A/N: This chapter deals with sexual abuse.
…
Lentils and carrots are all we have. Father spends most of our money at the tavern, getting himself drunk night by night. I grow some herbs in the garden behind the cabin, but even they don't turn a meager stew into a better meal.
"A far too thin soup again" Father complains as he stares into the steaming pot I place on the table. Nevertheless, he fills his bowl to the top and greedily shovels the warm food into his mouth. He doesn't even notice that there is hardly anything left for me.
I am still hungry when I go to sleep, just as usually. Lying on my bed, I scroll through the book Mom got for me to teach me how to read. She was never able to properly do so, but after she died I picked up a lot on my own. All these pages tell of Oz, of its provinces and inhabitants. I often dream of seeing more than this cabin, the forest, and the village. I pause at a picture showing a city that is glowing emerald green in the late evening. Perhaps one day I will really see it. Clinging to this spark of hope, I finally extinguish the candle that gives me flickering light.
Half asleep, I hear Father coming home from the tavern. His footsteps on the creaking floorboards approach me. He stops beside my bed and I feel him looking at me, lately he got used to do so. This time, however, he does not turn away to go to sleep. I keep my eyes closed as he joins me under the old wool blanket. The acrid smell of alcohol rises to my nose. His heavy body presses against mine, causing me to slide away from him. He grabs me by the wrist.
"Do you think I won't notice you pretending to be asleep?" he murmurs close to my ear. "You know what happens if you fight me."
Resigned, I try not to move. If I disobey him, he will beat me. He presses himself against me from behind again and I resist the urge to jump out of the bed. His hands greedily seize my breasts, then one of them grabs between my legs. I feel his hot breath on the back of my neck. I just lie there, unable to move, as if my body was nothing more than a manikin.
"You've grown into a woman", he mumbles in a tone that sends shivers down my spine.
I don't know much about how adults treat each other when they're alone, but even I understand that a father should never touch his daughter like this. Even though I'm not little anymore, I am still his child. I am sixteen.