Disclaimer: Don't own the characters... just playing/destroying with them

Thank you so much MC NEW YORK for the comments and advice and for adding this story your faves already and thank you SGBS4L adding the story to the alert list. Thank you!

Warning: deals with child abuse and oh... the angst throughout this story will not be done he healthy doses...

A/N: Thanks for reading. Please take the time to let me know what you think because it encourages me to continue with the story and leave me constructive critism because it could help me improve as a writer, which is always important and I do check out stories written by those who leave me feedback and will will leave comments on them... This is the last part of 'Daddy's Girl' and then the next chapter will go back to the crimescene. That will be up on Wednesday...

L.P.&.U

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Since I'd been raised in a Catholic household, I was desperately looking forward to my first Holy Communion. It was a ray of light in my darkness. I could become clean and get rid of any dirt. My mother had saved to buy a lovely white dress. I could dress up in my dress wand take the body and blood of Jesus Christ for the first time. One day of joy, to be the centre of attention for once. But I wasn't even aloud that tiny reprieve.

The day before my first Communion, one of the boys went further than he had ever done before. This time he held me down and seemed to be pushing himself inside me. He was so much bigger than me and I felt he was going to smother me. Now I know that the word for what he did to me was rape but back then I couldn't even begin to describe or understand what he had done. I just knew it was wrong and the pain was worse than anything my father had done.

The next morning, all dressed up in my white dress and veil, I remember everyone saying how pretty and nice I looked. But I did not feel pretty and nice; I felt dirty and soiled. My dress was white but my body underneath was coal black, both metaphorically and literally. I was in agony from what the boy had done to me. I just hurt to walk but I couldn't let on why I was shuffling. I was seven years old and all I wanted to do that day was cry. And I thought God knew. God had to know because he knew everything.

It was supposed to be the best day of my life but instead of feeling happy I was anything but in a state of grace. I hated myself and was convinced that I did not deserve those beautiful snow-white clothes. My mother had to drag me down the road to the church. She kept asking me what was the matter with me but I told her there was nothing wrong.

I looked up at her and knew she was proud of her little girl, beautifully turned out. My mom wanted me to be happy on this special day and she became frustrated with my attitude. For her, too, it should have been one bright day in years of darkness. But there was far too much badness going on.

When the priest put the piece of bread on my tongue, I first of all stuck it to the roof of my mouth, as part of me was terrified I might destroy it. Another part of me was hoping it would make me clean again but I didn't feel any different as I walked back down the aisle, keeping my eyes to the ground, burning inside with shame. I wanted to be anywhere but that church. I felt isolated, different and unholy.

A few days after the ceremony, my father started to put me in a shed at the end of the garden all night and would only be taken back in to the house after he had gone to work in the morning. I was terrified of the dark and jumped at every rustle of the trees. I was also freezing and I cried at the thought of the warmth of my house. I curled up in a corner and our dog Molly came in and laid down my feet, keeping them warm. When I cried she came up from my feet and lay beside me. I put my arm around her and fell asleep. Another night I got so cold, I got in to her box and the two of us curled up together for the night. I felt she knew what was going on and she was minding me. The only food I got was from Nick. He would sneak a bit of bread and a mug of tea through the broken window of the shed before he left to do his early mornings work of collecting litter off the bay.

When I became ill, my father let me come back in. It felt like heaven but I didn't know that I would be spending more nights in the shed that I would in my own house.

One night, whilst I was in the house, I called for Molly and she never came. I went out in to the garden and called for her again but she didn't come running. I then heard the sound of her whining and I found her shivering and in a terrible state. I picked her up and carried her back in to the kitchen. My mother came in and got very upset, as she knew our dog was dying. When my father came in, he told us roughly that it was just a dog and there would be no special treatment for a dog in this house. My heart sank but I knew I would get a beating if I spoke up. He was a cruel and evil man who had no mercy in any of his bones. As soon as my father had left to go for his drink, my mother defiantly lit the fire and warmed some milk for Molly. My heart was broken at the sight of my little dog that had looked after me and was now old and sick. Later that day Molly died. I was distraught for weeks after Molly's death. I had no idea what death meant except that Molly would never be coming back. I cried for her and myself as I wondered who would look after me if I ever went in to the shed again. I hated my father. I had never suffered a loss and I felt angry.

