The 'Cest Kids Chapter 12: Hellfire, a loud house fanfic

Lyrics to Light My Fire by The Doors (1967)

Sometimes you just gotta get away from it all, like walking away from a raging dumpster fire. Friday afternoon, Luna Loud threw a duffle bag onto her bed and shoved a few changes of clothes in, then zipped it up. She'd grabbed them from the dirty clothes hamper (really, Lori, no clean laundry?), and didn't even know what was there - not that she really gave a fuck. She sat, pulled her purple boots on, and laced them with trembling fingers. She was just tying off the second one when her stomach cramped painfully; she clenched her teeth and moaned, her hands freezing at their task. Her arm muscles began to twitch, and she suddenly felt like she was going to be sick. She got shakily to her feet and hurried to the bathroom, where she dropped before the toilet, bent, and puked, a wave of sickly grayish liquid leaving her in a rush. Her stomach spasmed, and she cried out, her hands flying to the rim for support.

When the storm passed, she rocked back on her knees and wrapped her twig-like arms around her emaciated, almost-breastless frame. Slick, piss warm sweat coated her forehead and more slathered her cold, quivering body. She bowed her head as if to pray, and waited for it to break.

This was bullshit. She needed a fix.

It had been three days since she ran out of H - three long, miserable, fucked up days of withdrawals, three days of craving it so bad she could taste it, three days of sleepless nights and shiftless days, too sick and depressed to roll out of bed. Usually Chunk let her suck him for a fix, but lately he was real weird about money. I can't keep lettin' it go for free, luv, I got me bills to pay. Fucking limey ass wanker bitch, he knew she didn't have any cash and he fucking knew what not having brown did to her. He didn't care, though, because he was a fat piece of shit with a dumb nose ring and a little dick. Fuck him.

Isn't it grand how you can do and do for people and they still shaft you? When she was fifteen, she fucked this guy - gave him her virginity - because he was sad and homesick and moping like a bitch. Oooh, I been tryna' date, luv, and I ain't havin' me no luck, I'm sooooo alone. Did he keep that in mind? No, he didn't. He was an ungrateful punk, just like Lincoln.

Man, Lincoln really fucking pissed her off. She gave up her dreams to have his children when she was seriously thinking of having an abortion, and when Lyra was diagnosed with schizophrenia, she handled everything - doctor appointments, picking up her meds, taking her to the hospital when she was having an episode and thought everyone was out to kill her. Hell, even before she was diagnosed, when no one knew what was wrong with her and why she would hide under her bed or in a closet, why she'd throw raging tantrums and talk to people who weren't there, she was the one dealing. Where the fuck was he? When she pointed out what a neglectful piece of shit he was, he busted out the I work bullshit. What, you can't do anything else? He'd come home at the end of the day, crack a beer, and sit in his chair like a fungal growth or some shit. Fucking asshole. I'm tired, I worked all day. Yeah, bitch, so did I, I worked with Lyra to calm her down. You jerked off in a cubicle.

Another spasm wracked her stomach, and she moaned in agony. Fuuuuck. She threw her head back and hugged herself even tighter. God, she needed a fix. God, God, God.

And meanwhile that bastard Lincoln had his fucking alcohol. Piece of fucking shit. I'm glad you got your fucking medicine, man, where's mine? Why do I have to suffer? All I do and this is how you repay me. Fuck you. You know what, Linc-o? Lemy's not even yours, he belongs to some dude I fucked at a rave. He's fucked up because all of the drugs I was on. I'm not even one hundred percent sure Lyra's yours. And that miscarriage you don't know about? Uh-uh, that wasn't yours either.

The pain slowly subsided, and she pushed herself to her feet, her knees quaking and a wave of dizziness breaking over her. She pressed her fingers to her temple, closed her eyes, and fought to steady herself. When she was sure she wouldn't topple over, she went into the hall and started for the stairs, but stopped at a closed door. She looked around, then tried the knob.

It was locked.

She rolled her eyes, of course it was. She slipped the paperclip from her ear and bent it to an angle. Throwing a suspicious glance over her shoulder, she inserted the clip into the lock. She held the knob fast and jiggled the pick. After a moment, the tumblers activated, and the door creaked open. She slipped in and shut it behind her. The room was Spartanly furnished: A single twin bed, neatly made, a dresser, a desk and chair. Her heart was racing as she crossed to the dresser and gingerly pulled the top drawer out; the wheels squeaked in the track and she winced, sure that Lori would somehow hear and come running. She didn't, though, and Luna hurriedly sifted through socks and underwear until she found it: A wad of twenties and tens. She chuckled humorlessly. Lori was always going on and on about not having money. Go shopping, Luna, don't come home without groceries, Luna, but she had cash...she borrowed it from Lincoln in dribs and drabs and squirreled it away. Pretty fucked up, huh? Keeping it all for herself, greedy bitch. Oh, boo hoo, the kids don't have food. Yeah, but you have...she picked up the money and counted...one-hundred-ten dollars. What, you can't make a meal with that? Food prices must have really risen.

