Say I'm a pervert, it's okay
Hey, candy, little girl? Walk my way
You fucking bitch
Child abuse is on my mind
Expose Yourself to Kids by G.G. Allin
"Would you like fries with that?"
Every time Luan spoke that simple, commonplace question, her eyes flicked down in shame. That phrase was used to insult people when she was a kid. Ooooh, you got swag so you don't need school? Hope you like asking people if they want fries with that hahahahahahahaha! She'd always looked down on the idea of working at McDonald's. Not the people actually doing the work, but the work itself. McDonald's is...it's the lowest of the low, especially when you're older than twenty-five. I will never, she thought once, yet here she was, closing in on thirty-six and working the register at the Mickey D's on Central Street, dressed in a stupid uniform and wearing a stupid visor like Jamie Kennedy in Malibu's Most Wanted. It was nearly five in the afternoon and her shift was almost over, which meant that her boss, a fat black woman named Latisha would be along aaaaaaany moment to saddle her with bathroom duty.
Luan hated bathroom duty; the people who slithered into this grease hole had apparently never used a restroom in their life, and couldn't grasp the concept of waste going into the toilet, not all over the floor, seat, and walls. Believe it or not, the women's room was the worst; every day she found at least one or two used tampons lying around, swollen with blood and smelling like crotch. Every time she went in there, a ball of hot anger would form in her chest and she would take a deep, steadying breath through her nose. Why are people such goddamn slobs?
It really perplexed her. When she used a public toilet, she treated it just like she did the one at home: She sat, did her business, and wiped, making sure everything went into the bowl. How fucking else would she use it? Stand on the seat and squat? That's what Mexicans did. She wasn't racist, it was true. She didn't know why they did it, but who cares? The fact of the matter was that every day she had to scrub hard, crusted shit from at least one seat, and it made her so angry she'd walk out if she could.
It took her eight months to get this job, though, and as demeaning as it was, she wouldn't give it up without a fight.
God, that was a long 243 days. She was working at the grocery store as a bagger and got fired for stealing meat. Yes, she knew it was a stupid idea, but Lincoln had just started his current job and wouldn't get his first check for a week, and none of the others worked or would help...they always plead poverty when it came time for grocery shopping or keeping the power on, but they somehow managed to have money for pedicures, Friday nights at the club, and new clothes.
Anyway, the cupboards were bare, they had no money, and, like, five bucks on Lori's food stamp card, so...you do what you gotta do. At least that's how she saw it then, but after eight months of putting in applications literally everywhere and never getting so much as a fucking call back, her heart hardened. From now on, her piece of shit sisters could worry about themselves and their own kids - as long as Liby had what she needed, everyone else could fuck off and die.
Presently, she was standing by the drive through window with a set of headphones covering her ears. McDonald's is infamous for its ice cream machines always seeming to be broken; yeah, well, its drive through communications systems were always broken too. One of the speakers was completely dead, and the other was well on its way to following: The customer's voice was faint and staticky, and you had to ask them to repeat themselves three or four times, which lead to them getting pissed and, in more cases than not, acting dickish when they pulled up to the window. That was the worst part of dealing with the public: Assholes. They were everywhere. Everyone was rude, short tempered, and acted like you were a bug to be looked down upon. In her almost two years working here, she had come to hate people..,literally and honestly hate them, and sometimes keeping herself from jumping over the counter and clawing an eye out was so hard that by the time she clocked off and left she was trembling.
"Would you like fries with that?" she asked again. Her tone was flat, dead. She pressed the good speaker as close to her head as it would go and listened intently to the garbled reply. It could have been yes, it could have been no, she couldn't tell. Fuck it. They were getting fries whether they wanted them or not.
She typed the order in, printed a ticket, and ripped it off, turning toward the kitchen. D'Andre, a lanky black man, was shoveling fries into a container. She held the ticket out. "Order." He turned, grabbed it without meeting her eyes, then went back to what he was doing. "That'll be 7.52 at the second window," she said into the microphone.
The sound of the car engine dwindled, only to be replaced by another. "Welcome to McDonald's," she said, "how can I help you today?"
"Uhhh...can I get a Whopper and a Coke, please?"
