Liena pressed the side of her brother's head to her breast and gently stroked his hair until his whimpers tapered off and his sniffles ceased.
They were on the couch, Lemy curled up in her lap like a giant, fire loving cat; one of his hands clung desperately to the front of her shirt. He put her in mind of a boy hanging onto a floaty thingie for dear life. Next to them, Lupa stared in the general direction of the television with her arms crossed and her brow darkly set. A few minutes ago, someone screamed from upstairs, the sound muffled and faint, and she was worried; she wouldn't put it past her father to do anything to anyone at this point, not with the crazed look in his eye when he came in from the kitchen. Lupa shuddered at the memory of his twisted features, and hated herself for it. A part of her wanted to go up there and see what was happening...but she was afraid to. God, help her, she was scared of him...a deep, aching fear that a little girl might feel for the monster in her closet, only closet monsters aren't real...Dad was.
Self-loathing flowed through her like battery acid, and her muscles twitched as that small but vocal part of her brain commanded them into action. She wasn't going up there; he might hit her again. Pathetic to be afraid of that, right? But she was, because the pain wasn't just physical, it was emotional too. She'd taken slaps and punches before, but Dad's hurt so much more than those.
Regardless, a thousand terrible images flashed through her mind, each a gruesome snapshot of what he could be (and probably was) doing, and Lupa's chest tightened. He could be up there murdering one of her sisters and here she was sitting on the couch and scared of Daddy hitting her. She was a loser, a pussy, a fucking lame-o.
Still, she made no move to get up.
"Daddy hurt Lemy's hair," Lemy moaned miserably.
Liena shushed him. "I know, honey. Dad's, like, not in a good mood tonight." She rocked him back and forth. "He's a grumpy gus."
Lemy sniffed wetly and snuggled deep into his sister's embrace. From the corner of her eye, Lupa watched his hand flutter to her breast; Liena giggled and pecked his forehead, her lips lingering just a little too long to be sisterly. Didn't they know how wrong this was? Didn't they...didn't they feel it? She understood how they were raised, but it didn't make sense; she was raised the same way and she could never bring herself to...do that...with one of them; it was an unease, a disgust, that was bone deep, pervasive, existing on a molecular level. People, and animals, are bestowed by God, nature, or the fucking Flying Spaghetti Monster, with inbreeding avoidance mechanisms whereby, through chemical cues, they find close conspecifics unsuitable for mating. The revulsion she felt toward the concept was innate, natural; it wasn't something she cultivated, it simply was. Did her siblings not have that? Did her father and mother and aunts not have it?
When Lemy pulled himself up and melded his lips to Liena's, his tongue slipping into her mouth and hers into his, Lupa started to get up, but froze at the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs. Lemy yanked away from Liena, and they both looked looked up as Dad stumbled down the stairs, his hand gripping the bannister for support. He filled Lupa's periphery, and her heartbeat sped up; her bowels were suddenly loose and she felt like she was going to be sick. Lemy whimpered and buried his face into Liena's bosom like an ostrich sticking its head in the sand. Liena hugged him tightly, her face a bloodless mask of fear.
For a moment Dad stayed at the bottom of the stairs, his body swaying back and forth, then he let go and shambled over to his armchair. Lupa hazarded a glance, and her blood ran cold when she saw the red on his hands and smeared across the front of his shirt. He dropped into the chair and flopped his head back with an angry exhalation.
A tingle of terror crept down the back of Lupa's neck.
What did he do?
Dear, God, what did he do?
She was so focused on him that she didn't notice Leia skipping past with something in her arms, didn't notice her own breathing increasing, didn't notice the tears streaming down Lemy's face.
He killed someone.
He…
It hit her then.
Lacy.
He did something to Lacy.
