This is quite a bit different than anything i've ever written before, so go easy, I'm fragile! It has some pretty mature themes, so if you're of a delicate disposition then you should probably just keep pressing the back button frnatically until your computer explodes, its a kinder fate.
WARNING: This story includes neglect, child abuse, rape, and scenes of a very homosexual nature.
Feedback is very much appreciated, so please, don't be shy.
Age 6
A little girl in pink pyjama shorts and a white t-shirt with the sun on it sits at the top of the stairs, blonde wavy hair tangled and un-brushed as she watches the door, people have to be here soon, and then she won't have to be hungry anymore. But no-one comes and a few hours later the door is flung open, her daddy stumbles in, tie hanging loose under his collar, anger crudely finger-painted across his once happy and handsome features. As soon as he sees her he lurches up the stairs towards her, fingers clawing at the carpet to find leverage in his drunken stupor. She doesn't move, she doesn't understand why she would need to, he's her daddy, and he's all that she has. She doesn't expect the hand around her throat until it's there, lifting her above his head as she jerks wildly like a fish on a hook. For a second she is limp, worryingly still, but then she hits the floor with a thud that reverberates painfully through every part of her tiny frame. She thinks it's over but her father looks angrier than ever, his face a terrifying shade of puce, the sour smell of beer wafting towards her tearstained face.
"This is your fault." He hisses, spittle escaping his twisted mouth to speckle her face with his rage. "It's your fault you look like her, your fault she left." She thinks he must be right; after all, parents are always right aren't they? But she doesn't know how to fix it and she doesn't know what to say, so she just lets him hit her because she can't do anything else.
Age 8
All the kids call her "Skinny Kate" at school, she's tall and pretty and clever and nice, but her clothes are old and always dirty and she never has enough to eat, not with her dad spending it on alcohol. He was fired six months ago and spends his dole money getting drunk. Thick blue and red finger marks mar her forearms, the giant fingers overlapping on her too thin limbs. She only has one jumper and she's been wearing it for four days now. The other kids pick on her and she thinks everything must be her fault to cause so much anger in everyone around her. She hides in the school library at breaks and dinners, reading and dreaming about happy endings and princes rushing to the rescue. In her real dreams the princes morph into clones of her father, after a while the little girl gives up on the thought that anyone was ever coming to rescue her.
Age 10
She's the tallest in her class and the fastest, faster than all of the boys, but she still has no friends. The teachers have nothing but praise for her, she always pays attention and does all of her work, she doesn't see how she could do anything else; she has no friends to talk to. The man at the corner shop gives in and lets her have a paper route, well, three. She gets up two hours earlier than her dad on Mondays Wednesdays and Fridays; she spends all of her money on clothes and food and finally learns how to use the washing machine. She's so proud that she makes a cake using an old book from the library. This would make her daddy happy, wouldn't it? She knows enough now to try to avoid his fists. But she's still just ten years old and she trusts in the power of baked goods far too much. His face is blank when he stumbles into the almost forgotten kitchen in the search for his dearest punching bag, then his fists come flying out of nowhere, bruising her face and drawing blood.
"Stop it!" She screams and he stumbles back, eyes wide and mouth agape as sobriety clutches him in it cold sickly grip. "Stay away from me!" She screams and his hand clutches his mouth as he breaks down and cries, hugging the cracked tiles as he snivels. She totters unsteadily over to the cake and cuts herself a slice, pushing it between her swollen, cracked and bloody lips, she's sure it's the nicest thing she's ever tasted.
Age 15
Tarts, pies, cakes, soufflés, pastries, she loves them all. She makes them in the hour or so she has after coming home from school. Everyone thinks she's a massive nerd, she gets A's in all of her classes and she's not the stick thin or dirty child anymore. Her clothes aren't cool, they're cheap and simple, but they're clean and fit her well. No-one seems to question why she always covers her arms and legs, to the rest of the world she's a pretty girl who almost seems grown up. Every weekend she works in a bakery, the smell of fresh baked bread puts her at ease. But every night she has to go home, hiding the money she earns and preparing for the cruel beast she knows is waiting inside the man she used to love. She doesn't love him anymore. That man doesn't exist. She told him that once, a mistake she promised she would never repeat. That night she found out what the inside of a hospital was like.
Age 18
That little girl waiting at the top of the stairs is just a memory now; her father she hopes is just a demon from her past. Her first steps onto the college campus are terrifying, everyone else has parents bustling around them and she is alone, beautiful and broken but with hopes of rebuilding herself. She doesn't tell her friends how she pays for college, they don't bother to ask. They think she has a thriving social life, they think she parties most nights. But in reality she spends every day studying medicine and every night wrapped around a pole, showing herself off for strangers and hearing the familiar wolf-whistles.
