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Footsteps and the clink clink of a belt buckle come to you in the darkness. Your breath catches and your hand under your pillow touches cold metal. You pull the covers up tighter to your chin and fake being asleep.
Clink. Clink.
Please God, No. You open one eye and peek at the door.
Silence.
He didn't go away. He won't until he uses it. He never brings it without using it. You wish he'd run in and get it over with, but he won't. He loves this part of the game.
You're wearing three pairs of pants and four shirts under your nightgown, but you know it's still going to hurt. How long will he make you wait this time? You stare at the crack in the door and think you see him glaring back at you, so you shut your eyes. Chills ripple up and down your spine.
The door creaks open and his footsteps come closer, stopping next to your bed. You feel his eyes on you, going up and down your body like two slimy hands, then the sound of his zipper.
"You can't fool me," he growls. "I know you're awake."
He pulls the covers from you and you roll onto your stomach, curling into a ball to protect yourself.
“Open up for Daddy like a little flower,” he says.
The smell of alcohol sickens you. You curl up tighter, then it comes.
Thwack! Pain flashes across your backside, stinging. "No, Daddy," you whisper. "No." You grit your teeth and try not to cry. The buckle comes down again. Thwack!
“You can’t hold out on me, you little bitch.”
You bury your head in your arms and feel hot tears as the angry buckle bites into you, its frenzy increasing as Daddy punctuates his words with each strike.
"How," Whack "many times", Whack, "have I told you?" Whack. "Don't ever," Whack, "disobey me." Whack.
Your body jerks each time, jolted by electric pain. You clench your teeth harder, but the cries still escape, then you feel warmth spreading down your thighs. The final humiliation.
No sound but your sobs filling the room.
"Don't you know Daddy loves you?" His voice sounds like his mouth is full of syrup. You push your face into the pillow and your body squeezes tighter in anticipation of his touch. It makes you feel dirty.
"You don't think I like beating you, do you?" he whispers. Clammy, trembling hands touch your arms, then travel slowly down your back, lingering on your burning backside, then his hot, wet whiskey lips caress the back of your neck, wracking you with shivers. "I love you," he says softly.
You turn toward him and your hand slides over the metal under your pillow. You pull it out, pressing it to the side of Daddy's head. His eyes widen and his mouth drops.
"I love you too, Daddy."
You pull the trigger with both hands and your world explodes as the gun jumps—again and again. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Each thunderclap fills your ears and the acrid bite of gunpowder burns your nostrils. Daddy's blood spills on your bedspread when he falls on top of you, surprise frozen on his face.
Click. Click. Click. You keep squeezing. The weight of his body presses on you while his warm blood soaks through the sheets.
You run out into the backyard. Snow is falling. You take the gun and hide it under the back porch, then go inside to wait.
The police find you sitting in the front room, your face and nightgown splotched red. They find Daddy in your bedroom and want to know what happened. They ask questions, but you don't answer. First the police station, then the hospitals. More police. Psychiatrists. Courts. Months of the same people. Same places. Same questions. Same answers.
None.
Then one day a familiar face. Uncle Billy! You smile and run to his outstretched arms. He catches you and twirls you around. A flood of warm memories come rushing back. You, Daddy, and Uncle Billy. Before Mommy died. Before the drinking. Uncle Billy's house at Christmas. New toys. Clothes.
"Hi, honey. You want to get out of this place and come live with me in your own room?"
On the way out of town, he stops at your old house. "No, Honey, you don't have to go in,” he says. “I just want to get some of your things."
But you want to go. He lets you.
Soon you’re making the long drive to Uncle Billy's. When you get there you're delighted to find your own room decorated in your favorite colors. Your heart fills with happiness as you pull the down comforter up to your chin. Contented, you begin drifting off to sleep when you hear footsteps and the clink clink of a belt buckle coming to you in the darkness. Your hand touches cold metal under your pillow.