Her stomach lurched sickly, and she grabbed her crutches and got to her feet without even realizing she was acting; her fear was forgotten, replaced by panic. Dad didn't try to stop her as she hobbled to the bottom step; he stared sightlessly at the wall, his chest rapidly rising and falling. Lupa forced herself to go slowly even though she wanted to bolt. She was hyperventilating when she reached the top, and fet uncharacteristically shaky, as though she were moments from breaking down. She hobbled to her door and turned the knob, shoving it open and going in
What she saw froze her in place. Lacy was curled up on her side, her knees drawn up to her chest and her body shaking; broken, miserable sobs rose from her strained throat. Her pale brown hair was matted with sweat and plastered to her forehead, and what Lupa could see of her face was flushed deep red. Her eye flicked down, and she saw the blood on the sheets. A metal coat hanger bent into a J lay in a pool of gore-and-god-knows-what, and a jar filled with clear liquid sat on the floor next to a rag. The stench of hot, coppery blood mingled with an odor Lupa had never smelled before...a foul, musky, sickly-sweet fetor redolent of crotch and insides.
Hot bile rushed up from Lupa's stomach, and she was powerless to stop it; she turned her head and splattered the carpet with such force that he vision grayed and her temples throbbed. She wobbled and nearly fell, but caught herself at the last minute. Lacy sobbed openly now, and Lupa started for her, but threw her head to the side and puked again.
It was clear what happened...what that fucking monster did…
When she was sure she wasn't going to vomit again, Lupa went over to her sister's bed and sat, setting her crutches in the gap between the mattress and the nightstand before turning. Lacy's eyes were squeezed shut and fat tears dripped down her wan flesh. Lupa reached out to touch her shoulder but hesitated when she spoke, her voice a thick, hitching moan. "He killed my baby." She cried harder and hugged her pillow to her chest. "He killed it." Her voice broke. "I didn't even get to hold it."
Tears filled Lupa's eyes, and she clamped her quivering lips shut. Lacy trembled and tried to speak, but her words came out as a strangled sob. She closed her eyes, and her face screwed up in an expression of anguish. Lupa laid her hand on her shoulder and squeezed as if to transfer some of her own strength into her sister's grief stricken body. She had very little to give, though; she felt so lost in that moment that it was all she could do to keep from breaking down herself. Her eyes fell onto the coathanger; blood and chunks of god only knew what glazed the jagged hook. Lupa's stomach clenched and for a moment she thought she was going to puke again.
That...thing was in her sister, searching, tearing, wrenching her child from the depths of her womb...and their father was at the helm.
Bitter hatred filled her, and she let go of Lacy lest she dig her fingers into her flesh. How could he do this? How could he shove a sharp fucking instrument of death into his daughter and then rip her baby - his baby - out like it was nothing more than a clot of hair in a drain? How could anyone do that? How could they look into the eyes of a fetus as it dies? Mass of cells my ass, Lacy's baby was far enough along to have arms, legs, and a face. That's a fucking human being in her book, and what happened here was murder...plain and simple.
Her hand curled into a fist of hatred, and she took a deep, shaky breath through clenched teeth, then let it out through her nose. She wanted to kill him, she wanted to beat him in his head until his brain seeped out of his ears, she wanted to make him pay for what he did...but the worst thing of all was this: She couldn't. She was weak...she couldn't even fucking walk.
Lacy cried silently now, her eyes closed and her mouth opened wide in pain. Lupa sighed deeply. She couldn't avenge her sister...she couldn't even comfort her; what do you say at a time like this?
She didn't know.
She felt so lost and scared that it made her sick.
"Let's change your sheets," she finally managed. Her voice was dazed, and her eyes were wet. She grabbed her crutches, got to her feet, and lurched to the closet. Behind her, Lacy whimpered, and Lupa blinked her eyes. I'm sorry, she thought earnestly, I'm sorry I'm not a better sister.
She opened the door and scanned the shelf, spotting a pink fitted sheet and a normal sheet folded on top of it. She leaned one crutch against the wall, reached, her balance wavering, and grabbed them, then turned, her eyes instinctively darting away from the prostrate form on the bed. She went over and laid the sheets on Lacy's nightstand. Lacy held her pillow and wept into it. "I-I know it's hard, but you have to get up. I need to change your sheets."