The first time she sleeps with a boy it hurts, she cries into the dark and he mistakes her gasps for sounds of pleasure. After she gets back to her dorm she looks in the mirror and doesn't recognise herself, she wonders what her mother would think of her and vows that her life would be more than anyone expected, happier, more successful, the stranger in the mirror would be someone to be proud of.
Age 23
Against all odds her future looks bright, her classes are difficult but fascinating, she likes her teacher and thinks nothing of his stares, or the fact that his hand seems to settle on the small of her back. It's only when one day after class he confronts her than she realises something is wrong. His hands hurt her and though he doesn't look angry there is a sick emptiness to his eyes that is too familiar. She stares at him and she can't move and suddenly she's six years old again, she doesn't know what to do, she thought she had left this behind her. His hands are rough and bruising but she is frozen and scared. He doesn't stick to just hurting her, his hands are under her clothes, squeezing and stroking and she thinks she's going to be sick. She can feel him pressing against her and whispering in her ear.
"Do whatever I want you to do or I'll fail you and you'll never do anything." Tears streamed down her face and she's eight, dreaming of a better life. He forces her onto his desk, his lifeless piggy eyes greedily soaking in everything he had no right to take, his fingers raking at her clothes and ripping them from her. She cries and just wishes she had a mother so that maybe she'd have someone to talk to after this man rips her apart piece by piece.
She's laid out naked on his desk and she wants to run but she doesn't feel like she's ten, she feels like she's eighteen, he is the unwanted leering men that she needed to please to get paid and to have a future. He hurts more than her first time because she isn't ready and he doesn't care and she can feel him inside of her, forcing himself on her. Blood trickles down her thighs. It hurts so much she thinks of her father and wonders if he would protect her or say she deserved it.
Age 26
She feels whole again and although she's given up on happy endings she can feel the little spark of hope as she reads the letter from the medical examiner's office. She got the job. It's a good job, well paying; she'll be able to afford lots of things, a beautiful flat, pretty clothes, even a nice car. It doesn't seem real, it feels too good to be true, but this is what she's dreamed of for eleven years. She knows enough to know that things aren't always as they seem. She's so scared of hoping because it hurts too much when it gets ripped away from her.
Her first day is brilliant, these people don't know her past, they don't realise that she's so happy because finally people want to speak to her, she heard one of the doctors talking about how beautiful she was and felt like the grin plastered on her face would burst from her cheeks. It takes a few weeks for everyone to get used to her, but for the first time, she's the popular one, she's the girl that everyone wants to be friends with and always gets invited out for drinks.
For the first time in her life she can see herself as she really is, young, free and single with an impossibly bright future in a very good job. She doesn't know how she forged her way into this dreamland, but she knows it was worth every second she spent crying because of the men that used and hurt her.
Age 32
The woman in the mirror looks so much like her mother she can barely believe it's her. Dressed in a beautiful flowing navy silk gown she's dressed finer than she'd ever seen her mother. Her earrings look like teardrops, clear blue crystal that actually make her smile, they remind her that the only reason she's cried in the last year was because of a sad book or movie (or a particularly moving case). Even she can realise that she's rather stunning tonight and she's usually the last to admit it, but from this night on she's not only pretty, happy and wealthy, she's also powerful. She's about to attend a ball that was being thrown in her own honour. She's reached a stage in her career that she thought was impossible, she was becoming the new chief medical examiner, the first woman to ever hold that position in Philadelphia. She was also incredibly young, most were in at least their late forties when they made it into the big office, and needless to say it had caused quite a stir and quite a celebration.
The ball is beautiful, the champagne never stops flowing and laughter fills the beautiful hall that no doubt cost the mayor far too much, she dances with whoever asks and feels like she's flying as she twirls around the dance floor, laughing at a joke that was really too cheesy to be funny.
Everyone comments on how beautiful she looks and how hard she's worked to get where she is and how she truly, truly deserves this honour. And she does. But she's too humble to say, so she smiles widely and gets a little teary and thanks everyone sincerely, because this woman who they all see her as, this is the woman she's been trying to become, apparently she made the transition without even noticing.
Age 37
Kate Murphy is still beautiful and vibrant, but it's turned into a classy kind of beauty over the years, she's aged well and is often still approached by men who are far too young for her. She politely turns them all down, flattered but completely uninterested. She sees everyone around her getting married and having children and gradually her friends dwindle until none are left, there's no-one left to go drinking with after work, no-one that she'd care to associate with anyway.
It doesn't bother her, not having a man to tie her down, not having children nipping at her ankles, it really doesn't. The fact that it doesn't bother her is the only thing that bothers her, isn't it something she's supposed to want? A big house in the suburbs with a loving husband and 2.4 kids and a family pet. Isn't that what she'd been striving for? Normality. She tries to ignore her internal questions by throwing herself into work and forgetting about any kind of social life and she almost succeeds, until she's blindsided by a very startling fact.