She slipped two twenties out, shoved them into her skirt pocket, and refolded the stack, tossing it haphazardly back. She pushed the drawer closed and went to the door, stopping and putting her ear to it. She didn't hear anything, so she eased it open just enough to poke her head out.

The hall stood empty.

She tuned the thumblock, inched out, and pulled the door quietly closed behind her. In her room, she picked her phone up from the nightstand and dropped onto the edge of the bed. She swiped her thumb across the screen and texted Chunk. Wher r u.

A minute later he replied. On me way.

Thank fuck. The money combined with agreeing to spend the weekend camping with him (camping? In the winter? WTF, dude?) ensured that for the next three days, at least, she'd have a steady supply of H. Hallelujah. This going without shit was getting on her nerves. Lincoln needed to start working overtime or something. That or Lola needed to stop slutting around and get a job.

She knew, in a vague, hazy sort of way, that Lori would find out and know who took her money, but right now, sweaty and sick, Luna didn't care. That was a fight for another day, a day far, far in the future, and she wasn't in the habit of worrying about the future, she worried about the now.

"Maaaa!"

Luna looked up, and Lemy stood in the doorway, a big grin plastered to his face. Oh, she did not feel like dealing with this right now; she was clammy and sick and jonesing so hard she felt like she was dying. Nevertheless, she flashed a wan smile. "Hey, man, how's it going?"

He tittered and came into the room, dropping onto the bed next to her. She put her arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. You know, despite it all, she dug her kids; they were okay. "What'cha up to?"

"Nothing," he said.

"You staying away from fire?"

He giggled. "Fiiirrree."

"Yeah, man, you gotta chill with that stuff, it'll burn you up."

Lemy tittered happily at the idea of being burned. Luna didn't get it, he knew how bad fire hurt, but he still had some kind of fantasy about being consumed by flames or something. She wondered if his father - his real father - was a pyro too; she didn't remember shit about him. She was fucked up and dancing when he came up behind her and put his hands on her hips, then her legs, then up her skirt...everything else was foggy.

Maybe Lemy was Lincoln's. Or someone else's. She didn't fucking know, she was with a lot of guys over the years. Sex is fun, you know, and she wasn't some fucking prude about it. Oh, we have to be married and in love blah blah blah. No we don't.

"Fire make Lemy haaaaapppppyyy," Lemy drew and snuggled against her side. "And horrrrnnnnyyy."

Luna was shocked into a laugh. She leaned forward and looked at his crotch; yup, dude had a boner from hell. He twisted around and looked up at her with big, hopeful eyes. "Mommy get Lemy off?"

Well...yeah, okay, why not? She had time to kill, and what better way to do it than by bonding with her son? "Sure," she said, and Lemy's smile widened. She slipped off the bed and shifted between his knees. His eyes twinkled when he realized what she was going to do; he loved being sucked off.

She grinned wickedly up at him as she pulled the tab of his zipper teasingly down. She unbuttoned his jeans with nimble fingers and his not-inconsiderable penis popped out; it was red and twitched with fever, the heat caressing her face and the wild, animal smell drifting into her nostrils. She wrapped her fingers around it, and Lemy's breath caught, his hips rocking forward. A haughty smile of satisfaction touched her thin lips; she still had it. "Does that feel good?"

Lemy, hands splayed on either side of him, nodded. Luna tilted her head forward until her lips were almost touching him; her hot breath puffed against his member, and it twitched in anticipation. A bead of precum formed at his head and dribbled down his flank. She watched it for a moment, her core beginning to ache, then she leaned in and curled her tongue, faintly ghosting it along his fevered skin and catching his fluid on her tip. Lemy moaned; his hips jerked spasmodically and Luna giggled. She really liked to tease a man and bring him to the edge, only to pull back at the last second and watch him squirm. It was such a fucking turn on, and right now she was getting really aroused: Her slit was damp and some of her essence trickled down the insides of her meager thighs.

She glided her hand up his dick, squeezed, then took it in her mouth, moving down slowly, dragging the tip of her tongue down his underside. He clutched the blankets in his hands and rolled his hips; his breaths came in ragged gasps. The salty taste of his precum filled her mouth, and she hummed in appreciation. He touched the back of her throat, and she pulled up slowly, swishing a mixture of saliva and his substance against him. She reached his crowned head, then jerked down. He gasped and bucked against her. She cupped his balls in her hand and started to knead like a playful kitten as she reached his base.

When her phone buzzed, her eyes flew open. She spit him out, twisted, and picked it up, her heart racing with hope. Here luv, the text read, and i brought me friend mr. brownstone.

YES!

She jumped to her feet, oblivious to the look of hurt and confusion on her son's face, and to the desperate way his penis jerked, aching for a release that was so, so close but so, so far. She grabbed her bag and threw it over her shoulder. "Alright, man, it's been real. See ya Monday," she said and patted the top of his head.

"Maaa?" he asked brokenly as she left the room; she didn't hear and wouldn't have stopped if she had...Chunk was here and he had heroin. That's all that mattered.

At the head of the stairs, she met Lyra coming up. She did not notice the girl's fevered eyes, anxious expression, or mumbling lips. "See ya Monday," she said and descended.