For a moment Lacy didn't move, then she rolled over and slipped out of bed, dropping to the floor in a heap. Lupa caught a flash of her sister's naked sex and wished she hadn't; blood crusted the insides of her thighs and more oozed from her vagina. From the looks of it, Dad ripped her walls to shreds. "Do you hurt?" Lupa asked as she pulled the old sheets off with one arm, "physically?"
Lacy nodded.
Lupa sighed. She probably needed stitches.
If Dad would let her go to the hospital.
Something told Lupa he wouldn't.
When the sheets were changed to the best of her ability (they looked like shit but they were clean at least), Lupa pulled out her phone and sat down as Lacy crawled back into bed and curled up. She absently stroked her sister's hair as she texted aunt Lynn, her heart twinging just a little in fear of what her father might do to her for this; ultimately, though, she didn't care.
Dad aborted Lacy's baby with a coat hanger. She needs to go to the hospital. Now.
Liena hummed happily to herself as she ran her fingers through her brother's matted hair; Dad stumbed upstairs a few minutes ago, falling and slurring cuss words, and for Liena it was out of sight, out of mind...he was long forgotten and so was what he did to Lemy. Currently, the little boy was curled up asleep with his head resting in her lap, his mouth hanging open and warm drool trickling down onto her shorts. The heat of his closeness and the pressure of his face pushing against her girl parts was making her horny and she was thiiiiis close to waking him up for a little brother/sister time, but he was so adorable that she just couldn't bring herself to do it. She sighed contentedly and leaned her head back against the backrest. She was still kind of sad she didn't have a baby in her belly, but, like, sometimes you have to face facts and suck it up: She would never be a Mommy and that made her heart frown...she had lots of love and affection to give. On the flipside, she had a bunch of little siblings who liked love and affection too, and if she squinted hard enough, maybe they, like, could be her babies.
Not-really-her-babies were better than no babies, right?
Right.
She swirled a lock of Lemy's hair around her index finger and stared absently at the TV, where Lester Holt was reading the nightly news on NBC. She didn't like the news; it was always so sad. Like, nothing good ever happened on the news, it was always 'this person blew up these people' and 'this guy shot up that building.' Why don't they ever have happy on the news? They needed better writers and different storylines.
Lemy stirred and snuggled closer. Liena smiled and caressed his forehead. Mommy's little angel. She shifted, and realized something: Mommy had to pee really bad.
This was not good. Lemy was using her as a pillow but she wasn't a pillow, she was a person...a person who had to use the bathroom. She didn't want to wake him, but she also didn't want to pee on him...she never peed on anyone unless they gave her permission. Some people, apparently, don't like that kind of thing. Who knew?
Being very careful and moving at the speed of, like, something really slow, she scooted out from under Lemy's head, slipping her hand underneath and gently resting it on the cushion. He stirred again, but didn't wake, and standing over him, Liena smiled proudly to herself. Good job, Mommy, you did it.
She patted herself on the back as she went up the stairs. In the bathroom, she peed, washed her hands, and considered taking a shower, but rejected it; she was really tired in the morning, but she liked meeting her day freshly bathed...just in case she met a new friend (wink-wink). In the hallway, she started toward the stairs, but stopped at Lacy's door; the sound of soft weeping drifted forth, and Liena's brow pinched.
Was everything okay? If she wanted to be a good Mommy, she had to stay on top of things like this. She went to the door, laid her hand on the knob, and rapped. "Hello?" She turned the knob (because Mommies knock only as, like, a warning) and poked her head in: Lacy and Lupa were snuggled on Lacy's bed, Lupa playing big spoon with one arm draped protectively over her sister's frame. She lifted her head, and Liena was surprised by her red, puffy eyes; tears shimmered in them, and one lone bead ran down her cheek.
"What's wrong?" Liena asked, suddenly worried.
Lupa wiped her face with the back of her hand. "Nothing," she said, "just...leave us alone, please."
Liena looked from Lupa to Lacy; the latter shook as though she were crying. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. Just go away."
For a moment Liena didn't move. Lupa said nothing was wrong, but she and Lacy were both crying, which meant something had to be wrong. People don't, like, cry for no reason: They have to be really happy or really sad, and Lupa did not look really happy, so therefore she must be really sad, and that was a problem. Mommies don't let problems go, they fix them. "Something's wrong," she said, "and I…"
"GO THE FUCK AWAY!"
