Daddy

****Trigger warning...this story contains graphic depiction of sexual abuse and torture read it at your own risk.*****

Daddy
By: George Gonzalez

I looked back at my dad as he finished, backed away from me, and pulled on his pants. His face was red and drenched in sweat, his eyes bloodshot and the blood, that had recently been as common an asset under his nose as the Heineken in his left hand, had already begun to dry and cake beneath his nose.

I slowly pulled up my underwear, the blood there pooling around my ankles, and made my way to the bathroom when he grabbed my arm, swung me around, and looked deep within my eyes almost as if trying to read the very secrets of my tarnished soul.

“Why didn’t you scream this time? You know the rules boy, once a week you gotta scream…or else.” The stench of liquor and long smoked cigarettes stung at my nostrils but I didn’t flinch and inch.

What I should have said is: “Daddy, three years ago my ass had been torn beyond repair, I feel nothing there at all. I shit my pants at random points in the day because I can’t feel it as it comes out. I embarrass myself when I fart in the middle of class because it’s hard to hold something in when you don’t know it’s there. I can’t scream without a reason.”

Instead what I said was: "I'm sorry Daddy. I just can't. I'll try harder next time."

“Well maybe your brother can give you something to scream about you ungrateful little whore. I think I might just go and say goodnight to him.”

And at those words my heart chilled and brain froze as if the very words had shot nitroglycerin into my bloodstream and forced it throughout my body.

“No Daddy, please don’t! It was his turn yesterday; he’s only 4 he can’t take much more during a week. Please just do me again, I promise I’ll scream this time, I’ll do anything you want just leave him alone.”

But I was no longer talking to anybody for halfway through my statement he had walked out of my room. I could hear his hollow footsteps as they made themselves down the hall to my brother’s room.

My heart ramming against my chest, my hands cold and sweaty, and my eyes brimming with tears I listened carefully, helplessly, as he opened the door and called to my brother.

“Son just thought I’d come to say goodnight.”

“No Daddy, I did it yesterday not again please! It hurts Daddy, oh it hurts not tonight please not tonight!”

But I already knew that it was going to happen. When Daddy wanted something, Daddy got it. No question.

“Son take off your pants like a good little boy now.”

“NO PLEASE PLEASE NOT TONIGHT DADDY PLEASE! I’ll be good tomorrow I promise I’ll always be good forever just please I wanna sleep!”

I could hear the tears in his voice, the tears that were falling down his cheeks and tearing at his heart. I could hear the fear that was suffocating him, clutching his lungs in a death grip and refusing to let go. I cried silently into my pillow. I could do no more.

“I will not ask you again you little shit take off those pants!”

“NO DADDY, NO! IT HURTS; IT HURTS OH GOD IT HURTS SO MUCH. NOT TONIGHT PLEASE DADDY GO TO SLEEP JUST LEAVE PLEASE.”

I could no longer breathe; my heart seemed to have grown too big to fit in my chest. It stretched up to my throat and choked my every breath. It stretched to my stomach compressing it into a little tiny ball filled with pain. I let out gasp after gasp of fear, screams tearing at my throat, anger growing and boiling in the little pit which was my stomach.

I bit my lip until it bled, until the screams would subside and then ran to the end of my room. I grabbed a switchblade out of my desk, pulled down my sleeves, and sliced it across the bottom of my wrist. The pain was excruciating and quick, and oh how I savored that feeling. Suddenly all other voices were gone, I was all alone in my little world of pain and nothing mattered. But the bliss was only temporary.

Faintly in the darkness I heard Daddy say, “DAMMIT YOU LITTLE FUCK PULL DOWN THOSE PANTS BEFORE I CUT YOU AGAIN! YOU WANNA LOSE ANY MORE FINGERS BITCH, OR SHOULD I CUT OFF THE REST OF YOUR DICK!?”

And to this there was no response, but of course there never was. Because when Daddy said he would cut them, he meant it.

Faintly from the end of the hall came the sound of bedsprings. I could just imagine my brother pulling down his pants as Daddy got behind him and did the same. Just imagine as my little 4 yr. old brother bent over and waited, tears streaming down his cheeks, small whimpers escaping his throat, waiting in fear for it to begin.

Hopefully this time it would be done quickly.

“Daddy, please not too hard, I don’t want to bleed. Softly, please just this once not too hard.”

