering my eyes. I am trying to blank out the living nightmare so I can just be in peace.
“I’m not done with you yet, you little slut.” My father’s deep voice sounds as he rips the covers from my body. “Turn over; I’m taking your arse. You say one word and I will hurt you Abigail.” God please no, please don’t do this to me. Help me somebody help! I shout inside, begging, pleading for any tiny relief from this continuous torment.
I roll over and bring myself to my knees; I prepare myself because I know this is going to hurt. Once again this is a place he has never penetrated, so I know the agony will be unbearable. I hope maybe I will black out and fall into a deep comatose sleep, where white sands and beautiful blue seas surround my toes.
He pulls my knickers down my legs, lining himself up and pushes inside me hard and fast. I scream at the top of my lungs, as I feel like my insides are being ripped apart. The pain is like nothing I have ever experienced before. I want to die, I need to die right this second because there is no way I will survive this.
He slams in and out, and I can’t take it anymore I have to beg him, try and grasp at any morality he has. “Dad, please, Dad, stop, it hurts too much. Please stop, stop. Please.” I scream aloud, my body thrashing trying to get away. My legs kick and my arms flay outwards. “Pleaseeeee” I shout once more.
I feel my father’s hand press the back of my head harshly; my face squishes into my duvet. The material smothers my nose and restricts the noises I make. I can’t breathe properly, and the pain in my backside is excruciating, like nothing I have ever felt before. I can feel my eyes fluttering back into their sockets as I begin to lose consciousness. All I can think as I take my last conscious breath is ‘I hope I don’t wake up’.
“Abbi.” I hear someone calling my name, my body being shaken in a different way to the way my father or I was moving it. “Abigail, sweetheart, wake up.” I force my eyes to open when I recognise the soft voice of Thomas.
When my eyes focus, I bring my legs into myself. I am still sat on the soft chair in the library. The book I was reading now lies on the floor haphazardly.
I begin to cry, loud. Howling cries as those memories once again plague my brain.
“Shhh, it’s okay sweetie. It’s going to be okay.” he tells me as he lifts me from the chair taking the seat himself and curling me up in his lap. One hand lies across my stomach holding and supporting me, whilst the second supports my head and plays with my hair.
“Take it away, please, just take it all away. I can’t do this anymore Tom. I can’t do it.” I cry, hoping that he might be able to open the fiery gates and let me out of hell.
“Yes you can, Abbi, because you are beautiful, smart, strong and incredible. Sweetheart you have to push through. You are going to have an incredible life here. Do you want to tell me what the nightmare was about?” he asks me sweetly.
I sit for an hour telling him everything I had suffered at the hands of my dad, and then on the streets. I know I have only known him for a day but there is just something about him, I saw it the second I met him. I can trust him, I know I can.
“Where is he now?” he asks me, I can see the venom in his eyes, even if his face remains calm and collected.
“He is in prison. He can’t hurt me anymore.” I tell him, relaxing a little in his hold.
“You need to get some help Abbi, professional help. You need to sort these issues out so you can move on sweetheart. I don’t want to see you this way again, it’s heartbreaking.”
I nod to him, wiping my tears away. “I know, I do want to and I will. But please Tom, don’t tell anyone about this. I couldn’t have them knowing how dirty and used I am.”
“Abigail, don’t you dare think that. He is not allowed to control the way you feel about yourself anymore, okay. I won’t tell anyone, it’s not my story to tell. But I hope one day you will trust Leighton enough to tell him. He’s an incredible guy and I know he’ll support you anyway he can.” he wipes another tear from my cheek lifts it to his lips and kisses it away.
“I hope so too. Thank you for sitting here with me, Thomas. It means a lot to know you care and that I can trust you.” I thank him, shimmying off his lap and bending to pick my book up. “I’m going to go to bed, goodnight Tom.” I tell him, as I walk from the room. I hope Leighton isn’t out in the halls, because I can guarantee the pain is written all over my face, and I don’t want anyone else seeing how weak I have become.
“Sweet dreams, sweetheart. Just know I’m always here to listen.” I nod once more before closing the door and taking the long walk to my room.