Luan's expression did not change. It remained dull. Listless. "We don't sell Whoppers."
There was a static filled moment of silence. "...Baconator with cheese…"
"We don't sell those either."
Come on, buddy, haven't you ever been to McDonald's before?
"Goddamn, what do you sell?"
Luan sighed heavily. McDonald's was an American institution and had been for seventy years or more; how in the name of God did this dumb fucking prick not know what they sold? Even before she started working here she could recite the menu in her sleep, and it's not like she ate here every day. "We sell Big Macs, Quarter Pounders, fish sandwiches, chicken sandwiches…"
"Can I get a Grande meal, please?"
This was followed by what sounded like girlish snickering. Luan rolled her eyes: She was being pranked...again. Why did she keep falling for this crap? Seriously, every couple months someone did this to her. Last time a guy kept asking for Subway items, and before that...KFC or something. She didn't know and she really didn't care.
She started to snap, but stopped herself at the last minute. She had a daughter to think of. "Can I help you...please?" She wasn't begging them to let her assist them...she was begging them to cut her a break: She was tired and depressed, her feet hurt, her back was sore, and she had a hot twinge above her left eye that promised to turn into a migraine from hell. She was not in the mood for this, in other words; she was in the mood for bed.
The snickering tapered off. "Yeah, let me get a Big Mac meal with a Coke."
At least that's what it sounded like. She typed the order, recited the price, and handed it to D'Andre, who in turn handed her a bag. She slid the window open and poked her head out; a white Altima idled in the drive thru, a man's face staring out at her - Mr. I-Don't-Know-If-You-Wanted-Fries-But-You're-Getting-Them-Anyway. He was youngish, maybe a few years older than her, with black hair and beady eyes. "7.52," she said. He handed her a five and three crumpled ones...and touched her palm on purpose, his eyes flicking down to her breasts. She was braless (none were clean and Lori 'couldn't get' to the laundry yesterday, lazy bitch), and since it was cold and windy, her nipples were hard, pushing out the fabric of her shirt. He openly stared as she handed him his drink and his bag. Once upon a time she would have felt revulsion. Now, she felt nothing.
He shoved the cup between his legs, sat the bag in his lap, and rummaged through it. "My pie?" he asked.
Luan stared blankly. "Pie?"
"My apple pie."
Her eyes darted to his stomach. Yeah, you look like you need it, fat boy. "One second," she said. Instead of going through the ordering process, she walked over to the metal rack where the pies were kept warm under a hot lamp, picked one up, and slipped it into a box. Someone brushed rudely past her on their way to the microwave, and someone screamed laughter, making Luan wince. During her shift, she was usually the only white person in here; everyone else was black, and that laughter was the annoying overly-loud kind you only hear from black women so fat they could hardly walk. Luan wasn't a racist, but it was true.
She carried the pie over and handed it out the window. The man took it with a nod and a salacious grin.
I hope you fuckng choke on it, she thought.
Since the guy was a total creep, he didn't even have the stones to ask her out or anything; he rolled up his window and drove off, presumably heading home where he would stuff his fat face and then masturbate to the memory of briefly touching her hand. Her skin touched mine for one whole second, oh man, that's so hot *fapfapfap*
Little did he know that if the price was right, she'd do the fapping for him. She had to support herself and Liby somehow during those eight months of unemployment, and sometimes all a woman has to trade is her body. If you have romantic notions of sex, that might be awful. Oh, it's the joining of two spirits and love and...and...holy union. Pffft, no it's not; it's a physical act that releases endorphins in the brain. Sure, sex is better with someone you love, but on its own, it's just another thing: Lay back, open your legs, and count the ceiling tiles until he's spent. Oh boo-hoo, I'm not in love with him. Yeah, well, she wasn't in love with her boss either, and she fucked Luan all the time. Metaphorically speaking. But you know what: Luan would would rather have sex with a guy she didn't love for fifteen minutes than work all day in a shithole like this. The only thing McDonald's had over prostitution was consistency; she didn't go days or even a week between work. If she had steady business, she'd punch that black bitch in her face and walk out.