Nothing for a few seconds, just silence as it stretches ever so often into nothingness. I couldn’t take the pain that was eating at my heart, that anticipation of the agony. I slashed my wrist once more, taking a trip to a place where things weren’t so fucked up.

And then from the end of the hall I heard a scream. The bed springs were screeching without a second’s delay but these I only vaguely realized.

It was the scream that told me everything I needed to know.

My heart ached and pounded against my chest and I suddenly grabbed the knife and stabbed it into my arm. It pierced through right before my elbow and I let out a scream that drowned out all others.

The blood came quickly and profusely, covering anything and everything in sight. I could not move my hand; it felt pinned in thin air, never to be removed again. Vaguely I could hear my sister crying in her crib next door to my room. I swiftly pulled out the knife and rummaged in the closet until I found a shirt. Ripping it into pieces, I was able to make a tourniquet for myself and quickly tied it around my arm.

Amongst the bed creaks and screams I heard my dad scream, “BOY SHUT THAT LITTLE BTICH UP!”

I slowly pulled my sleeves down and walked towards my door. My brother was still screaming and whimpering, the sound tearing through my heart, clenching my stomach in pains of anger.

I opened my door.

The noise was amplified by a million, the creaks now being forced through my ears, the screams cutting through my mind. I didn’t want to turn to the left, I didn’t want to see what I already knew was there. But I couldn’t help it, my heart went out to my brother and the least I could do was look at him.

Slowly I turned around to be greeted with the sight of my brother’s door wide open. The hall light fed into the room allowing me the grand view into the darkness.

There was my brother, bent over, his shirt tossed over his head, tears running down his face and into his gaping mouth as he screamed and screamed and sobbed in agony. And behind him was Daddy, thrusting forward hard and fast, gasping in regular intervals, his face pulled into a cynical snarl. Blood was once again flowing freely from his nose and I could vaguely see blood falling between my brother’s legs.

He looked at me with hope, misery, and desperation painting his bright red face. Through tears and spit he screamed, “BROTHER! PLEASE HELP ME OH PLEASE. IT HURTS IT HURTS SO MUCH GET MOMMY PLEASE GET MOMMY!”

But there was nothing I could do, mommy was visiting her parents as she did every weekend, and right now Daddy was god. I cried silently, turned around and moved to walk down the hall to my 14 month old sister’s room when he cried, “NO DON’T LEAVE ME YOU HAVE TO HELP! THERE’S NOONE ELSE, NOONE CARES BUT YOU HAVE TO, PLEASE BROTHER HELP! IT HURTS I WANNA DIE IT HURTS! OH PLEASE…OH GOD PLEASE HELP!”

I let out a whimper, shook my head, and started walking. I left the screams behind me and entered brand new ones as I reached my sister’s room. There she was, bawling into the darkness, her little fists clenched in rage, her face a bright purple from the extent of her screams. I stared down at her, screaming and screaming into the darkness waiting for someone to come and make it all better.

I thought of the moment when she would turn three, when mommy would fit her into little dresses and fix her hair to look cute. The way Daddy would look at her, the way he would imagine himself in her. How long would it take before she’d have her own turn of the week?

How long would it take before these screams were that of pain, misery and despair?

Standing there, blood running down my legs in little rivers, steadily spilling out of my underwear, I realized what I had to do.

Slowly I turned towards the coffee table to the right of the crib, against the far window.

Where I knew Daddy’s pistol was.

“SHUT THAT LITTLE WHORE UP NOW!!! DON’T MAKE ME CUT YA BOY!”

I opened a drawer behind the table and grabbed the gun. I played with its smooth surface and became accustomed to the grip. The gun and I were now one, no longer separate beings but one breathing, thinking entity. I’d never let it go. It was the only thing that belonged to me, dignity and safety a mere illusion that left me when I was three, a full seven years ago.

I turned towards the door and walked out into the hall.

“DIDN’T I TELL YOU TO SHUT HER UP!? GET THAT SLUT QUIET NOW!”

But I was no longer afraid; Daddy was only god over me. But I was no longer here, I had died the second the gun had touched my hand. And this new being, this new creature that had taken over my body wasn’t afraid of shit.

A smile crossed my face as I moved towards the open door. My brother had stopped screaming, his throat probably too sore to continue, he merely lay there while Daddy thrust ever harder.

“SCREAM YA LITTLE ASS SCREAM!”