That was a threat.

She's going to kill you on Monday.

Go to your room and hide!

Chase her down and kill her first!

"No, she wouldn't hurt me, you're lying," she muttered as she wandered aimlessly toward the bathroom, "stop lying to me, stop trying to drive me crazy."

Like her mother, she did not notice Leia standing by the door, her eyes locked on Lemy, her mind working, a plan forming from the hate-filled depths of her soulless mind. Lemy sat with his head bowed and his erection standing proud, winter sunlight gleaming on the mixture of his and his mother's fluids. Leia sneered distastefully at the prospect of doing what she was about to do, but her plan for vengeance against her father required a fall guy, and Lemy Loud, you...are...it.

She entered the room and pushed the door closed behind her. Lemy looked up, his face slack with disappointment. "Hi," she drew and batted her eyelashes, "what'cha doing?"

He grunted stupidly.

Instead of rolling her eyes like she wanted to, she flicked them to his penis, making damn sure to be as obvious as humanly possible. She hummed and looked into his eyes as she began to saunter toward him, her hips swishing and the hem of her skirt caressing her stockinged knees. His eyes widened when she knelt before him, her hands coming to rest on the tops of her thighs. Her eyes darted from his eyes to his dick and back again, and her pink tongue swiped slowly and suggestively along her bottom lip. He blinked in surprise, and she uttered a high, musical giggle. "Do you need me to help you with something, Lemy?"

He nodded eagerly.

She reached out and trailed her thumb up his aching rod. His eyes rolled back into his head and he started to shake. He was so pathetic she could hardly stand it, and it took everything she had to keep from crushing his balls in her hand. "Well," she said and tilted her head cutely, "I need you to help me with something too."

His Adam's apple bobbed.

"Can you do that, Lemy?"

He stared at her; he was panting like the horny, mindless dog he was. She leaned in and pressed her lips faintly to his dick. "If you help me, I'll help you." Her tongue darted out and touched him. He writhed and let out an animalistic mewl. She flattened the tip of her tongue and licked slowly upward, stopping when she reached his head. He trembled.

She pouted. "You help me?"

His head bobbed frantically up and down. Leia grinned to herself. So predictable. "Ummm. Thank you, Lemy," she said huskily, then molded her lips around his tip. Lemy groaned as she pushed down, his length filling her warm, wet mouth. He wasn't as big as Dad, so he didn't strain against the insides of her cheeks, though when he poked the back of her throat she did gag. She ignored it, though. She laid her hands on his legs and established a frenetic pace, her head bobbing up and down. Lemy groaned and threaded his fingers through her blonde hair, which made her slack just a little. My fucking hair? Really? I just did it!

Focus, Leia, it'll all be worth it in the end. She thought of her father as she worked her brother's penis, of the payback he had coming, of the pain and agony that he would suffer. She felt herself beginning to stir, and instead of fighting it, she let her arousal come; she slickened and her heart thumped a crazy beat. Lemy ran his hands through her hair and thrusted up to met her every downward stroke. She saw visions of Dad's face twisted in horror and his eyes pooled with misery, and her center burned so hot it made her lightheaded. She pushed away from her brother and pounced him, knocking him back against the bed and welding her lips hungrilly to his. For a moment he was too shocked to respond, then he kissed her, their tongues wrestling for dominance. His hands moved down her arms, around her hands, and clutched her butt, the way his nails dug into her soft flesh making her gasp. She shoved her arm between them, hooked her finger into the waistband of her panties, and yanked them down, her heat seering her hand.

The kiss broke, and she pulled her underwear to her knees, then kicked out of them. She slapped her hand against his chest, her body thrilling at his wince of pain, then pushed herself up. She shifted her hips until their sexes were aligned, then she jerked roughly down. He crashed through her lips and scraped her quivering walls. She moaned and began to bounce, her fingers clutching the front of his shirt. Her eyes, filled with fire, narrowed, and her teeth clamped her bottom lip. Lemy simply lay there, gaping at his little sister's unbridled passion. When he came alive, he gripped her hips and pushed up, spearing her deeper. She bowed her head and rocked against him. "Yes, yes, yes, yes," whispered, "oh, God…"

His hands crept up her body, his thumbs brushing her nipples through the fabric of her shirt; sharp sensation radiated through her body and she sighed. She pressed his hands hard against her chest and threw her head back, her hips rocking wildly back and forth. He rubbed his palms against her breasts, and that was all she could take; not having sex in a week and a half does funny things to a girl, like making her cum within two minutes of penetration. Convulsions tore through her, and she cried out. Lemy swelled painfully against her walls and released, his sticky hot seed shooting deep into her and making her eyes widen. God, she loved that feeling. She smiled up at the ceiling as she rode out her climax, her hands still on Lemy's, his palms still mashed against her nipples.

When she was done, she rolled off of Lemy and lay next to him. Her knees were jelly, her heart raced, and his seed oozed out of her in a thick stream, staining the cover. She was actually surprised at how good it was.

The sex wasn't important right now, though.

