Here is chapter two! I've added some Scottish words in this chapter and chapter one. I hope people are actually reading this!

Without further ado, I give you chapter Two!

There are some Scottish translations at the bottom of the page.

All rights for characters go to: the amazing Jennifer Worth, the wonderful Heidi Thomas, and portrayal of character goes to the fantastic Laura Main.

WARNING! If ABUSE to kids or VIOLENCE or IMPLIED THEMES is a TRIGGER for you do NOT READ this fiction. This fiction is RATED T for now, but some may consider it to be RATED M. You have been WARNED.

CHAPTER TWO:

SMIRR HELPS IT TAE GRAW

{Rain Helps It To Grow}

"Shelagh, Constance. Ye'r late." Faither says coldly, a slightly chewed Henley sitting oddly out of his mouth. I could use a Henley right now. Anything that could shake off these nerves. He's my own father! I shouldn't be terrified of him, like I am. Sometimes, he randomly goes back to the man he used to be before Mither died. Only two weeks ago, he took me and Connie to get Spotted Dick Pudding from Isla's tea room, in town. As soon as we got home, he went back to the terrifying man that stands before me now.

"Oh, A'm sorry, Faither!" I apologise, body shaking, and nae from the sharp wind.

"Sorry? Ye'r sorry?" Faither chuckles, "Well, that just ain't good enough!" A hint of jest is in his booming voice. I cower slightly, trying to pull Connie further behind me, to protect her.

"Faither? When's Mither coming back? Shelagh won't tell me." The wee voice behind me asks. Oh na, Constance! Now ye'v done it. Faither glares at Connie, a sneer slowly curving up his brandy stained lips. His eyes seem to turn black, as he squats at Connie's level. Fire blazes, behind his blackened coal eyes.

"When's she coming back?" Faither's voice is venomous. He's like a snake, catching its prey. Connie nods to Faither's repetition, her grubby fingers fidgeting, almost nervously but nae quite.

"Well, wee Constance." Faither whispers, "I'm afraid to tell ye, that Mither ran away, because she ain't ne'er want to see yer ugly face again!" Faither roared, standing and looming over us. He gnarls and grins a toothy grin, with repulsive yellow teeth.

"Ye mingin' beast!" I scream, turning to Connie, "Go to Mrs Singleir, tell her I'll give her more milk, and that she is to take care of ye until I come pick ye up. Dinnae come back here under any circumstances! Now run!" I tell Connie. I spin her, with my hands on her shoulders, and give her a wee shove in the direction of Mrs Singleir's house. "Run! Constance, please ye have to run!"

Faither has stepped forward, and is standing close behind me. I can feel his warm breath licking my neck. "Shelagh." He exhales my name, with a cloud of hot air burning my neck. I feel his hand creep onto my arm. My eyes water as pain rips through my body. He twists my arm so painfully, I'm sure he must have pulled my shoulder right out of its socket. All I can see is black, as the pain sears through my arm, slowly crawling to other parts of my body.

"Ye will ne'er ever disobey me again." I nod shakily, " Where were ye last night?"

"C-connie, Constance had a n-nightmare. I couldn't leave her..she'd get-t suspicious.." I stutter, fear rattling through me, and consuming the previous pain that was there.

"Suspicious?" Faither hisses, his face next to mine.

"I dinnae want her to find out. She might t-tell someone." I mumble, trying weakly to pull from Faither's firm grasp. He left hand holds my bony arm, his large hands completely encompassing my upper right arm, holding it firmly behind me. His other hand is in my hair, raking through it with grubby fingers.

"She's ain't smart enough to do that!" Faither laughs, pulling me flush against him. He's so close I can smell him. The smell of Henley's mixed with some odd cologne, and a foul smell that I couldn't put a name to. Probably the smell of him not having bathed for several days. Urine, sweatiness and a generally unsanitary type of smell.

I feel sick, from the repellent man that I call my faither. I wish I'd followed Connie, as she escaped to 'safety'. But that would have been futile, as Faither only would have chased after us. In the back of my mind, I am happy that Connie is shielded slightly from this monster behind me. But in the very pit of my stomach, something that I can't understand is stirring. A feeling that tells me I shouldn't be here. That I shouldn't have to deal with this.

"Please, let me go." I plead, turning to face him, and instantly regretting it. He forces his mouth upon mine. So many times has this happened, without my consent, that A'm almost used to it. The first time it happened, I was nearly sick. I felt so nauseated by the horrible taste of brandy, Henley's and beer that had swirled around my mouth. That was only four months ago, two weeks after Mither's death.