The winter came and my father must have though long and hard what to do with me. He stopped putting me in the shed and he would make me sit on a big sliver milk churn in the back garden. I was frozen to the bone and frightened and when the lights went out in the house I felt alone and sad, especially as I no longer had Molly to protect me.

March came andit would bringthe final occasion that my father beat me. I though I was going to die that day. Of all the times he beat me, this one sticks out the most. My mother was a church and I don't know where my brothers were but I was alone with him. Out in the back yard, he hit me with his fists like I was a punch bag. I was aching and in dreadful pain. I thought he would never stop. I wriggled to get away but he was too strong. When I dared to look at him, his eyes were ablaze and sweat was popping out of his forehead and there was froth around his mouth. I could no longer stay quiet and started to scream for mercy but he was deaf to it. He rained blow after blow and everything was burning in pain. He lifted me up from the ground by my hair and I felt my scalp coming away from my head. He spat in my face and dropped me on the ground and walked away. I lay in heap until I heard those steep-tipped boots fading in to the distance. Then I tried to get up but even the slightest movement made me scream out in pain. I lay there paralysed for hours.

It got dark and I saw the lights go on in the house. My face was caked in blood and my legs arms were raw with cuts and throbbing with bruising. I had to stop crying because the salt from my tears stung at my wounds. I could hardly breathe and this made me panic, which made my back on side hurt even more. I remember my mother crying and pleading with him to let her bring me in but he refused, telling her I could go to hell. I remember watching my mother watching me as washed the dishes. By then I was numb with the cold and I began to feel very drowsy. I thought this was it, I'm dying.

I managed to put my lacerated hands together and I preyed to God to forgive my sins, to even forgive my father for what he had done to me. I preyed to God to take me quickly and without much pain. But then an awful thought struck me: what if I had not done enough penance. I would end up in hell. I quaked with fear and started to mutter that I didn't want to die. I so gripped with panic.

I heard the front door slam. I knew he was on his way to the bar and my sobbing mother came rushing towards me. She got so upset I felt guilty for making her so distressed. I told her to go back in but she helped me up and washed and dressed my cuts, causing me to scream out in pain. She later put me to bed but she was still sobbing. When I woke up the following morning, there was an overwhelming silence. I tugged myself out of bed, grasping my rag doll, Lou. I crept in to my Mother's bedroom knowing that my father would be at work by now. I still aching, but thankfully nothing had been broken last night. I tried to push open the door but it was stuck and heavy. I could hear my mother sobbing and choking so I pushed harder. The cream walls were covered in red dots, as if someone had flickered them red paint. The smell of blood was everywhere.My poor loving mother was being slowly crushed by the body of my cruel father but I couldn't understand was he wasn't moving. Blood was seeping out of him, his eyes were glassy and I remember trying to push him off. After several shoves he slid off and my mother's white cotton night gown was soaked in blood. She stayed still, limp andtrembling but a moan came out of her throat. Her nightgown was soaked with blood and dry and stiff with it. The top of the nightdress was ripped open and her breasts were exposed but were stained in blood. The side of her nightdress was also ripped up the side and didn't stop splitting until it reached hip. She saw me looking at her flesh and she covered herself up. Her golden hair seemed to be changing in to a violent red and there were freckles of red on her face. There was dried blood on her hands and arms , it covered her like a dark ruby red map. The tears washed away the blood on her face and turned and vomited lightly, pain locking around her ribs She was shivering and on the verge of screaming but instead she disolved in to sobs. I should have comforted her but Iran to my bed and buried myself under the covers.

I was taken away by woman whose name I can't remember but I didn't let go of her hand. I also had my rag doll on my hip. I remember hearing the whispers and all the people watching. I never say my brothers again after that day for many years. Instead of going in to 'care' straight away I went to live with my father's brother. He owned a farm and two weeks later, while I was playing in the yard with my cousins, he called my name and he and a nun were walking towards me. I could hardly see him but I heard him say, "Come on, you are going to the beach and this nice lady is going to take you in her car. I looked at him in total disbelief. After years of cruelty I was getting some happiness. I ran in to the house, breathless with excitement and I asked my Auntie Annie if I could wear my Communion dress for the trip. She was delighted for me and agreed that I could get dressed up.

I carefully put on my white dress along with my coat, white socks and black shoes. I looked at Lou lying on my bed and I smiled at the thought that I would have so much to tell her when I got back. I thought all my dreams were coming true and I would be running along side the sea on the golden sand.

Little did I know that I was about to enter a nightmare even worse than one I had already known.


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