Another car pulled up to the window. Ahhh, Mr. Funny Man. I'll have a taco dur-dur-dur. Every time that happened she couldn't help but think the universe was paying her back for all the pranks she used to play on her siblings when she was younger. I know, right? How dare she be a kid and have fun. Maybe she went a little overboard here and there, but, again, kid. Oh, April Fools' Day was her Christmas, birthday, and Easter all rolled into one; she'd go all out, setting up elaborate pranks and pratfalls. It was a lot of fun.
For her at least. Her siblings hated it, and when she was fourteen, they finally had enough and jumped her one night, beating her with socks filled with bars of soap then leaving her on the floor black, blue, and crying. "Happy April Fools', bitch," Luna spat; her hair was still rainbow colored from Luan's latest prank.
That was the night she lost her virginity to Lincoln. He came back in after everyone had left and helped her into bed, then apologized. You take the pranks too far, though. You need to chill. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, and...you get the picture. Why did she do it? She didn't know: Maybe it was the way he looked at her, like she was beautiful, or maybe it was the tender way he kissed her forehead...or maybe it was because she was a hormonal teenage girl who played with herself at night and sometimes thought of Lincoln in his underwear as she did it. It felt so deliciously naughty, and when he came out into the hall in the morning wearing just his briefs, the cotton molding around his bulging package...ummm. Come on, when you see something like that, your body responds whether you want it to or not, and after a long time of letting the pressure build and build and build, you find yourself so hot and shaky that in the heat of passion your morals go out the window. Your brother stopped being your brother and became just a boy...a boy to kiss and touch, a boy to run your hands over, a boy to mount and ride until you go cross-eyed with the power of your first orgasm with someone else.
"6.50," she said now. The man behind the wheel - a boy, really - handed her a ten and she made change, then handed it back along with his food.
Surprisingly, Latisha didn't track her down to clean the bathrooms; Luan was certain that this was a simple oversight, and scurried out the door with her head down lest she be called up at the last moment. She made it out safely, thank God; it was dusk and cold, and as she walked the three blocks to the bus stop, it began to rain. She barely noticed: Par for the course, baby, par for the course. If she didn't have bad luck she'd have no luck at all.
Unlike some of her sisters, she didn't blame her daughter for her situation. She blamed Lincoln...and yeah, okay, herself, too. She had dreams of doing stand-up and while having Liby got in the way of that, it wasn't her fault. It was ultimately hers.
And sometimes...that really ate her up inside. She practically strangled her hopes and dreams in the cradle.
I should have made him pull out.
Yeah, she should have, but she liked the feeling of him cumming in her. She knew where it might lead but at the time she didn't care. After all, she was deeply, truly, and madly in love with him and if a baby happened, well...a baby happened. See, that's the thing about dreams and fantasies: You see only what you want to see. She figured that if they had a baby, she'd still be able to follow her dreams...she'd just be doing it while also having a son or daughter.
Ha. Yeah. Keep dreaming, kid.
She reached the bus stop just as the 5:10 started to pull away. She drew a heavy sigh. Now she'd have to wait for the 5:30. Fantastic. She could run after the damn thing, but screw it; she learned long ago to bite the pillow and take it. The driver wouldn't stop anyway, even if they saw her...she didn't know how they were in other towns, but the bus drivers in Royal Woods were dicks.
At least this stop had a shelter so she wouldn't have to wait in the rain. She went in and sank onto the bench, her back screaming. Trash littered the ground; a Bud tallboy in a black plastic bag, a crumpled pack of Newports, and...oh, that's nice, a used needle. Like many small towns in America, Royal Woods had been hit hard by the meth epidemic, but heroin was starting to make a comeback. Can't keep a good drug down, she supposed. Just ask Luna, she did H. She tried to hide it, but the tracks on her arms gave her away as surely as a big flashing neon sign. You could say her chances at being sober were shot. Luan couldn't blame her, though, what point was there? They all tried in vein to cope, but no matter what the did, they were all miserable. Life really got under their skin. They were stuck.
Sbe laughed richly and slapped her knee. I still got it.