Catching her runaway breath, she turned and propped her face in her upturned palm. "So, here's what I need from you…"

Lupa lay sprawled in her bed, her vacant eyes pointed at the ceiling and her mouth a white, tight-lipped slash. One arm jutted over the edge, and the cuff of her hoodie had ridden up to reveal a series of angry red cut marks. She wasn't aware of this fact, and she wouldn't have cared if she had been. No one would notice...and no one would care.

"Hey," Lacy said hesitantly from her own bed, and Lupa turned her head toward the wall. She drew a heavy breath and shifted slightly. She was tired and depressed, but she didn't want to fall asleep because every time she did, she went back to that day nearly a week ago, her father gipping her hips painfully and jamming himself into her, thrusting, filling her with his cum...to the absolute and utter helplessness she felt, to the feelings of violation and domination.

And humiliation.

Tepid tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them back. She felt so small, so powerless; all she could do was lay there and let him fuck her, hating herself for being too weak to fight back. Do you know how badly that hurts? It's like a gnawing in your stomach, a band tightening around your heart and lungs. She couldn't stop him. And when he came back, she wouldn't be able to stop him then either: She'd have to roll onto her back and take it.

The blade cried out from her nightstand, and she seriously considered getting it out. She could press it against her soft throat...dig it into her flesh...then jerk. It would hurt, but only for a little while...just a little while.

"Lupa?"

The corners of Lupa's mouth turned down and her face hardened. Every time she heard Lacy's voice, bitter hatred flowed through her like acid. She tried hard to forgive her sister, but right or wrong, the feeling of betrayal was so deep, so consuming that she couldn't. I was prepared to die for you, Lacy, she thought now, repeating a snatch of the same line, the same argument, that had been running endlessly through her mind since Monday. But you wouldn't do the same for me. Realizing just how alone in the world she was, like a girl drowning in the middle of a black, tempest-tossed sea, hurt more than even the rape.

She didn't want to be alone, goddamn it, she wanted her family to be normal; she wanted a dorky dad to roll her eyes at, a mother who fussed and made her put on a coat before leaving the house, siblings to laugh and play and bicker with...siblings who may wrong and mistreat each other, but always kiss and make up at the end of the day. She wanted rules and lame family portraits and all of the things she openly scoffed at but secretly envied. She wanted it so bad she ached, and the knowledge that she would never, ever have it made her want to sob her little eyes out. I just want to be loved.

And protected.

Across the room, Lacy sat with her knees drawn to her chest and a sad frown on her face. She stared silently at her sister for a moment, then hazarded another attempt. "Lupa?"

"Leave me alone," Lupa groaned miserably.

Lacy started to speak, but cut herself off. Ever since the day...Dad hurt her, Lupa had been really depressed and short-tempered. Lacy was pretty sure that Lupa was mad at her for some reason, and that made Lacy feel claustrophobic, because Lupa was all she had. She hugged her legs and rested her forehead against her knees as tears threatened to overwhelm her; in that moment she wanted to die. Lupa hated her, Dad hated her, Mom hated her, and her baby was dead in the trash.

She started to cry. There was no point in living anymore, every day was bleak and meaningless. Once upon a time, she cared about baseball and soccer and things like that, now she cared about nothing. Except Lupa and Lupa didn't care about her; that hurt so bad it felt like her something was going to collapse in on itself. "Lupa…"

"Don't fucking talk to me!" Lupa snapped.

Lacy cried harder, unashamed, her grief laid bare for her sister to see and hear. There was a time when Lacy would rather die than show such raw emotion, such vulnerability, in front of someone, even Lupa, but now she didn't give a fuck. Her life was over. Teenage girls say that all the time, but they did it for petty stuff like ruined dates or something. This wasn't petty. This was her baby being dead and her aching for it every single day, dreaming of holding it every single night; this was being hurt and hated by everyone you tried to love. If that's how it was going to be, she didn't want to live anymore. "I wish I was dead," she sobbed.

"So do I," Lupa said. "There's a razor in my nightstand. Use it."

She should. She should cut her wrists and let herself bleed to death; at least then she wouldn't have to miss her baby or have nightmares about Dad pulling it out and strangling it until its head came off. In dreams, it cried and kicked and screamed for her to save it - help me, mommy, please! - but she was frozen in place; she could only watch as it died again and again and again.

Death sounded good. Really good.

She sniffed wetly and turned her head to face Lupa, her cheek pressed flat against her knee. Lupa lay on her back, her face aimed at the wall. "Can I have it?" she asked, a hitch in her voice. With a heavy sigh, Lupa twisted around, opened the drawer, and took out a single blade. Her eyes did not meet Lacy's as she tossed it; it landed on the cover.

"Across the street for attention, down the road for results," Lupa said dully.

Lacy stared down at the blade, her heartbeat speeding up and her throat going dry; it gleamed wickedly in a spill of sunlight...except for the dulled edge...that was crusted with dried blood. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked at Lupa as if for guidance, but she was staring at the wall again, her back metaphorically turned, her shoulder cold. Lacy reached out with trembling fingers and picked the razor up. It felt like ice in her hand...the ice of death. She nervously licked her lips.

