Harrowing and graphic sexual abuse. It's Jose Menendez – what else? Trigger warnings apply. Father-daughter rape/incest. Physical abuse. Psychological abuse.

Kitty is the worst mother in the world but Lyle is the best brother. :)

Its Jose's 40th and he wants to celebrate in style – alone with his teenage daughter Erika.

Things will get better for her eventually.

Please leave a review if you want to even if it's to tell me how to improve or what you would like to see happen.

It's Daddy's 40th next week and I overhear him tell Mom he's taking me up town the night before to celebrate but he'll be back early the day after to spend his birthday with her.

I turn over on my bed and clutch my knees. I close my eyes to shut out my pink Princess bedroom and my fairytale 4-poster bed with its white veil from swimming in front of me.

I can hear the surprise in her voice as she answers him but typically, she never questions anything he does.

Lyle's away this week but he'll come back to join the family party when we get back. First there'll be a private celebration before the public one with all of Daddy's colleagues and contacts in Hollywood.

Next week comes round far too soon.

I'm up all night before in the bathroom. I can't keep any food down although I've tried to eat as little as possible all day.

Like I'm hungry anyway.

For appearances sake, he books us into the suite with three bedrooms.

But I know that'll be 2 too many.

I'm full of dread, knowing what he liked to do when he wanted to 'celebrate'. I pray he won't take things too far or the best-case scenario, he'll drink too much too fast during and after dinner and pass out until the morning.

Not that would stop him when he woke up. But still…Hopefully, he'd have run out of steam.

He lays out the little black cocktail dress on our bed that he's bought me proudly announcing his gifts and the lacy lingerie garters with suspenders, a lacy white bra with revealing holes where the nipples should be.

A beautiful sapphire necklace complete, with matching tear drop earrings.

Any other father and under any other situation, I would have been delighted with the beautiful jewellery

'Put them on.'

I shudder and want to puke.

He's waiting and wants to watch me get dressed in the bathroom complete with a360 degree all round mirror.

'Do you mind?'

'Of course.' Incredibly, he smiles gallantly at me and turns away to wait in the main bedroom.

When I come out, fully dressed although I know that wasn't what he was hoping for, he smiles at me proudly, waving the glass of whiskey on the rocks in his hand.

'You look beautiful.' He gushes. 'Give me a swirl.'

I comply, just grateful that's all he wants.

He swigs back his first drink, then the second while just staring at me.

It gets creepy.

'Now sing for me. You know what.'

'Happy Birthday, Mr President…' I begin, trying to keep my movements to the minimum.

'No, not like that. Dance!'

'But Dad…'

'Swish your hips more.'

I reluctantly do as he asks. Now his eyes are crawling all over me, the way they cling to the just not to tight enough to be slutty dress emphasises my curves and new bosom that I hate.

His hungry gaze lingers over my breasts.

'Dance sexy!' He commands.

As I finish my song, he downs his glass and can hold back no more.

He strides over and grabs me, pushes me down onto the bed.

'Dad…' I try. 'The dress…Please don't rip it…'

'Fuck the dress.' He growls but he slows down marginally and pauses to carefully undo the hooks at the back. Then he slides down my tights.

He kisses my neck and all over.

I close my eyes and try to imagine it's Troy.

But it's hard to convince myself it's my boyfriend when it is my father is on top of me.

Now Jose's moved his mouth from my exposed nipples without even taking the special bra off, probably why he bought it for me in the first place and now he's kissing down my concave stomach and jutting hipbones.

I curse my traitor body for arching up and the reluctant moan that escapes my lips.

He grabs them briefly and I froze.

'You need to put more meat on you, girl. A man likes a woman who can cushion him, not a skeleton.'

I turn my head away and try not to gag at this. But I'm not a woman and I'm your fucking daughter! But I don't say any of this, of course.

Then he moves his mouth to between my legs.

I badly want to close them but that would make him feel rejected and angry. Very dangerous. Anyway, it wasn't like anything I said or did could change what was going to happen, anyway.

But at least it's just sex maybe even verging on 'nice sex' with Dad judging by how he hard he's trying to arouse me too, I think to myself.

Afterwards, he pats my head and even though the sex with Dad so far hadn't been too bad tonight, I want to recoil. He wants to kiss before we go dinner too.

Even though it's a new violation on a different level, somehow I manage to convince him I'm into it by picturing Troy when I closed my eyes. I even manage to block out Jose's stench of whiskey and the constant cigarettes he smokes.