A cold gust of wind needled her, and she crossed her arms over her chest. She hated taking the bus; she always seemed to wind up waiting the longest possible time between buses, and nine times out of ten, it was so packed when it arrived that it would be standing room only. That wouldn't be so bad if there was actually room to stand, but there rarely ever was: Without fail, she wound up shoved between the two biggest, fattest bastards onboard, squeezed between them like a Milk Dud between two pigs. She missed her Tercel. Sure, it was a piece of crap older than Lori and almost as broken down, but it got her from point A to point B. When it broke down last year, Lincoln said he'd save up some money to get it fixed, but every time she brought it up he plead poverty just like their sisters. Also like their sisters, he managed to have enough for shit he didn't need, like beer. Fucking drunk.
Sometimes she really hated that man.
By the time the bus arrived twenty minutes later, she was shaking and her face was flushed with cold. She paid her dollar fifty (soon to be two dollars, wahoo!) and was surprised at how empty it was: A group of black guys sat in the back playing that goddamn annoying music of theirs on a cellphone, and a tall, lanky white guy with wirey hair sat along one wall. Looked kind of like Kramer from Seinfeld, if Kramer smoked crack and had an ugly herpes sore on his lower lip. Luan sneered distastefully, and stared down at her lap. Royal Woods was really going to the dogs lately. When she was a kid, it was a nice bedroom community; now it was basically a suburb of Detroit, graffiti, used needles, drunks, hookers, blacks, and gunshots everywhere. She fucking hated it; she was seriously considering taking Liby and leaving, but where would she go? What would she do for work? All she knew was minimum wage bullshit and hooking, she'd never make it on her own.
Maybe she could find a rich old man.
Doubtful.
She was stuck like glue, and always would be; Liby would never grow up (mentally) and Luan would always have her to worry about. The girl would never marry, never live on her own, never hold a job. This was it...her life now and forevermore.
It was almost enough to make her cry.
When the bus reached her stop, she pulled the cord and glanced over at Kramer, catching him staring directly at her crotch and licking his thin lips. Disgust shot through her and she glared at him, but he didn't notice, so focused was he on what was between her thighs.
The bus came to a gradual stop and she got to her feet, his eyes traveling slowly up her body before locking with hers. "Piece of shit," she hissed, then stalked away, stepping down onto the curb and into the blustery night. She hurried to the crosswalk, hit the WALK button, and folded her arms over her chest. When the sign changed from red to white, she crossed. Home was five blocks away, and the closer the got, the more her stomach bubbled with dread. She hated going home, she hated going to work, she hated going out, she hated everything.
Herself included.
Herself especially.
Lincoln bowed his head over his plate and angrily forked a hunk of meat into his mouth. He was so drunk he could barely sit up straight, and so filled with rage that he couldn't give into the liquor and pass out, so here he was, eating a meal he didn't want surrounded by people he didn't want. Well, Leia, but one day she'd turn against him too, so...whatever. Fuck 'em all. He stole a furtive glance at Lupa, who sat across from him; her head was hung similarly, and she pushed a piece of salisbury steak across her plate. Fuck you most of all, you uppity little bitch. Food not good enough for you?
His grip tightened on the fork and he took a deep, fuming breath. He could never win with her, from the time she was a baby on up. He tried to be a good father, but she rejected him time and time again like the little cunt she was. And you know what? He didn't like being rejected. He didn't like it at all. He carved a piece of steak off, swirled it through the gravy, then pushed it past his lips. His eyes went to the empty chair next to his daughter, and his anger only intensified. Lacy was absent...again.
Stupid fucking slut. Something burst inside of him, and he slammed his fist down on the table as hard as he could; plates, glasses, and silverware clinked, and everyone jumped. His eyes and Lupa's eyes met; fear flickered across her normally stoic face, and she reminded Lincoln so much of a deer in the headlight - a weak, puny, stupid little dear - that it was all he could do to keep from reaching across the table and throttling her. Instead, he got unsteadily to his feet and cast a hateful gaze over his so-called family. "I'm done," he said, turned, and staggered into the living room, where he dropped into his chair. He couldn't even have a decent dinner because of that white haired skank. No, Daddy, I don't want to hug you or sit on your lap or have sex with you. I'm too good for you. You'll never have my love or my affection...or my body.