If there was one word her friends would use to describe her, it would be tough. On the field, she ran fast, hit hard, and always got back up after being knocked down. She finished a soccer game in the fifth grade with a sprained wrist, and in seventh grade, she scored a game winning touchdown with a concussion.

The truth, though, was this: She was not tough. She realized that as she pressed the blade against her wrist; it shook in her grasp, and each time she tried to cut, she winced at the pain and drew back. Tears of frustration welled in her eyes and she gritted her teeth in determination.

She couldn't do it. She sat there for what felt like eons with the blade biting into her flesh but not drawing blood. Finally, she threw it aside and buried her face in her knees.

"Pussy," Lupa grunted.

Lincoln was in a foul mood when he got home that Friday evening; the car wouldn't start that morning, his boss dressed him down in front of the entire department, and the liquor store was out of Canadian Mist, so he had to buy Captain Morgan, which was more expensive and not as smooth. Lovely day. Real fucking lovely.

He slammed through the door to find the living room deserted and the TV off, which wasn't surprising; his bastard ingrate kids didn't like spending time with their old man anymore. They'd rather shut themselves up in their rooms. That was fine by him, though; he didn't want them around anyway. He closed the door behind him and crossed to his chair, where he sat with a weary, defeated sigh. In the kitchen, Lori rustled around as she prepared the evening slop. Lincoln untwisted the cap of the Cap (hey, it's like a pun or something) and took a long swallow; it burned all the way down but he didn't care; chasers are for bitches. So is dinner. This was the nourishment he needed. Cable TV is for bitches too. How much would he save a month if he had it cut off? No one in this house deserved it and he didn't watch the damn thing, so why keep it around?

No one in this house deserved shit. If they wanted something, let them work. No more Daddy, Daddy, Daddy and Lincy, Lincy, Lincy, fucking fat hands stuck in his face asking for this, asking for that. I need money fo' da club and Lyra needs her medication. Get a fucking job, how about that? The only one who even had a job was Luan...and that was McDonald's. LOL! A grown woman working at McDonald's like a fucking teenager and making minimum wage. Pretty fucking sad, huh? She could do better, she just didn't want to. None of them did. They wanted to sit on their asses, ignore their fucking kids, and suck him dry as soon as he got home, and not in a good way. You know...why did he even do this? He worked forty to fifty hours a week just to have dick at end of it all. Why not just stay home?

He took another pull from the bottle and winced as the Captain spread through him like a brush fire. He should quit...he should quit and make these bitches work. There were ten of them...no, eight...how fucking many? It didn't matter, there were a fuck ton, plus Liena and Lyra, they were old enough to have jobs. If they all worked part time, they'd be golden right now. Instead they made him work like he was their goddamn nigger servant slave boy. They always did that to him. Well, you know what...no more. Those fucking days are over. In fact, they ended right now.

Gripping the neck of the bottle tightly in one hand, he got up, and nearly pitched forward on shaky knees, but caught himself with a muttered curse. He took another drink and shuffled into the kitchen, where Lori was stirring a pot of something that smelled like shit. She glanced up at him, and her eyes darted to the bottle. "You're getting a job, bitch," he slurred.

A shadow of fear crossed her face, and she hurriedly looked away.

Disrespectful cunt.

"You hear me?" Lincoln demanded.

"Can we talk about this later, please?" she asked, her voice a strained whisper.

Lincoln flashed; he shot forward like a striking cobra, and Lori cried out in pain when he snatched a handful of her hair and wrenched back. "I'M DONE BEING YOUR GODDAMN NIGGER!" he yelled, spittle flying from his lips and spraying her face. "YOU"RE GETTING A JOB! A JOB! A JOB!"

She thrashed against him and threw out her arm, hitting him in the face. That did it: He balled his fist and smashed it into the side of her head. She uttered a sharp scream, and before he knew what he was doing, he shoved her away; she landed hard on the floor in a heap of bitch.

Rage swept through Lincoln's chest. He was done being their servant, he was done being their ATM, he was done sitting there and taking shit from a bunch of fucking women who thought they were big and tough and wanted to control him, he was done, done, DONE. Seething now, he turned, spotted the pot on the stove (Hamburger Helper, Lori? AGAIN?), and grabbed it. "Fuck you!" he cried and threw it against the wall; the pot struck with a clatter and food splashed out. Lori, sobbing into her hands now, jumped. "There's your dinner, bitch. Eat up. Bon appa-fucking-tite." He stalked over, and she cringed. God, she was so fucking pathetic. He shot out his arm and grabbed her by the chin, her lips smooshing together. Her eyes were filled with terror and she quaked all over. "Tomorrow," he said, his voice low and brutal, "you get a job or you and your retard daughter are out."

He pushed her away and stormed out, the hitching sound of her pitiful weeping following behind. Good. Maybe she got the fucking message this time. He took another drink as he crossed the living room and started up the stairs. He was starting to feel unsteady, and warm oblivion tinged the edges of his consciousness. He reached the top and paused, gripping the railing to keep himself from falling. Fucking stupid bitches. They're all getting jobs. Liby too. No more excuses. She was almost fifteen, she could find something. Loan too. Night watchman, there you go; throw her in front of the door so no one can come in.