"Come wi's, Isobel." Faither murmurs into my mouth, tugging me forcibly towards the house. Isobel. My Mither. I can hardly remember her apart from her shining blue eyes. I dream about those eyes. Deep understanding pools of shimmering royal blue, glimmering in the evening light, glints of beauty crossed with love gleaming within them.

"A'm Shelagh." I say, pulling my mouth away from his for only seconds, before he reunites them again. His lips move over mine, and I dinnae move. My lips are tight, holding a wall so he can't force his tongue into my mouth. Once he does that, he'll get lost, and there won't be any chance of escape.

"Don't be silly, Isobel, that's our daughters name." Faither mutters between vigorous kisses. By now, he has pulled me into the house. He slams the door, and uses his weight to manoeuvre me against the door. Then he shoves me, so that A'm trapped between him and the door. The knob digs into my lower rib, painfully, as Faither presses himself closer. His hands begin to wander over my body, squeezing and pinching as he goes.

"Staop! A'm yer daughter!" I gasp, pushing at his chest, attempting to stoap his current movements. He laughs and continues, ignoring my comment. "Faither, stoap! Please, A'm begging ye!" He pauses, and looks up at me. Confusion writes itself over his face, and he stares into my eyes.

"But...yer eyes, they're blue, and almost perfect azure. Only my Isobel has eyes like yers!" He whispers, softly tracing his finger over the skin under my eye. "And yer skin. Pale and soft, like a light sifted flour." His fingers slip over my cheeks, "Yer lips, a faint roseate." And his right thumb trails over my bottom lip.

"What about my hair, it's nae like Mither's. Mither had brown hair, like Connie. Mines golden brown, like grandmither's was." I murmur, looking him in the eye. His hazel eyes seem to be looking into my soul, as if searching for the evidence that A'm Mither, and not his daughter. His body is still currently pressed against mine.

"She-Shelagh?" Faither pulls back, a look of horror striking his features.

"Aye, Faither." I break softly, sucking in a breath of air and holding it, hoping, praying to The Lord that Faither will stoap.

Suddenly he leaps away from me, and jumps to the corner of the other side of the room. He's like a scared kitten, cowering over there.

"Oh, my wee Shelagh. What have I done? Ye deserve so much better than me as a Faither. Ye-ye must run. Next week, on my full day, run! Take the money from the pot in the kitchen and leave. Don't worry about me. Take Constance with ye. It's this other me, he's taking over. A'm going insane, and ye need to escape. Go to London. A'll forget A've said this, so na need to worry about that. Now, go and get Connie from Mrs Singleir. A'll be out for the rest of the evening." Faither stands, and staggers to the door, taking a pint of brandy with him. I stand, frozen at the door, as he stumbles towards me. "Ye'll need to move." I try to move my legs, but it's like they've become part of the floor. Faither puts the brandy done, and lifts me gently into his arms, treating me completely different than when he was violently kissing me before.

He helps me into the wooden seat in the kitchen, and then gives me a quick kiss on the forehead, before rushing out the door.

I sit there, staring at the table. Minutes pass before I can even manage to stand. I grab Faither's coat from the hook, and slip it over my thin frame. It's big enough to fit me and several friends, but it's warm and makes me feel safe. I trip out the door, into the cool night air, and trudge along the path towards Mrs Singleir's house, to collect Connie.

I hope she won't ask questions, because I won't be able to answer them. The tin of milk is heavy in my grip beneath the oversized sleeves of the coat. I paste a smile on my face as I reach Mrs Singleir house. I inhale deeply and knock on the wooden door, then wait for someone to open it.

"Oh, 'allo, Shelagh, me wee bairn! Connie's been a darlin', she's just through here." She bustles me into the kitchen happily chatting away. A'm happy, because this means I only have to mumble 'ayes' and nod when it is appropriate.

For now, I have na questions to answer. And I am 'safe'.

Scottish translation for those who need it.

A'll: I'll
A'm: I'm
A've: I've
Aye: yes
Bairn: baby
Dinnae: don't
Darlin': darling
Faither: father/daddy
Grandmither: grandmother
Migin' beast: horrible beast
Mither: mother
Na: no
Nae: not
Ne'er: never
Stoap: stop
Wee: little
Wi': with me
Ye: You
Ye'r: you're
Yer: your
Ye'v: you've

TBC...

I hope you all enjoyed it!

Please don't be scared to review if you have the time, feedback will help me write, and spur me on! Hint, hint. Thanks for reading!

STORY MESSAGE:

In my mind, Shelagh's father has Schizophrenia, which explains the double personality, I assume Shelagh's mother kept him in check, but now she's gone it's uncontrollable.