He grabbed a half empty pss warm beer from the end table and tipped it back.
You're not good enough...I don't love you. You're a pedophile and a child molester, hahahahahahahahaha!
Hot fury burned wafted through him like the heat from a roaring fire, and he unconsciously crushed the can in his grasp. He was good man, he worked hard and provided for his family - he deserved her love and affection...and her body too. In fact, as such a great father, he was entitled to them. What right did she have to withhold sex from him? What fucking nerve. Who did she think she was? He shook his head and finished off his beer. Goddamn girls today have it stuck in their stupid heads that they're perfect little fairy princesses. No, they aren't, they're evil, hideous, manipulative, backstabbing, two-faced, lying, superficial, self-centered scumbags. Fuck them, fuck them all.
Flashing, he threw the can at the TV: It hit the screen and bounced off, landing on the carpet. He hated women...and here he was living in a fucking rundown flophouse with twenty of them. Twenty. Of. Them. Why was he cursed with so many daughters? He had ten fucking sisters, all but one of his own kids were girls...what the fuck? It was Dad's fault. Fucking faggot couldn't shoot anything but pink, and he was apparently just like him.
He sensed a presence behind him, and turned: His lovely children were streaming out of the kitchen. Apparently feeding time at the pig trough was over. Lupa was at head of the pack, a covered plate in one hand. He oughta take it away from her; Lacy can come down to eat, and if she doesn't, she can fucking starve. Instead, he watched with disdain as she abandoned her crutches at the bottom of the stairs and slithered up like the snake she was. Can't balance a plate and your hobble sticks too, bitch?
He snickered mean-spiritedly to himself and turned away. Snake was right...just like the one that tempted Eve in the garden.
It was her fault the others were turning against him. She was a bad apple and you know what they say about those: They spoil the whole fucking bunch. He curled his hands into fists and clenched his teeth together. He felt like a pressure cooker ready to blow. He should have strangled that dumb bitch in her crib. Hell, he should have kicked Lucy square in her little stomach when she told him she was pregnant instead of hugging her and pretending, to her and himself, that he was happy. Pffft. If only he knew what was going to slide out from between her legs.
"Hey," someone said sharply from behind him, and he twisted around. Lana stood behind the chair, her brow angled down in a challenging V. Oooooh, you are barking up the wrong tree, you little plunger slut. "Are you coming with me to pick Lizy up?"
Lincoln favored her with a blank stare. And here he thought it was something important.
He turned back to the TV without even dignifying the bitch with a response.
"I hate you," she said, her voice dripping with menace.
"Feeling's mutual, bitch," he spat.
She sighed in disgust and stormed off, slamming the door behind her so hard the family photo - the one he gave his parents for their anniversary - fell from the mantle and landed on the carpet with a twinkle of breaking glass. Good. He always hated that fucking thing. You literally don't want us to literally be our literal selves. No, I want to you put your goddamn phone down for two seconds so I can take a decent fucking picture because Mom and Dad hate my presents. Yeah, that made him an asshole, right? So did wearing those noise cancelling earbuds. God forbid he want a little peace and fucking quiet. You don't wanna hear our screaming, fighting, thumping, pissing, moaning, and shit guitar playing? Not cool, bro. And don't even get me started on that fucking squirrel suit bullshit.
They made him sleep in the yard.
The fucking yard. Like a dog. Meanwhile, they all ate dinner together, laughed together...like he was nothing. Happy little family while he was out in the cold.
He was getting pissed just thinking about it. How many times had his sisters wronged him, ran over top of him, used him, mistreated him, hurt him?
And now...now their daughters thought they could do the same.
Child molester.
Pedohphile.
Fuck that.
He pushed himself up from the chair and stumbled forward, nearly falling. The room was spinning and every step threatened to send him crashing over, but he made it to the bottom of the stairs, gripped the railing for support, and began to climb...
Lupa found Lacy in the same position she'd left her in: Curled up on her side and clutching her pillow. She was not crying, which was encouraging, but the way she stared absently at the wall worried her. She engaged when you engaged her first, but just barely, which told Lupa that she wasn't suffering from catatonia or anything...she'd simply given up: Her father violently ripped her baby from her womb and strangled it right in front of her. If that's not enough to make you throw in the towel, you're one ice cold son of a bitch.