Dad makes sounds of approval so I guess my acting classes were coming in handy.

The 'nice sex' and his positive response give me hope that maybe his good mood would continue later back in the bedroom because the bastard had an insatiable appetite for sex that good food and booze only fuelled.

I should have known better because when Jose wants to celebrate something, he really goes to town.

In the hotel restaurant, I just pick at the entree – beef Tatar - that my father has ordered for me.

'Eat it.'

'But Daddy…'

'I paid for it and you're gonna eat it!' He bangs the table.

People look around.

Uh oh…

I eat as fast as I can and as soon as I'm finished, I literally run to the bathroom.

I throw up. I hate the thought of that grey, raw meat and disgusting blood staying in my body.

I don't think he knows about my little vomiting problem or even if he did, I'm not sure he would even care except I'm wasting food and therefore his precious money.

Dad smiles at me when I come back and drinks his red wine slowly. My stomach stops churning a little in relief.

I do the opposite to him and ask for another glass.

He raises an eyebrow at me but doesn't comment.

The mains - salmon with new potatoes and greens he's chosen for me arrives on my plate after the mushroom bread and soup. It seems like he's actually thought about what I would like to eat but I'm already more than half way full.

Dad orders a large brandy and eats his lamb shanks quickly.

I eat most of the fish and only pick at the potatoes – they're too heavy and I'm afraid they'll sit in my stomach later. However, I manage to consume most of the green beans and broccolini.

I can't help recoil back a little when he frowns down at my plate but he lets it slide.

'More wine?'

'Yes, please, Daddy.'

He clicks his fingers at a passing waiter.

My third large glass. 'Now, drink it slowly because it's your last one.'

I'm getting a warm glow now yet feel a shudder of dread. If Mom was here, no way would she let me drink this much.

But I need it to get through this night as well as spark me into intelligent conversation with my father to entertain and impress him. Show him that I was aware of the latest current events when he pressed me to demonstrate my knowledge and my wit. That the small fortune he'd spent on mine and Lyle's education hadn't gone to waste.

Most importantly, I had to keep him mellow so nighttime with him would be bearable.

Jose seems to be relaxing more now and laughing at my clever jokes. Good food, good sex and his favourite booze tended to do that to him.

I actually believed he would go easy on me that night.

However, knowing what I do, when he calls me daughter in front of the waiter and other people, it makes me want to puke.

Which I do.

I don't see him as my father

Just another man

A man who does nothing but hurt me

A dangerous man who could kill me who has threatened to since I could remember.

I don't feel like his daughter

This doesn't feel like dinner with my dad

I know the dinner isn't free

Nor are the clothes a no strings gift

They're for him really

And I will be forced to pay for all of them

Later on in the bedroom, I'm not so sure what mood he's in

My stomach twists and burns

Feels like molten acid rising

I rush to the bathroom to puke and cough

Meanwhile I can feel his eyes boring into my back with scornful disapproval

Oh no, I've embarrassed him again

In the room after, he punishes me

He's drunk, very drunk with more complimentary brandy sent up to his room.

He beats me hard first and punches me to the floor (not my face or head where it will show – rarely those) and chokes me with his belt so my necklace breaks but he doesn't care about that then kicks me in the stomach several times while I'm down there.

No, he doesn't usually do that- must be really fucking drunk or maybe even coked up. I think I caught him sniffing a few times after he came back from the bathroom with that maniac look in his eye.

I badly wanted to ask him for some but didn't dare.

'I hear you like to cut', He announces in cold rage and disgust directed at me.

He ties me up with rough ropes tightly while I struggle and try to plead with him - to the four posts of bed resembling my own and then I'm spreadeagled and he gags me so I can't scream.

He slashes at my inner thighs with the familiar, hated Rambo knife.

Did he bring it with him? Planned to use it tonight all along.

Not all my scars will be self-inflicted.

He inserts the tip of the blade into me - a silent threat.

I don't move as I lay in terror

My inner thighs sting and are bleeding

Without warning, he cuts the ropes and rips off the gag

But this doesn't mean it's over - far worse is yet to come. Incredibly; however, I'm stupid enough to believe he might go easy on me after all this

But he doesn't

He forces glasses of champagne down my throat until I gag and the bubbles come up in my nose and I stagger away to puke in the toilet

He starts screaming and banging in the locked bathroom door, ordering me to come out.

I can't delay any longer.