She's never once had sex with a man and liked it, she's only ever done it twice, both of them during college, one in the first year that she had almost forgotten and one in her last that she would never want to remember. The first time she'd been willing but hated it and the second time... the second time she had definitely not been willing. The second time was still raw and painful, bleeding self hatred whenever it was inadvertently remembered.
These realisations come in strings, one leading another like handkerchiefs from a magician's sleeve. After the realisation about her incredibly dry sex life she has another, this one even more disconcerting than the last, she can't remember ever truly being aroused by a man.
Age 40
She thinks she must be considered an old maid by now, she's tried dating but it never really worked out for her, admittedly it came closer with women than men but they were always lacking something, some kind of challenge. They all seemed so submissive, she'd hated herself throughout her teen years for being weak and she finds it impossible to respect someone when they're too weak to stand up for themselves or something that they believe in.
She's been forty for a few months and apart from giving up on love nothing had really changed, her life is the same, she is wealthy but with no-one to spend it on. She is happy but with no-one to share it with. Every day she goes home to echoing loneliness and a beautiful but empty flat.
But maybe everything isn't the same, she still loves her work but it has become more difficult recently, more stressful, and slightly more... exhilarating? Every day her decisions are being questioned and sometimes outright ignored, by a woman who was more than she had ever been. This woman was infuriating; she tested her patience and sometimes went too far, a woman called Megan Hunt. She has striking red hair and everything about her is unforgettable, the way she walks, the way she smirks when she knows she's broken the rules, the way she ignores everything Kate says. Kate hasn't had a challenge in a long time and she's enjoying this challenge too much.
It's a few months before she learns enough about Megan to say that she truly knows her, she has already met her daughter when one day her ex-husband comes strolling into the office, cocky and arrogant in his suit with eyes filled to the brim with somewhat cold charisma. He reminds her of a shark, he reminds her of a challenge. If he made Megan happy for so many years surely he could do the same for her? Surely this was a man worthy of a smart powerful successful woman? She thinks so, for a while.
Until she realises that each touch only sends tingles through her because she thinks he must have touched Megan this way, every kiss gives her butterflies simply because she knows that these lips have touched Megan. This shadow of feeling isn't enough.
Age 42
It took Megan a while to forgive her for dating her ex and though it took a while, they're friends now, sort of. Their relationship is still strained because of the fact that Kate is her superior but they find an equal in each other. Neither of them had truly found someone who wouldn't look pathetic next to them before, it's a rare thing for women like them.
Kate doesn't want to ruin things with Megan, doesn't want to be mocked and jeered at, doesn't want to be the focus of malicious rumours and hurtful whispers behind her back. Kate doesn't want to be thrown back to being the lonely child who isn't good enough, so she keeps quiet and ignores all of the blaring signs in a hope that they'll go away. She ignores the fact that every time Megan brushes past her a wave of tingles breaks out over her skin, she ignores the fact that every time Megan brushes her hair behind her ear she wants to kiss her way down the pale skin of her neck. She ignores everything, because even though her loneliness is eating her alive, Megan is her only link left to happiness and she doesn't want to slip back into the numb boredom she had been trapped in before.
She finds herself dressing up more and more, subtly sexy while still maintaining her air of power. Eyes linger on her wherever she goes and she even finds Megan's following her across the room. The more desirable she is to others the angrier Megan seems to get at her, she avoids spending time with her and snaps at her at every opportunity, her nastiness just escalates Kate's plan and soon enough Megan can't stop staring. Instead of going for ever more revealing clothes she just touches Megan at every opportunity, hands brushing whenever she passes her equipment, brushing against her when passing, a hands on the small of the redheads back whenever she's standing next to her. And bit by bit, she sees the Megan losing the fight against her.
It happens in the break room on a Thursday morning, they're the only ones in the office so early and Kate can't resist licking the spoon from her tea provocatively and doesn't bother to turn around to see Megan's dumbstruck expression that she'd been seeing so often. Before she can even put the spoon down she can feel soft hands gripping her waist, pulling her against a set of curves she'd been admiring for years. Her hair is brushed over one shoulder, exposing her neck and making her feel vulnerable and decidedly less confident.
"You're mine, ok?" She hears being whispered in her ear "No-one else gets to look at you or touch you the way I do, I can't stand it anymore." Megan's voice sends shivers down her spine; her words are filled with equal parts annoyance and arousal, which makes Kate's mouth dry and another area decidedly not.
"I wouldn't dream of letting anyone else near me, I've been waiting for you for so long." Megan must realise how true the blonde's words are because at once she presses her lips, soft and warm and almost comforting on Kate's shoulder. And it's like when she was 32 years old, when she was dancing around a beautiful hall. It's like when she thought she was flying, but it's so much stronger. It validates what they've both been fighting and puts an end to all of those lonely nights in empty rooms.