Liena yelped and jumped back, pulling the door closed with her.
She failed.
She was no Mommy at all.
Head hung in shame, she went down the stairs. At the bottom, it occurred to her to go back and assert herself. Do not speak to me that way, young lady, I'm, like, your mother now and you will respect me. Lupa looked really mad, though, and even though Lupa was a little girl and she, Liena, was a grown up, Lupa kind of scared her sometimes. Sigh. What kind of Mommy is scare of her own daughter? And what kind of Mommy lets her daughter cuss at her?
No kind, that's what.
She trudged aimlessly through the living room and went into the kitchen. Maybe she just wasn't cut out for motherhood...or even big sisterhood. Something crunched underfoot, and she stepped back: Dried red stuff and broken glass covered the floor, and...was that the coffeemaker? She frowned and picked it up by the cord as though it were a pair of yucky underwear. Well...this shouldn't be here, it should, like, be in the trash. She took it over and was about to drop it into the can but stopped. Duh. A good Mommy wouldn't do that, she'd throw it into the can outside….then she'd sweep up the broken glass and wash the red stuff off the floor.
Then she'd pick the toaster up from by the garage door. Why was all this stuff on the floor anyway? It didn't make any sense.
She carried the coffeemaker out the back door and shivered as a cold gust of wind blew over her, raking the bare flesh of her arms with goosebumps. Oooooh, it's freezing! She rushed around the side of the house and came to the trash can, another breeze blowing her blonde hair to the side and messing it up. Please don't do that, my hair, like, takes a long time to get pretty. She lifted the lid, and her heart stopped.
A little face was staring at her from the folds of a shirt.
A horrified scream bubbled up in her throat, but dissipated as she realized it wasn't a monster or anything.
It was a baby.
She tilted her head in confusion. Why is there a dead baby in our trash can?
Wait a minute…
An idea stuck her, and she beamed with excitement. She reached in, picked the bundle up, and brought it to her chest; the baby's head fell to the ground with a thud, and she blinked. Oh. She checked to make sure the body was here (it was), then squatted down and picked the head back up, tucking it gently it into the shirt. It's okay, little baby, Mommy won't drop you ever again, I promise.
She went inside, her plans to clean the kitchen completely forgotten in her joy. I think I'll call you..she paused, unfolded the shirt, and checked between its legs...Logan.
There's a saying: Beggars can't be choosers.
And a dead baby is better than no baby.
Right?
Right.
Once a week, Lynn Loud stopped by her friend Amber Paulson's house on her way home from work.
They had known each other since middle school, and were very close. So close, in fact, that Lynn knew what her vagina tasted like.
They were lovers, in other words, and had been since eighth grade. Back then, Lynn was certain that she was gay...she had only ever been attracted to girls and enjoyed stereotypically masculine pursuits. It wasn't until hers and Lincoln's first kiss that she realized she was bi; she loved a good pounding, but she also enjoyed the warmth and softness of a woman. It was like...ice cream and pizza. Two totally different things, but both great in their own way.
Lincoln knew about Amber and didn't seem to mind, though Lynn knew it ate him up inside. God, the first time Luna cheated on him he went to pieces. Boo-hoo-hoo, why? Really, dude, it's okay for you to fuck eight other women but we can't be with anyone but you? What kind of shit is that? That's one of the things that always pissed her off about Lincoln; he acted like they should be slavishly devoted to him and him alone while he fucked them...and Ronnie Anne. Yeah, buddy, betcha didn't think I knew about that. You know what, though? I don't give a fuck. Keep doing it. I don't care if you see other people. I'm used to it. You see Lori, Leni, Luna, Luan, and everyone else; I've known for years that I'm not your only and that you'd never be able to commit to me. Or to anyone else, for that matter. You doing Ronnie Anne is just another day at the office, buddy.