Like Dad.
Using one arm, Lupa dragged herself into the room, pushed the door closed, and crawled over to Lacy's bed. She sat the plate on the mattress and pulled herself to her knees. "I brought you dinner," she panted.
"Thanks," Lacy muttered. Her voice was hollow, washed out, barely above a whisper. She made no move to reach for the plate, or to even sit up, and Lupa hung her head. Every day they went through this, Lacy not wanting to eat and Lupa practically begging her. Sometimes convincing her was easy, other times not. She went almost four days in a row without eating, and by the end Lupa was in tears - honest, literal tears.
She put up this hardcase facade, but she wasn't tough; she'd come to realize that over the past couple weeks. She was scared, she was weak, and...other things. She didn't know. She wasn't an expert on emotions or psychology. All she knew was this: Her father terrified her, and so did Lacy, both for different reasons. She was scared of Dad and scared for Lacy. She needed help...counselling or something, but Dad and aunt Lynn wouldn't do it because if anyone found out, they'd both go to jail. Pretty sad, isn't it? In their daughter's darkest hour they could think only of themselves.
But of course. That's how this family worked.
In that moment, she wished she had never been born with a sharp keenness that made her chest ache. "You have to eat, Lace," she said, "please?"
Lacy sighed by way of reply.
"Please?" Lupa asked, a plaintive edge in her voice.
For a moment Lacy didn't move...then she ponderously drew herself into a sitting position, her knees folding against her chest. Lupa picked up the plate and held it out. Lacy took it and pulled back the foil covering it, her nose crinkling when she saw what it bore...as it did at everything now. She picked up the fork, cut a piece of meat off, and slipped it into her mouth. She chewed with the enthusiasm of a woman eating raw sewage, masticating slowly, mechanically, her eyes pointed down at the plate the entire time.
"How do you feel?" Lupa pressed.
"Fine," Lacy said. "Just tired."
Yeah, well, that's depression for you. She was tired too, only as soon as she crawled into bed, she'd ping wide awake and all of the devils locked away in the recesses of her mind would come out to play. Her wrists ached the way an old person's arthritis does at the promise of coming rain; she would probably wind up cutting herself tonight. Cutting herself always made her feel better. See, cutting releases endorphins in the brain that act as a sort of natural morphine and dulls the pain. If you're feeling down, the endorphins take care of that, too. Thinking about it now, she felt the lure of the blade as surely as an alcoholic feels the lure of the bottle. She had half a mind to get her blade, sneak off to the bathroom, and do it now.
Maybe when Lacy was done. She wanted to make damn sure she ate at least half of what was on her plate, and you can't do that if you're shoved into the space between the toilet and the tub sawing your wrists with a razor blade. If she turned her back for even a second, Lacy could stash some of the food somewhere and act like she ate it. She hadn't done so yet, but...Lupa wanted her sister to eat, okay? Maybe Dad and aunt Lynn didn't care if Lacy wasted away, but she did.
A soft rapting came at the door, and Lupa's stomach clutched with dread; the first thought to pop into her head was that it was her father.
Lacy tensed.
It came again. If it was Dad, he wouldn't be knocking quietly and considerately. He probably wouldn't knock at all. "Yeah?" Lupa called out.
The door opened just far enough for Liena to stick her head in. "Hi," she said sheepishly, "do you have any duct tape?"
Lupa stared as blankly at Liena as Lacy had stared at the wall. "Duct tape?" she asked, her eyebrows lifting ever so slightly.
Liena's head bobbed up and down. "Umhm. I really need some."
"Why?"
The older girl's eyes widened slightly with something like fear. "Uh, for...like, a school project. I have to, like, bring in a roll of duct tape and talk about it."
Lupa was born at night, but not last night: Liena was so full of shit her eyes were brown. "We don't have any," she said.
Liena smacked her chin against her chest. "Darn it. Okay. Thank you." She withdrew and pulled the door closed with a barely audible click. Duct tape. Yeah, I keep a roll under my pillow for those late night renovations that just can't wait. She turned back to Lacy just as she leaned over and sat the plate on the nightstand.