You always stink of vomit

Your teeth are falling out

You're skin and bone - no curves, small breasts. Why do I even bother to fuck you?

What other man would ever want you?

Damaged goods – no man is ever going to want you except me

You should be grateful

You'll always be mine

Daddy's whore – you made me – you asked for it

You wanted it

Flouncing around in your swimming costume, in your prep school uniform

Slut!

He screams all this at me through the bathroom ensuite door while I cringe against the wall.

I'm terrified as I go back to face him with feet that feel like they're suddenly encased in concrete boots. I walk down slow and heavy

I spy the half-full whiskey decanter and the shouldering cigarette on the ashtray by the bed

Uh oh - more drink?

He growls like a wild animal and throws me on the bed and enters me so hard with no foreplay know I'll be bleeding for days after

Then my anus and when he starts doing that, I just started screaming and passing out

It's so violent and he's so out of control, I can't even go to that special empty place in my mind where I can't feel anything and block out the pain with what's happening to my body.

When he's done ravaging me; embarrassed, he puts me in the blacked-out car and tells the driver to take me home.

The liveried middle-aged man just looks at me in shock and meets my eyes, questioning me in the front view mirror.

I shrug sadly, tears welling up despite myself while all my holes and bruises throb and my cuts sting. Now I can feel the sticky disgusting wetness of him and my blood dripping down my thighs.

I begged and pleaded with him to let me shower but he refused.

He told me I'd stay dirty because that was all I deserved. I was a dirty little whore. Always sleeping around with boys at school. He should take me out and send me to a girls' only institution to force me to 'keep my legs closed'.

I say nothing at his harangue of sick lies that he tells himself. I'm beaten down physically and mentally; besides, he hasn't given me permission to speak anyway.

Back in the car, the sympathetic driver offers me some tissues. I seize them and try to use the box to drown out the sound of my sobs.

The man looks concerned - maybe he has a daughter around my age. Maybe he's spotted the marks around my throat despite my attempts to conceal them by upturning the collar of my coat. I'm fiddling nervously with it now.

He opens his mouth to say something

Then clamps it shut

Seeing the state of me, he finally asks if I'm OK.

'Fine', I say in a tone that brooks no discussion.

So, George (I spy his name badge) turns and deliberately focuses on the road ahead.

He doesn't look at me again but I know he's suspicious and he's just seen my father bundle me in the car. I know he's filing this info to use at a later date although all Menendez family staff have to sign a NDA agreement

He can't see the marks like rope burns around my wrists and ankles

Or my other bruises and injuries.

But he can sense how hurt I am.

When my father turns 40, I am 14 years old.

I'm lying in my childish pink Princess bed in the house at Beverley Hills after having a blessed shower.

I hate the four-poster – I haven't liked it since I turned 6, it didn't reflect who I was. I wasn't a little princess! But Dad refused to buy me a big girl bed.

I stayed under the hot spray in my bathroom as long as I could before Mom's banging on my door.

I had time to be grateful that at least it wasn't my father.

I shuddered. Where was he? He drank quite a lot the night before.

Mom tends to me. It's the ice pack again. She's seen what he did to me below but she pretends she believes his story about me whoring around with some boys at school and things getting out of hand.

Since yesterday night when I was supposed to be celebrating in downtown L.A. with Dad?

I don't bother to correct her – what would be the point?

She only sees what she wants to see and believes what she wants to.

She doesn't comment on the new cuts on my inner thighs – one deep enough that it looks like it's going to scar permanently. I pray it won't damage my chances of becoming a model but as usual, she pretends she doesn't see them.

'Erika, you've got to be more careful. Why do you let those horrible boys use you like that?'

'Mom!'

'Why don't you tell ever tell them 'No'? You could get pregnant or even infected with AIDS!'

'There's no chance of that, Mom. Don't worry!'

'From now on, I'm going to get you examined at least every month. The doctor can do it now and I'll watch.'

'No, I'm fine!'

But she did, starting with one of the many Menendez family doctors - Dr Lennox, who Dad paid off to keep quiet and do whatever they said.

He examined me with my mother there.

Did I imagine that he lingered too long unnecessarily inside me or was it just because of what my dad was doing to me, making me paranoid? He'd never been unprofessional before.

I decided I must have imagined it.

'Vaginal and anal bleeding from rough sex' was his verdict.

Mom jumped on him immediately. 'Never mind about that!' She exclaims. 'What about AIDS?'