She had to wonder, though: Did any of Ronnie Anne's four kids belong to him? She was married to a guy (John? James? Jimbo? Something like that) and the boys looked just like him, but the girls...from what she'd seen, didn't. At all. One had really pale black hair, almost like her father's hair was...white…
Whatever, just as long as Ronnie kept them at her house and didn't go after Linc for child support. We got no room and no money, fuck off.
Presently, Lynn rolled onto her side and propped her elbow on the mattress. Amber lay beside her, the sheet pulled to the bottom of her perky breasts. Her soft, angular face was flushed with exertion and a sheen of sweat stood on her forehead. Her dirty blonde hair, fanned out around her head, was tangled and messy...just the way Lynn liked it. She cupped one of Amber's tits and squeezed. "Honk."
Their eyes locked...and they both burst out laughing. "You're a fucking dork, Loud," Amber said and rubbed the side of her nose with her thumb.
Lynn shrugged. "You bring that out in me."
Did that sound too sappy? God, it did, didn't it? Fucking stupid. Why did she always do this around Amber? She was like a dumb giddy school girl or something, and she kind of hated herself for it. Oh, my beating heart, my fluttery stomach...gross. Like one of those gay ass Harlequin paperbacks her mom used to read.
But you know...Amber did make her feel that way, and always had.
Lynn wasn't stupid...she knew she was in love with her, but they couldn't be together; Amber was married with a daughter, and unlike Lynn, she genuinely loved the guy she was with…which meant she wasn't leaving him any time soon.
That was okay, though. Lynn was happy with just this.
Yep. Heh. Perfectly happy holding the woman she loved but never having her. She didn't cry sometimes, and she sure as hell never found herself wishing she never got with Lincoln...or had Lacy…
If it weren't for them, she thought bitterly, and Amber's punk ass husband…
No, it was best not to think about it, because if she thought about it, she'd go to a really dark place, and her life was dark enough already without crying into her pillow and silently wishing her family dead. She snuggled next to Amber and laid her hand over the other woman's heart, the feeling of its strong, steady beat calming her as it always did. "What time is it?" Amber asked.
"I don't know," Lynn said. She reached for her phone on the nightstand and picked it up.
She had a text from Lupa.
Her crap life trying to worm its way into her happy place. She ignored it and checked the time. "Seven-fifteen."
Amber sighed. "I have to get up."
Lynn knew...she knew all too well; the sun must set on every perfect day, and every warm fire must turn to ash. She shoved her disappointment as far down in her chest as she could so that Amber wouldn't see and sat up. "I gotta get going too," she lied.
Amber reached out and slipped a Kool from the pack on the nightstand. She plopped the filter into her mouth and lit it, drawing the smoke deep into her lungs and then blowing it out in a sharp plume. "You wanna hang this weekend? Brett's taking Amanda to the his mother's house so...I'll be free." She looked up at Lynn with a suggestive grin that made her heart skip a beat. Uh, yes, please!
"I don't know," Lynn said, playing it cool, "I'll give it some thought."
Taking another drag, Amber shrugged one shoulder. "Don't worry if you don't. I'll just call Luna over."
"Do it and die, Paulson," Lynn said playfully.
Fifteen minutes later, Lynn sat in the driver seat of her 1998 Intrepid and gloweried at the rundown shithole prison that masqueraded as her home, her hands gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles were white. The moment she left the warm embrace of her lover, Lynn's mood darkened; a tight ball of anger throbbed in the middle of her chest and tears she wasn't fully aware of stood in her eyes.
She didn't want to be here.
She hated this place.
If she had balls, she'd turn this piece of shit around, go back to Amber's house, and profess her love; they could leave their families behind and run away together...make a new family, a happy family. Only...for all her bravado, Lynn Loud Jr. didn't have balls; she was a gutless fucking pussy who was maybe a little insecure. Or maybe she wasn't. She didn't know, she wasn't a shrink. She didn't like bearing her emotions. It made her feel naked...and vulnerable, like a snail without its shell. She tried in the past to tell Amber how she felt, but she chickened out every time. See? Clinical pussy. Case closed.