Another drink. More fire. More rage. He took a deep, angry breath through his nose...and gagged: A thick cloud of sickly-sweet odor, like spoiled meat, hung heavy in the air. He waved an angry hand in front of his nose and gritted his teeth. This was bullshit. Every fucking day it stank up here, and every day he yelled at Liena because it was coming from her nasty ass pigsty of a room.

This ended now.

He went to her door, taking another pull, and threw it open, a wave of fetor washing over him and nearly knocking him back. Liena was sitting on her bed and rocking a baby doll. She looked up, and the blood instantly drained from her face. From that look alone, he knew she was doing something wrong; she was too fucking dumb for a poker face and always had been.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asked, his voice thick and slow.

She gaped stupidly, her jaw slack and her eyes shimmering with fear. Lincoln looked from her to the thing in her arms...and blinked in shock: Since when do they make baby dolls with loose flaps of gray skin and exposed skull?

It hit him.

"You dirty, nasty scum-bitch," he said dangerously.

"I-I-I... " she stammered.

"YOU FILTHY FUCKING CUNT!"

In her bed, Loan started and let out a frightened gurgle.

Lincoln sprang forward, the bottle dropping from his hand and landing with a thud on the floor. Liena's eyes widened and she screamed. He grabbed her face and slammed her head back against the wall. "YOU DIRTY SLUT!" He slammed her head again, then brought the back of his hand down in a deadly arc, his knuckles raking painfully across her cheek. She moaned and started to cry.

He pushed her back and grabbed the fetus by the front of its onesie. Liena shrieked and held fast. "My baby!"

He yanked, and the baby came apart in the middle, its rotting intestines plopping wetly into Liena's lap. She screamed in horror as Lincoln stumbled back, the baby's bottom half in his hands. Its flesh was cold and like marble. He drew back and threw it against the wall; it splattered with a squelching sound and slid to the floor, leaving a greasy trail in its wake.

Liena was holding its upper half close to her chest and sobbing. "Lo Lo," she moaned, "are you okay?" Blood trickled from one of her nostrils, and an ugly purple bruise was beginning to form on her cheek.

"GET THAT FUCKING THING OUT OF MY HOME!" Lincoln screamed.

"B-But…"

"Now!"

Weeping bitterly, she rolled out of bed and collected the baby's legs from the floor. "Don't forget the guts," Lincoln said and nodded to the bed.

She scooped the guts into her arms, and carried the broken remains of her Lo Lo downstairs, Lincoln following to make sure she actually disposed of them. Outside, she sat them in the trash, then covered her face with her hands and cried. Shaking his head in disgust, Lincoln went back inside and sat in his chair.

This goddamn family was more trouble than it was worth.

He laid his head back and closed his eyes. He should fuck Lupa again after dinner. Or...he should fuck Liby. She was just like her sister; little Miss Too-Good-For-Daddy. He should fuck her ass so it hurt more...really drive the point home: You belong to me and will do what I say.

With that thought in mind, Lincoln lapsed into unconsciousness.

Lemy sat alone in the middle of his bed, a magazine open in his lap and his heart racing. Music drifted from his stereo, an old song from a CD his Mom gave him, hypnotic organ and other stuff he couldn't name or even comprehend.

The time to hesitate is through

No time to wallow in the mire

Try now we can only lose

And our love become a funeral pyre

Before him was spread a picture of firefighters battling a wildfire in California, dense white smoke clogging the air and flames crackling lowly. He panted like a dog in heat, his erection pushing painfully against the seam of his dirty jeans.

Come on baby, light my fire

Try to set the night on fire, yeah

His tongue darted out and licked his chapped lips. He turned the page, and his breath caught: A house on a hillside was completely engulfed, its timbers crackling and collapsing in the heart of the conflagration. His penis throbbed and a giddy titter bubbled up from his throat. Lemy liked fire. Fire was pretty. Fire was good. When he put his thing in Lyra and Leia, he pretended they were made of fire, and when his mother gave him suck suck, he imagined his pee pee withering and turning black as her heat enveloped it. He stole Lupa's lighter once and held it to his wiener. It hurt really bad, but it also made him cum so hard he ached for hours afterwards.

You know that it would be untrue

You know that I would be a liar

If I was to say to you

Girl, we couldn't get much higher

Come on baby, light my fire

Try to set the night on fire

Lyra and Leia's girl things weren't as good as fire, but they were hot, like boiling oil, and that was good enough for him.

For now.

Soon, though, he would burn his thing off no matter how bad it hurt, because it felt good too.

The pain would be worth it in the end.

He was turning the page when the door opened. He looked up, and Leia was there, her arms crossed over her chest and her brow raised haughtily. Her lips were tight and she looked like she was a mom and he was her playing-with-matches-son. "Are you ready?" she asked, her voice dripping with contempt.

Ready for fire!

Lemy nodded.

"Come on, then," she said, "and be quiet."

