However, she didn't move. How could she, it could only be him, her dearest father who has a depraved way of expressing love?
But he was early today which could mean one thing, warm milk. Her mother must have been drugged, again. She thought about killing him.
She didn't care if she had to spend the rest of her horrible life in prison. But she knew she couldn't, somehow she didn't have it in her. She could only dream of seeing the blood slowly gather around his lifeless body.
He turned her over and mounted her. He heaved slowly. She gave up struggling a long time ago. This was now her life. Her mother had neglected all her warnings. He is the best thing that ever happened to her. In my case, he is The Nightmare.
She turned her head to find his face, she stared into his eyes probably deep into his soul. How could a father do this to his own child? It was the first time she ever looked him straight in the eye. Her eyes teared up. He stopped and slowly dismounted. The discomfort was obvious, the expression on his face said it all and besides, he hadn't finished what he came for. She remembered nights he would hold her down just to reach climax. He sat down beside her. She could see he had something to say but no words came out. She sat quietly watching him ponder. In the end, all he could mutter was goodnight. What?! She didn't even get a kiss on the forehead.
It was one thing to be a slave in her own father's house but she knew he was worse off, a slave to a mere emotion, his own perverted lust.
Written by Deborah Endonyan
Deborah is a trainee pharmacist and aspiring writer. For more posts from her check out her fantastic blog Genesis.
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