Not that Amber would say yes if Lynn wasn't a pussy. She loved her family. It was like...you know, they were her meal and Lynn was just a snack...a quick, empty, meaningless bag of fucking peanuts or something. That hurt so much because Amber was...well...Amber was her world.
She sighed.
No, this was her world: Being miserable with her dick brother and her cunt sisters.
Feeling heavy and cold, she got out and shut the door. She started up the walk but stopped when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Her hope soared, and she took it out, hoping it was a text from Amber. Hey, Loud, let's elope. She knew it wouldn't be, and it wasn't.
It was from Lupa.
Where are you? Please answer.
Lynn rolled her eyes. What the hell does this bitch want? She scrolled up and read the text she ignored at Amber's, and her stomach clutched.
Jamming her phone back into her pocket, she went up the steps and through the front door. Lemy was nestled on the couch asleep. She ignored him as she pounded up the stairs and went to Lincoln's room: The door was shut and loud music drifted out. Smooch. He always listened to Smooch when he was drunk. Fucking loser.
She balled her fist and pounded. "Lincoln!"
The music died and Lincoln called out, his voice thick and slurred. "What?"
"Open the door."
She drew back and crossed her arms, her foot tapping impatiently. The door opened and Lincoln stuck his head out; his eyes were red and bleary and his shirt was covered in Lynn-didn't-want-to-know. "What?" he asked sharply.
He made her sick; can you believe that once, long ago, she was in love with him? This sad, pathetic, fucking smelly drunk once dominated her dreams and ruled her every waking thought. She fought her sisters tooth and nail to have time with him, and on nights he slept in her bed, she held him so tight he could barely breathe because for that brief time, he was hers and hers alone, and she was not going to let him go.
Yuck.
"Did you do it?" she asked.
He stared dumbly for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I did it."
"Good," she said. She put her hand on the frame and leaned in until her nose was almost touching his. The stomach-turning reek of alcohol filled her nostrils. "Now stay away from her."
Lincoln's face darkened. "Fuck you."
"I mean it," Lynn snarled, "don't touch my daughter again."
Lincoln reached out and tried to grab her, but she anticipated this: She shot out her arms and shoved him back. Unsteady from the booze, he lost his balance and fell against the bed in a clumsy heap. "Bitch," he muttered.
"You make me sick," Lynn said distastefully. Before he could reply, she turned and left him. At Lacy's door, she turned the knob and went in without knocking; Lupa and Lacy were clinging to each other on Lacy's bed, bloody sheets, a metal coat hanger, and a jar of chloroform from Lisa's lab strewn across the floor. Typical: He didn't even clean up after himself.
Lupa lifted her head, and a flicker of relief crossed her face. "She's not bleeding anymore, but I think she needs stitches. I -"
Lynn held up her hand."Can you give us a minute alone, please? I need to talk to her."
Lupa blinked in confusion, then nodded. "O-Okay." She grabbed her crtutches from the space between the mattress and the nightstand, got heavily to her feet, and ambled past, stealing an uncertain look at Lynn as she did. When she was gone and the door was closed, Lynn sighed, crossed to her daughter's bed, and sat. Lacy was curled up on her side, her knees drawn to her chest and her tearful eyes aimed at the wall. She was naked from the waist down save for a pair of socks, and her creamy flesh was caked with dried blood. Fresh blood, thick and deep red, almost black, stained the sheet.
The little girl sniffed. "He killed my baby," she said, her voice a soulless croak. She squeezed her eyes shut against a rush of tears.
Lynn scrunched her lips to the side and fought to keep from snapping: She looked so much like her bastard of a father...same shape face, same mouth, same eyes that at times like this, Lynn felt a pang of disgust. "It wasn't a baby, Lacy," she said, her tone strained, "it was a fetus and a fetus is not a person."
Lacy broke down crying, and Lynn stiffened.
Deep breath.
"Plus, if it was born, it would have a lot of things wrong with it. Your father did you and that child a hell of a favor."
Lacy wept harder. "I wanted my baby," she blubbered. "I really wanted it, Mom...I loved it."