I make it into my bed unseen and unbothered. I curl myself up into the smallest ball I can and cry myself to sleep.
I don’t dream of the monster that night, just a black hole with red, orange and yellow flickers of flames at the bottom.
Chapter Ten
I have been here for exactly two months, to the day. I have grown considerably close to Thomas; he is pretty much my only support in regards to my past. Being the only one (out of the group of males I have come to love like my own family) to know about it gave us a bond nobody would sever. He is the one who has, for the last 62 days, taken me to and from my three times weekly therapy sessions. I am seeking professional help with the encouragement of Tom, and I am improving greatly. I haven’t had a nightmare in over three weeks and I am able to enjoy my time at the mansion more.
The feelings inside that I have for Leighton, the ones that had already developed within a day of living here, have done nothing but grow, massively. It is sad for me, it really is, I am like a needy, school girl with a crush on her teacher. I want him more than I’ve wanted anything in my life, and every time he walks past me stinking of that sexy sweat after working out, or coming home dressed in those smart work trousers and tight fitted shirt has me wanting to drop to my knees and beg at his feet for some kind of affection from him.
Leighton’s lack of advances towards me has me wondering if I had indeed imagined that night two months ago, if I am just some lame, stupid girl hoping it was real, that my mind hasn’t concocted the best sex of my entire life.
My appearance has become better. I’ve put on a stone and a half, my curves finally showing, my breasts have increased by three sizes, making me now a nice full D cup.
I feel good in myself, I feel sexy, and I feel beautiful. I only wish I had the man to appreciate it, to take advantage of the fantastic arse I was now sporting.
It’s a Friday evening, when I arrive home after a session with the good Doctor, I find Leighton in the lounge with Scott and Antonio. All three are obviously half slaughtered, drinking his expensive scotch, smoking some nasty smelling cigars.
“Celebrating something?” I ask them as I walk through and plonk my backside on the arm chair, relaxing into the softness, wishing I had my own scotch clasped in my hands.
I have become accustomed to his friends coming around. They are at the mansion most days and sometimes nights. His work has him very busy at the moment.
“That depends what view point you’re looking at it from.” He replies to me calmly, sipping at his scotch.
In the last month, Leighton has introduced me to some of his work; I wasn’t one to judge, but I sometimes felt absolutely terrified when he left for work, or had the boys over planning something clearly deranged.
He is what you might call, a hit man, a very illegal business to be associated with. He also owns his own company in which people can contract his staff to, ‘deal’ with ‘things’.
It’s none of my business; he has supplied me a roof over my head, food, a job, money, security and a place I can call home.
“Hit me?” I tell them.
“Let’s just say the guy that tried to shoot Antonio two months ago has been permanently disposed of, in my opinion I think it’s fucking fantastic, but well, his friends probably think it’s not really a reason to celebrate.” Thomas bursts out laughing at Leighton’s obvious statement.
“I’d say that’s definitely a good reason for you to celebrate but could this not make them retaliate worse. Why did they shoot at Antonio to begin with?” I know it’s none of my business, but I at least, have a right to know that these psychos aren’t going to bust through the door one day and hurt me.
“They could and probably will retaliate but you needn’t worry about that, and they shot at Ant because he beat one of the guys to near death, after finding his sister raped and beaten in a hospital.”
Anger boils inside of me, the worst thing in this world is taking a women or a child by force, and to the extent of needing a hospital, that makes my fists clench, my heart pound beneath my ribcage and has my blood pressure soaring.
“Well in that case give me a fucking gun and I’ll kill the fucker myself. I’m surprised he stopped at a beating, I would have gutted him like the animal he is,” I expel my rage in a quick succession of words.
Leighton doesn’t know about what happened when I was a child; I haven’t felt the need to tell him.
“Wow, someone’s a little fire cracker. Where have you been hiding her Leigh?” Scott’s voice sounds. He has become a little possessive of Leighton lately, getting snotty at me if I ever want to talk to him. It didn’t take a genius to work out the guy was in love with Leigh; Leighton is just too blind to see it. “You could use her on the team, Leigh.”