Living with a monster

“Fuck,” he growled, his skin slapping against mine. “You're fucking tight, princess. Your tight pussy is milking me dry. I love how your walls clench around my cock. Fuck. Let Daddy feel you move. Rotate your hips, darling.” 

I did as he asked, moaning when his dick hit the spot that made my toes curl, and my eyes rolled to the back of my head. I gripped the headboard when his hits became frantic, crying out his name, begging him to fuck me hard, to breed me so that I would be round with his baby. And he did. When we finally arrived, I saw stars, my soul temporarily leaving my body, for just a second. The feeling was strong, ripping through me like a vampire's claws removing the heart of its enemy. 

I fell back on the bed, spent, as daddy collapsed on me, telling me how much better I had gotten, and how he wouldn't mind dying while in my pussy.

I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair as I thought back to the first time I met Dad, back when I was running for dear life…

….

TWO MONTHS AGO

Mum's at it again. I hid in my closet and closed my eyes, biting hard on my lower lip and trying not to make a sound. She's drunk, and each time she got tipsy, she always took that out on me. She would use anything her hands could reach on me, hitting me until she felt better or until she collapsed. It was like this every time, and I had learned to hide from her, to keep away from her sight until she calmed down.  

One more month, I told myself. All I needed to do was endure this for a month more. After my exams, I will be free from her. I will write a university scholarship exam and get as far away from her as I can. When I'm gone, I will make sure I don't return to this place, a house that has been nothing but a freaking unending nightmare to me. 

For years, after my father's death, Mother had lost it. Whoring herself to men just for a quick fix of drugs and booze. It was the only thing on her mind. She didn't care about me, never did. She only had me because my father wanted a child. She loved him too much not to give him what he wanted. 

After I was born, she tried to be good to me, but that lasted for as long as my dad was alive. She hated me more, blaming me for his death. In a way, I was guilty, but who was to know that he would be involved in an accident while getting a birthday gift for me? She never ceased to tell me how I had murdered my father, how he would have still been alive if I had never been born. To her, I was the bitch who took her husband from her, and she would never forgive me. 

I heard the door open and her footsteps loudly stamping on my cracked floor. 

“Sweetie,” she called out to me. 

It wasn't a word of endearment. That was the name Dad gave me. It wasn't my first name, though. She only uses that to spite me. She calls me Sweetie when drunk and Nina when in her right senses. 

“Sweetie,” she called out again, her steps getting heavier and louder the nearer she got. “I know you're in here. Aren't you tired of playing hide-and-seek with me?” She cooed. 

I placed my palm over my lips so a sound wouldn't escape, waiting for her to go through the entire room and leave. 

“Sweetie.” She opened the closet. “Come out. Mummy wishes to play with you.” She rummaged in my closet, while I plastered my body against the wall, not daring to breathe. 

Dad had made this hidden compartment for me before he died. It was my favourite spot each time we played hide-and-seek, but Mum didn't know. Dad said it was our secret, and that had saved my arse more time than I could count.

Aside from days when I didn't have the luck to get in my room before she threw the first bottle, this place has been my go-to. 

Frustrated when she didn't find me, she closed the door and resumed searching the room for me, calling me and acting like we were playing.

When she didn't find me, she let out an exasperated sigh. “Don't let me find you, bitch! If I get my hands on you, I will rip you to fucking shreds!"

I heard the door open and close, but I didn't dare to step out until I was certain she was gone and not pretending to. Once, when I had hidden behind my curtains, she did that. She pretended to leave, and I came out, thinking she had gone, only to get the worst beating of my life. I stayed in bed for two days after being threatened by my mother. I knew she meant it when she said she would kill me if I ever told anyone about this. I had seen it in her eyes, the craziness she didn't try to hide. She wasn't lying. Someone like her wouldn't mind getting rid of me. 

I stayed in my closet all night and only sneaked out when my alarm blared. If Mother had been in the room, she would have yelled at the loud sound, but she wasn't. I climbed out, my muscles cramped and protesting with each step I took. 

My entire body hurts like hell. I had taken a beating from her two days ago and a push down the stairs just yesterday. Staying in that cramped space made the pains worse, but there was nothing I could do aside from enduring this until next month. 

I popped two pain relief tablets and jumped into the bathroom, eager to get out of the house before the bitch wakes up and decides she wishes to continue from where we stopped yesterday.

Why haven't I fought back?

I know you are dying to ask. While I am an adult—I became eighteen two months ago—I have the smallest frame from being malnourished and having a weak body system. I couldn't fight her even if I wanted and could only avoid her hits as much as I could while counting the days until my last exams.

I just hope I survive until then..