"That's all I want," she said and hugged her knees.
Lupa tilted to her right to get a better look at it. Roughly half of the food was gone, which was more than yesterday. "Good job," she said and flashed a tight smile. Lacy hugged herself tighter and rocked back against the wall, putting Lupa in mind of a turtle.
She pulled herself up onto the bed and sat across from Lacy. She reached out a comforting hand, but froze when the door flew open and slammed against the wall with a sharp report. Lacy's head jerked up, and her already bloodless face paled even more. Electric tendrils of fright shot up Lupa's back and into her heart. She could see in Lacy's eyes who it was.
"Miss high and mighty," Dad slurred drunkenly, "and Miss I want my baby." He laughed harshly. Lupa was suddenly petrified in fear, her stomach heavy and her heart aching. Hers and Lacy's eyes met, and Lupa saw reflected in her sister's what she knew was in her own: Childlike terror. "What are you dykes doing? Fucking each other? You won't fuck me but you fuck her."
She knew why he was here, and the realization that he would take it if he really wanted, that she would be powerless to fight him, made her muscles go limp with horror. In that moment, she felt very much like the little girl she was.
The door slammed shut, and Dad lumbered forward, the overpowering stench of booze preceding him. Lupa was rooted in place, unable to move, caught like a deer in the headlights. When her father grabbed a handful of her hair and wrenched her head back, she cried out in pain and fright. Lacy flinched and hugged her knees closer.
Dad's cheek was pressed against hers, his stubble like sandpaper on her flesh. His breathing was ragged, husky, the smell of hot alcohol filling her nostrils. Her heart crashed and her body trembled. "You're a stuck up bitch," he panted, "and you're gonna learn."
A pang went through Lupa's stomach and she fought to catch her breath. She didn't know she was speaking until she heard the rusty squeak of her own voice. "D-Dad, please…"
Yanking her hair roughly and bringing tears to her eyes, he whipped her around and shoved her face into the mattress. She was bent over the edge, her useless knees planted in the carpet. Her heart rocketed into her throat and she tried to push back against him, but he was too strong. Lacy was sobbing now; she buried her face in her knees and quivered.
Lupa moaned miserably as he slipped his hand up her skirt, hooked his fingers into her panties, and yanked them down. She could do nothing to stop him, nothing to even resist. Tears burst from her eyes and she wept in desolation. She was trapped, just as she had always been, and just like she would always be.
When she heard the ominous sound of a zipper, she cried out in wordless hysteria. She never wanted to have sex with her father - she prided herself on never having sex with him - but she was about to, and that made her cry harder.
"You're gonna see," he slurred. He ripped her skirt and it tore crisply. "You're my daughter. Mine."
"Please stop," she whimpered, "don't make me do this, please don't make me do this, Daddy."
In one violent motion, he slammed into her, his length parting her virgin body. Hot, stinging pain filled her head and she wailed. It felt like she was being ripped in half. Dad pushed his hips flush with her butt and deep inside, Lupa could feel him battering against her cervix. He pulled back, and slammed forward again, hitting the tender opening of her womb like a clapper hitting a bell. The pain was so intense it ripped the breath from her chest; she couldn't fight, she couldn't cry, and she couldn't scream, she could only lay there as he rutted into her.
"You like that, bitch?" Dad asked. He pulled out slowly, then shot forward again; sharp, razor-like agony permeated her, and she bit down so hard on her lower lip that she drew blood. Dad yanked her hair like a rider yanking the reigns of a horse, and her neck craned back, the muscles in her throat spasming. "You like Daddy's dick?" He pushed her forward again and slammed into her as roughly as he could. Lupa was a just a girl and didn't know her own body as well as she might like to think; she didn't know if he ripped her cervix asunder (of if doing so was even possible), but it sure as shit felt like it.
He established a steady pace. She turned her head to her sister; Lacy cried but did not move, did not help, did not even speak.
Lupa was alone. Totally and entirely alone in the world.