Lemy threw the magazine aside and got up, his bare feet padding on the carpet. Leia stepped aside and he brushed past her. The hall was dark and silent. Everyone was asleep. "Here," she said, and shoved a white plastic bottle into his hands. He held it up to the light spilling from his room and studied the label. He couldn't read, but the flaming pile of charcoal told him it was lighter fluid. Grinning madly, he uncapped it and took a big, happy sniff, his eyes rolling back into his head and his dick aching. "Come on," Leia hissed lowly, and grabbed his hand. He allowed her to lead him down the stairs and into the living room, basking in the wonderous aroma the whole way.

"Alright," Leia said, bringing Lemy back to earth. They were in front of Daddy; he was slouched in his chair and snoring deeply, his head lolling against his shoulder. A lamp cast warm yellow light across his wan face.

Leia snatched the light fluid from Lemy's hands, pointed it at Daddy's crotch, and squeezed; clear liquid shot out in a stream and splashed his jeans. "I was going to do this to Lacy," Leia said, her lips pulling back from her teeth in a hateful sneer, "but Daddy deserves it more." Daddy's pants and the bottom of his shirt were saturated now, and the tang of lighter fluid filled the air. She held the bottle upside down to get the last few drops, then handed it to Lemy.

"He wouldn't fuck me but he'd fuck Lupa," Leia said, "well...I'm going to fuck him." She pulled a book of matches from her skirt pocket, ripped one out, and struck it across the phosphorus strip. Lemy's heartbeat sped up at the sudden, dancing flame. Leia regarded their father with a glare. "Let's see you do other girls with no dick." She tossed the match; it landed in his lap, and with a whump, the lighter fluid ignited.

Lemy's jaw dropped.

It was beautiful.

Leia turned away and started past, but stopped and slipped the matches into his hand. "Thanks for taking the fall," she said and kissed his cheek, "you're a good brother."

Daddy snorted and his head whipped around, his eyes opening triedly. He saw the flames, and the pain presumably hit him; he let out a throat ripping howl and failed his arms. Firelight danced in Lemy's eyes, and the corners of his mouth curled upwards. Daddy screams were high-pitched and womanish, his vocal cords straining; the pain must be excruciating. Leia giggled and walked calmly to the bottom of the stairs, where she stopped and took a deep breath. She waved her hands over her face like an actor preparing to take the stage.

Upstairs, footsteps pounded on the floor. Leia put on her best mask of horror, and hurried up, meeting Lori at the top. "What's happening?" the woman asked, her sleep-puffed face drawn in concern.

"Lemy set Daddy on fire!"

Lori's face went white. "What?"

"I tried to stop him but he pushed me, please help Daddy, please!" She started to cry.

Lori shoved past her and ran down the stairs, her hand trailing the banister. Leia watched her disappear around the corner, and grinned at her horrified "Oh, my God!" She stayed there, listening; her slit moistened, and she found herself just a little disappointed that Lemy wouldn't be around to fuck her later. Oh well.

"What's going on?"

She turned; Lacy and Liena stood at the top of the stairs, Liena in an oversized white T-shirt and Lacy in red gym shorts and a red night shirt. They both looked worried.

"Lemy set Daddy on fire," Leia said, trying her best to sound miserable.

Below, Daddy's screams were masked by the staticky hiss of a fire extinguisher. Hopefully Lori caught him in time.

Leia wanted him to suffer.

Leni Loud leaned over, kissed her boyfriend Dave (or was it John? She had a lot and it was super hard to keep them all straight) and got out into the chilly November night, a cold wind ruffling her neatly brushed blonde hair and making her shiver despite her coat. For her, style won over substance every time, and while cute, her jacket was totes not toasty.

Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she started up the walk, her heels clicking on the stone in, like, a really creepy way; even though she was a grown-up thirty-seven-year-old woman, she still got scared of the dark sometimes, and right now she was starting to imagine things crouching in the night, staring at her and licking their chops like hungry dogs...dogs hungry for Leni meat.

She threw a glance over her shoulder, and drew strength from the fact that Dan (or was it Kyle?) was still parked at the curb, the headlights of his car cleaving through the darkness and revealing it to be totes monster free. Yay. If there was a big scary monster, he would protect her. He even said, "I'd do anything for you, baby," when he was trying to get her to have sex with him the first time (or did Mark say that? Steve? Oh, she didn't know). He better protect her, she swallowed his icky cum earlier. Leni did not like the taste of cum but she never spit because when she was little, her mother told her to always eat what was offered to her, and if she didn't, Mom would smack her across the back of her head and ground her. We don't, like, have all this food for you to waste, young lady, go to bed and totes don't come back. Every time she had something icky in front of her, like brussel sprouts or boy gunk, she ate it all up and didn't complain; Mom wasn't around anymore, but Lincy was, and Lincy reminded her a lot of Mom because he was always mad.

