Beatrice Prior's P.O.V.
"We're here, Dad! We're going to touch down soon! Into Chicago. Have you ever been to Chicago, father?" Caleb gushes, waking me up by smascking me literally uipside my head, and whisperiong in father's ear. Father grunts, and opens a sleepy eye. And it lands on me. i am looking ast him excitedly.
"Bea! Don't wake father up! Jeez. no one cares if you're excited. Thanks for waking both of us up, you-" Caleb says, acting annoyed. I gawk at him. Before I can retort, my father state:
"Caleb, lower your voice, and don't swear or say mean things about your sister."
"But-"
"We are on a plane, Caleb. No one wants to hear us arguing." He looks down at me.
"As for you, you will get a consequence for waking me up. I would haver been happy and content sleeping through the landing, Beatrice Edith Prior. Know that for next time, if there is a next time."
"but i didn't-:
"Enough. I don't care if you're lying about you not disturbing my sleep, but even if you somehow weren't the culprit, you're still getting a consequence. Understood?" We both nod, me acting placid ion the outside but really actually scared and frustrated on the inside.
"Beatrice, get in the car. Caleb and i can handle it!" we are on the side of the road, luckily not an interstate or a highway and only an equivalent of a dirt road back home (here, all roads are paved, even if they are little one-way roads that only one car can travel on at a time, back home, these kinds are not paved), and our brand new car has a flat tire. We aren't near any place except for a non-twenty-four hour gas station that is currently closed and thus is no use to us.
"Yes, sir." I say, and get back in the car.
"Alright! Here we are, Caleb, my boy!" I hear my father say. I open up my eyes, suddenly wide awake and excited, and obviously Caleb is too, as well look up the driveway leading to a two-floor house. The house has whitebrick siding and grey-slate shingles, ad the door is a white-oak door with a bolt-lock and a dead-lock that, luckily for us, is unlocked.
"Alright. Everyone up to bed. don't fight over rooms. The master bedroom is for me. We'll unpack in the morning. Go! Now! Up to bed! You'll be sleeping in your clothing, so what? You'll change when you wake-up.
"Get up, you stupid whore! It may not seem like 2:30 in the morning, but it is! Get your ass out of bed!" My father roars in my ear, making me wake up immediately, my heart pounding in my chest. I am scared to death, even though I know what happens after I wakeup each day: the first punishment is oral incest.
That goes on for forty-five minutes.
Then, it's anal incest. That, like every punishment, takes forty-five minutes as well.
Next, it's vaginal incest.
After I get home from school, it's belting, which is whipping me with a belt.
Then, it's beating.
Second to last is drowning. He does that by holding me underwater until I stop flailing from lack of oxygen. I always flail because I don't want him to think I'm still full of a little air when I'm not.
Finally, I'm belted again.
Fun-filled days, right?
I won't gross you out with the incest. But let me tell you this: I've been getting raped since I was six years old. And it never gets any less painful. In fact, since it's every day and thus my body can't heal itself, it hurts more and more every day, even the oral incest because his naughty-part (yes, that is what I call it. But who blames someone when they go into kindergarten and already know the word 'incest', but don't know how to count to twenty?) seems to be getting bigger each time and it is really not fun when you're forced to, lets use big-girl words for this, deep-throat it and have to do so non-stop for forty-five minutes.
I sincerely think raping me is his excersise routine for every day. I mean, most fathers would have a paunch at his age because his metabolism has slown down considerably, but some guys, like my father, who excersise each day or almost every day, don't have a paunch becauase exercise speeds up your metabolism.
Anyhow, school usually started at 7:30 AM in my old home town that I've moved from recently. So why not here? And it ends at 2:00 PM. And it took ten minutes to walk to school and to walk from school. So tha meant I had approximately eight hours of freedom. But it wasn't freedom because I was viciously bullied at school. Every hallway evey classroom, every lunch period whemn I hid out in the library because I only eat on Sundays, uit was horrible. But it'll happen again.
But what am I suppoased to do? New arrivals to Chicago's school districts are given two weeks to get registered and go to their first day of school before they send someone from the school district you've transferred into to investigate why you are not in school yet. So that means two weeks of...what?
Apparently that means two weeks of me hauling my ass all over the house, carrying - not dragging - furniture that I can and can't lift (but somehow manage to in order to avoid an unscheduled punishment) and placing things and straining every single one of my muscles (although, quite frankly, only eating on Sundays since age four years to present day, sixteen years old, sort of takes away all muscle and fat in your body that you don't necessarily use all the time twenty-four/seven), which is most likely not good and the reason as to why I feel like my arms and legs are just blown into fragments by the end of two weeks.