Something in her spirit broke then; the fight drained out of her and she turned away from her sister in shame. Cheek flat against the bed, she stared at the wall as her father raped her, her face wet with tears and her eyes like those of a battle-scarred refugee. Her face was slack, numb, the only movement coming in the form of a strained wince when he suddenly swelled in her, his dick straining excruciatingly against her walls. He thrusted one last time, then released with a low, guttural growl; his boiling slime launched deep into her violated womb, and Lupa took it in broken silence, her body obediently sucking every last drop.
When he was finished, he flopped limply against her back, his lips coming to rest against her ear. "How'd you like it, you fucking lezzie?"
Lupa didn't reply.
"Your pussy belongs to me," he said.
She said nothing.
He bit down on her earlobe; even the pain of ripping flesh was not enough to stir her. "And when I want it, I'll fucking have it." He let go of her hair and pulled out; hot liquid coursed down the backs of her legs. He struggled to his feet, pulled up his pants, and zipped them. "The same goes for you too," he said to Lacy. "The same goes for all you bitches!" He shouted the last three words, and his voice reverberated like the thunderous roar of an angry deity.
When he was gone, Lupa remained where she was. Her crotch throbbed like an abscessed tooth with every frenetic beat of her heart. Slowly, she allowed herself to fall to the floor,, then crawled to her bed, climbed up, and leaned back against the headboard. Drops of blood and globs of semen stained the floor and her coverlet. Her mind was blank, her body was a swirling tempest of emotions...chiefly among them hatred.
For herself.
For letting him do that to her.
Across the room, Lacy still shook and wept as though she was the one who'd just been raped. Lupa felt a rush of hate for her sister - who sat there and let it happen, who didn't even try to help. Had it been Lacy, Lupa would have done something, even though she knew she wouldn't prevail.
Lacy did nothing.
Her eyes started to leak, and she wiped them dry, then reached over, opened her nightstand drawer, and took out a single razor blade. Her hands trembled as she rolled up one sleeve of her hoodie and held it against her pale flesh. She was a junkie, and this was her fix...her escape.
She jerked the blade across her wrist, the skin tearing. A surge of endorphins flowed through her, but they were not enough. She moved higher and cut again, and again, and again…
...and again.
Leia was seething when she burst through the door, her flat chest heaving with great, angry breaths. Her pedicured nails bit into the fleshy pads of her palms and her teeth ground together with a spine-tingling sound.
That bastard. That filthy, rotten, stinking asshole. Since he aborted Lacy's dumb baby, Dad had barely touched her. Night after night she burned with desire for the sting of penetration, and every night he wasn't 'in the mood.' No matter what she did, no matter what she wore, no matter how much she danced her fingers across his stomach and kissed his neck, he wouldn't fuck her.
But he'd fuck Lupa, that ugly, white-haired, plain faced, fish faced fucking cripple.
Leia's body convulsed with barely contained rage. She slammed the door, stalked over to her bed, and sat down, only to jump up a moment later and pace, her fists opening and closing. How could he do this to her? She was supposed to be the one he fucked, she was supposed to be his only...he belonged to her, goddamn it!
What did Lupa have that she didn't, huh? What made him go to her instead of Leia? Was it her breasts? It sure couldn't be her face or her pussy; Leia was prettier and smaller than her, thus tighter. Dad told her all the time how good she felt.
Not good enough to keep him from parking his dick in the handicapped spot apparently. She lashed out and kicked the wall, denting it; plaster dust puffed up and made her cough, which pissed her off even more.
She was going to get him back, she decided. She didn't know how, and she didn't know when, but mark her words, she was going to make him pay. No one fucks with Leia Loud. No. One. She spun on her heels, went to her bed, and dropped down, her arms crossing and her brow pinching sullenly. She hoped he wanted to have sex tonight...because she wasn't in the mood.
A harsh laugh bubbled up from her throat, a laugh that cut short when the door opened. Lizy stepped hesitantly in, and Leia blinked: She wore a pair of overalls and her signature red cap.
Also a pink eyepatch.
Her good eye danced with a hopeful light. "Hi," she said meekly.
Oh, this was too rich.
"Ahoy, matey," Leia snorted, and laughed so hard she cried.
She didn't see the light in her sister's eye fade. Too bad: She would have enjoyed that immensely.