Like...okay, I should be the one who's mad, you tricked me! And Lori too! That is, Lincy and Lori tricked her, not that Lincy tricked her and Lori. When she was sixteen, they came into her room one night when she was brushing her hair at her vanity and said they had a game they wanted to play. Okay! Leni loved playing games with her family, Lincy especially; he was, like, a cute little puppy dog or something, and Leni totes adored him. The game, though, was really weird: She had to take all over her clothes off and lie down, then let Lincy and Lori touch and kiss her. That was sooo embarrassing; she remembered laying there with the biggest, hottest blush ever and cupping her thing coly in her hands as Lincy and Lori sat on either side of her. They were naked too, and they ran their hands all over her, ever her boobs, which were, like, private. The only person who ever touched them was Dad, and then only because he had to check her for cancer or something. It happens to little sluts your age all the time, he whispered huskily into her ear and he played with her nipples from behind. Don't want you losing these...they're really nice.

Anyway, Lincy and Lori touching her body felt really wrong, but then Lori ripped her hands away from her thing and held them while Lincy put his fingers in...and it felt soooo good. Lol, Lori had to stick her tongue in her mouth to keep her quiet because she was panting and moaning and all kinds of stuff. Then when Lincy got on top of her and put his thing in her thing...she felt like she was on a cloud in heaven or something. She never knew it was possible to feel that good...then he shot his cum in her and she felt even better, all hot and shaky and like waves were pulsating out from the middle of her stomach. It was really nice.

So nice, in fact, that Leni kind of got addicted and had sex with Lincy at least once a day.

The reason she should, like, be mad was because Lincy knew that putting his boy stuff in her would make her pregnant...she did not. Her parents never gave her 'the talk' and she didn't know that's where babies come from. She thought, like, the birds and bees brought them the way Santa brings toys (she was twenty-five when Lincy got mad and told her he wasn't real...she cried for days). If she knew that letting Lincy break his nut in her vajayjay was going to make her pregnant, she, like, would have let him only do it at night when his soldiers were sleeping. Instead, she let him do it all the time, then one day she started feeling sick and owy and her tummy began to hurt. She thought it was, like, a bug, but nope, it was a baby.

Leni liked babies, but she didn't want one of her own...not right then. She was in the middle of working and saving up to go to The Chicago School of Design and having a baby meant she couldn't, which made her heart frown because she really wanted to be a deisgnist and make cute clothes.

But Lincy and Lori took that away from her.

Even now, all these years later, just thinking about it made her chest feel like it was full of hot coals. Her hands balled into fists as she reached the bottom step. She oughta go in there and give them a piece of her mind.

Actually, that, like, wasn't sure a good idea; the last time she did that, Lincy slapped her and pulled her hair so hard it brought tears to her eyes. Keep it up, bitch, he said and jammed his finger into her cheek, and you and your nympho tramp daughter can get the fuck out my house.

Stupid Lincy. He thought he was soooo big and bad because Mom put the house in his name. Here, take it; don't ever try to contact me or Lily again. Yep, Mom thought she was so big and bad too. Well, you know what? Leni saw Lily at the grocery store all the time and they talked. She was, like, a cashier, and really nice too. She said Mom drank a lot and stayed out all the time with men, which she liked because it meant she had peace. Lincy drank a lot too. They were, like, two peas in a pot.

Lily wasn't the only one she saw...kind of. Dad messaged her on Facebook a few years ago and she gave him her number. Every once in a while he sent her pictures of his wee-wee. It should have been me. Uhh...okay, whatever that means. He said he wanted to come out and spend time with her. My new daughters are cold fish, he said, the only one who lets me touch her is Layla, and she's six. Frownie face.

So six-year-olds can get cancer too? She didn't know that.

She was at the door now, fishing in her purse for her keys. An owl hooted forlornly behind her, and she jerked a frightened glance over her shoulder: George (or was it Bill?) pulled away from the curb and drove off, his taillight dwindling.

Now she was alone.

Left in the dark.

Heart racing, she searched more frantically. Where are my keys? She closed her fingers around them, pulled them out, and flipped through them until the found the right one, the back of her neck tingling as if in expectation of a blow. She jammed the key into the lock, turned, and pushed the door open.

What she saw made her freeze.

A ball of fire sat in Lincy's chair while Lemy looked on, his arms slack at his sides. The flames were shrieking like a cat being mauled to death by another cat, and...she squinted...did it have Lincy's face?

Her mind started to work, wheels and cogs coming to life. When it hit her, her jaw dropped. Lincy was on fire!

Lori raced in from the kitchen with a red fire extinguisher in her hands. She looked really upset. She pointed the hose thingie at Lincy and started spraying him with white foam. The flames slowly died, and the firelight retreated from the room, leaving it cast in shadows. Lincy wailed in agony and Lori sobbed. Leni's night adjusted eyes picked out Lemy, and saw him stagger back when the fire extinguisher crashed into his chest. It hit the floor and rolled to Leni's feet like a dog greeting its master. She gaped down at it.

"YOU LITTLE PSYCHO!" Lori screamed.

Uh...this family had a lot of drama, but this was, like, too much. She turned around, closed the door, and whipped out her phone; she'd stay the night with someone.

She went to her contacts and scrolled through - fifty, eighty, a hundred names flashing by, most of them boys but some of them girls. She settled for the first name she saw and punched it, then lifted the phone to her ear. After a moment, a woman answered. "Hello?"

"Hey," Leni chirped, "my brother caught on fire and I need a place to stay tonight."

Carol Pingrey hummed suggestively. "I'll be right there."