And as I finally reached door, the gun hidden behind my back, he looked up at me and said, “THAT’S IT YOU WANNA BE A LITTLE HARDASS, ITS YOU NEXT JUST LET ME FINISH WITH YOUR BROTHER YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE…”

“DADDY SHUT THE FUCK UP!” I screamed tearing across his statement.

His eyes grew wide, his snarl faltered for just a second and his thrusting became slower. I savored this moment, never before had I seen this come over him, never before had I seen him afraid. But a moment was all it was for the next second his snarl was back, worse then before giving him the look of a harelip, and he thrust forward with all his might making my brother scream like I had never heard him scream before. The sound shattered my heart, but luckily I wasn’t in charge. This creature was.

His mouth opened into what looked to me like another fantastic threat. But I was done with threats; I pulled out the gun, watching as the light danced across the muzzle with a great delight that gave me an erection I had before feared I would never have the opportunity to feel.

Daddy’s mouth opened in shock and he made to pull out his cock and run, but I wouldn’t let him. I pointed the gun at his head and pulled the trigger. The recoil was more then I expected and I screamed as my knife wound opened spilling out blood.

The bullet struck Daddy on his right shoulder and he fell to the floor with a scream. I ran over to him, only to find him crying, holding his bleeding shoulder where I could clearly see a giant hole. Bone was peeking out at an odd angle that only made my erection get harder. His pain was my delight.

His pants were down around his ankles and his erection was clearly visible, pointing up as if threatening to tell on me. Anger struck me like a blow in the stomach at the sight of it, that disgusting weapon of mass proportions. Bush was looking for such weapons, and I had found it.

I pointed my gun and shot it, watching as it exploded out wards, blood spouting like some magical fountain. The gun had ripped through the center and now it lay there, ripped apart on the right side and hanging against his thigh by a single piece of skin.

Daddy screamed once again, screamed until I felt his throat would certainly explode, screamed and cried and sobbed into the darkness, but the darkness was deaf to his misery as it often was when listening to the screams of my brother and I.

“BROTHER STOP, YOU'RE KILLING HIM YOUR KILLING DADDY! PLEASE STOP!” screamed my brother as he looked down at Daddy.

A look of terror was in his face as he stared at me; that look of admiration gone and never to be seen again. It ate at my heart to know that my brother thought me a monster, but at this moment what I felt didn’t matter; the creature was still running things.

I looked back at Daddy as he screamed evermore, his hand clutching the remains of his erection, and pointed the gun at his head. This time I wouldn’t miss.

“Goodbye Daddy,” I said with a maniacal smile that would have made me piss my pants had there been a mirror.

“NO,” screamed my brother and jumped in front of my shot, but I noticed him to late.

I pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit his right eye and it exploded in a shower of blood and brains. He struck the ground beside my father and lay there, spasming uncontrollably, blood coming out of his mouth, nose and ears. Black fluid was steadily seeping out of his eye.

And then he stopped.

I felt numb all over, my shattered heart not allowing for a blow like this to be felt. Not a tear was spilled, but I didn’t need tears. My stomach clenched in pain and I threw my hands in the air, screamed, and fell to my knees.

“OH MY GOD! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!? YOU KILLED HIM YOU STUPID BITCH, YOU KILLED HIM!” Daddy screamed. He turned to face my brother, stroked his cheek with his bloody hand and kissed his forehead.

And now the tears came, flowing freely down my cheeks, what had I done? My only relief from this shit hole was dead…by my hands. The creature had finally gone too far. I was a murderer.

“Why…oh god why…?” I heard Daddy say through a throat full of sobs and suddenly the anger came back. Because I knew why, I knew why my brother was laying dead before me. The Grim Reaper wasn’t always right with his decisions, he meant to take out someone else but years upon years had taken from his aim. The real target lay next to my brother.

And this week it was his turn.

I stood back up, though my legs were wobbling beneath me and waves of dizziness threatened to push me down again. I looked down at Daddy, into his tearing eyes and felt nothing.

I pointed the gun and pulled the trigger.

The bullet went in the center of his forehead. His head rocked back and struck the floor cracking his skull instantly. Blood seeped out and pooled around his head and shoulders. It was all over. And yet the baby was still crying.

I opened the chamber to my gun and saw that I had two bullets left. Just enough. I turned and made my way down the hall towards her room to put her to sleep and as I did I felt no remorse, no guilt.

Because I know that if Daddy had lived, next week it would have been my turn again.
October 8, 2005
Grand Prairie, TX