'No sign of venereal disease but I'll confirm that with blood tests.'

They were talking about me like I wasn't there!

I tried to protest but Mom shot me a warning look with narrowed eyes.

A second later, she rolled her eyes at the ceiling then shook her head in disgust and I shut up pretty quickly.

Later on, Doctor Creepy repeats the results of his examination for Jose's benefit alone when he comes home and then asks me if it the sex was consensual in front of my father.

Idiot!

Some unrecognisable emotion flickers across my father's face when the doc asks me this. From then on, the bastard forbids Lennox to be alone with me citing my 'mental instability'.

The doc looks at me, patiently waiting for an answer.

I open my mouth like a fish gasping in the air and no sound will come out.

Dad glares at me and nods to force me to say, 'No, I wasn't raped' and that 'Yes, I like it rough with boys at school.'

The doctor clears his throat but otherwise maintains his neutral mask of professionalism.

My humiliation is complete as shame burns my face and pricks my eyes with tears.

Dad also forces me to say I cut my own inner thighs because I have a self-harm problem.

Partially true, I have to admit.

Over the next few days, Mom insists on putting on the healing cream on me in both my intimate places where my father violated me. I tell her I can do it myself but she pushes my hands away.

'Come on. I need to see.'

'Why?'

'Check that you don't have AIDS or any other disease from sex.' She's freaking obsessed.

'The doctor said the tests were all negative!'

'You can't be trusted. You're a nymphomaniac!'

'No, I'm not! Get off me!'

'Do you want me to go and get your father in here?'

I go quiet then and let her do whatever she wants.

As soon as my mother leaves the room, I turn over in my bed and sob.

After they bring me food to eat and my parents force me to eat it all in front of them, I vomit. Most times, anyway.

My Dad checks on me too to see but he wants to know if I'm still bleeding.

Unlike Mom, he's not concerned about AIDS or another sexual disease because he knows the truth.

Jose, on the other hand, only cares about how quickly I'm healing from his brutal sexual assault.

And as soon the bleeding stops and the doc's healing period is over, he's at me again. But we don't have the 'rough sex'. The first time he comes to my bed, he brings the sapphire necklace he's had fixed along with the matching sapphire pearl-drop earrings. He springs open the box like a nice surprise.

He has me put them on while we fuck then put them away again after in my ballerina jewellery music box. It's either 'Normal' or 'Nice' sex.

He tells me they're 'our little secret' and not to tell Mom because it would make her jealous. He tells me he's never bought her anything so nice.

I want to die.

As soon as I'm better, Mother stays away then and just tells the maid to look after me. Except for the regular physical checks she insists on being there to watch.

But Lyle comes in and it's like the sun is shining on me.

He came to visit me the afternoon of our father's birthday as soon as he arrived through the door.

He'd heard that I was ill and didn't even stop to take his things to his room. Of course, they haven't told him anything – they just tell him I'm too sick to attend Daddy's official birthday celebration.

I don't want to go anyway.

It's not like I'll miss the food and drink.

Or the company. A load of stuffy old media executives and my parents' stuck up friends and their spoilt kids our age – most of them.

My brother looked worried as he runs his hands through his hair after he pokes his head around my bedroom door.

I think to myself how handsome he and even though he's dark like our father, he's nothing like him in personality.

He gets on my bed on top of the covers and puts his arm around me. Nothing sleazy about him. In fact, my brother's touch makes me feel safe.

Everyone in our circle gravitates towards him, his energy, his warmth that he gives freely to anybody who wants it.

His charisma.

'What's wrong with you, little sis?'

'I got the flu, didn't you hear?'

'Yeah. Well, don't give it to me. I've got a tennis tournament coming up next month.' But he's grinning to take the sting out of his words.

'Why you wearing a winter scarf in bed, huh?' He laughs and playfully lifts up the tasselled ends.

'Because I'm cold and they told me to keep warm.' I lie and shrug.

We chat a while about everything and anything other than our parents. Our friends and what they are up to, college…

Then he looks at his watch and squeezes me gently one final time.

'Shit! I gotta go. I said I'd meet Jamie and bring her back here.'

I suddenly panic and the time I'd enjoyed being so close to my big brother had been cut short…far too short. 'Don't go!' I cling to his shirt sleeve!

He stops getting up to leave and frowns. 'What's wrong?'

'I…Dad…he…he… I'm not…'

He looks at me sharply immediately on alert and I realise he's never fully trusted our father. 'Dad? What about him?'