Maybe it was because she hated her life...maybe it was because she ached for someone she could never have...and maybe it was shame...but Lynn exploded. "You know how selfish you sound right now? That baby would have had a shit fucking life, and you don't care. You're a self-centered little bitch just like your father. You don't give a flying fuck about anyone but you. I wish your father did for - "
Lynn cut herself off.
She seethed with rage - rage at Lincoln, rage at the situation, rage at everything - but even in that red haze she realized that saying I wish your father did for me what he did for you was going too far.
Lacy sobbed hysterically, her shoulders shaking. God help her, Lynn was reminded of a quivering slug.
I can't deal with this right now.
She got up and went to the door, laying her hand on the knob then stopping and looking over her shoulder. Lacy moaned and hugged her pillow like a child with a stuffed animal. "You need to buck up, girl. Life sucks." She tried to stop herself, but couldn't. "You shouldn't have fucked your father. This is what you get." She opened the door, and Lupa was there, her brow knitted and her eyes simmering with anger. Lynn's eyes narrowed.
Say something, bitch...I dare you...give me a reason.
They faced each other for a moment...then Lynn brushed roughly past her, nearly knocking her down.
"Move," she said.
Lori Loud opened the front door to find her nephew asleep on the couch, the TV playing in the background. Normally, finding the television on and unwatched would irritate her...come on, turn it off, electricity doesn't grow on trees...but tonight she didn't even register it.
She shut the door and locked it, then crossed the living room and climbed the stairs, her hand trailing on the banister. She tried hard to ignore the droplets of dried blood on the carpet from when she carried Lizy down, but her eyes were drawn to them like metal to a magnet, and she flashed back to the little girl's gaping, bloody eye socket...to the way her ruined eye slid down her cheek like a wad of snot...and to the small, broken way she asked for Daddy as the doctors worked on her.
At the head of the stairs, she paused and took a deep breath. She wasn't going to confront him...she wasn't going to call him names...she was just going to tell him what happened and what the doctors said: Her eye was beyond repair, but she didn't hit her brain, thank God. They were going to keep her for a few days and then probably for a few more after that on the psyche ward. She was extremely lucky that the knife didn't skewer her frontal lobe; if it did, she would have either died or suffered brain damage.
Would he really care, though? Lana texted him and he couldn't even be bothered to respond. To be honest, that really bothered her...like to the point where she literally didn't have the energy to fight him; she just wanted to curl up and go to sleep.
Lincoln's door stood open, and when she poked her head in, she saw him lying at the foot of his bed. He snored deeply.
Nice. While his daughter was in the hospital he was here drinking liquor. She couldn't suppress a hateful sneer. "Lincoln," she said venomously.
He snorted.
"Lincoln!"
His eyes fluttered open; they were wet and pooled with intoxicated bewilderment. She should kick him...walk right up to him and kick him square in his stupid nose. "Did you get Lana's texts?" she asked, her arms folding sternly over her chest.
Blinking, Lincoln rolled away from her and brought his knees to his chest.
Lori bit her lower lip. "Lizy stabbed herself in the eye this afternoon. On purpose. She said it was ugly and she didn't want it anymore."
No reply.
"It's gone. They're keeping her, and she's probably going to spend time on the psych ward. Lana's with her n -"
"Leave me alone," Lincoln slurred. "Tell me in the morning."
Fire filled Lori's chest. She started to reply, to call him a piece of shit and a fucking bastard, but she stopped herself. "Fine," she said.
Still fuming, she went to Loan and Liena's room and checked on them: Loan was asleep and Liena sat in the middle of her bed smiling at and holding a baby doll in a blue onesie. Thick black duct tape was wound around its neck. "Mommy's little Logan," she cooed and bounced it in her lap: The head came off and landed on the bed. Liena frowned. "You're not supposed to do that, Lo-Lo. Mommy told you."
Leaving her niece to her play, Lori went downstairs and sank onto the couch next to Lemy. She stared at the TV, but she didn't see what was on the screen, she saw Lizy's face...and something told her she would see it again tonight in her darkest dreams.
There's no getting away, she thought and laughed harshly, awake...asleep...it's all the same.
Hell.
She was in hell.
And she would never escape.