Flower in the Dark

"You're a bastard, and I wish I could hate you." She bites out, before darting upstairs to her room on wobbly legs, the sound of her cries echoing behind her.

35

Violet

I stumble back up the stairs, barely able to walk with the soreness between my legs and the throbbing in my ass. I can feel his semen running down my thighs, warm and sticky. I feel broken, sometimes it seems like he really wants me, and then treats me like I’m his fuck toy, just there for his use and pleasure.

Ahhh, a treacherous little voice in my head says, but at least he does make it feel good for you too.

I shake off the rush of feelings that this thought creates, not wanting to dive down that rabbit-hole just now. I somehow manage to make it back to my room without falling and slam the door shut behind me. On unsteady legs, I head straight for the shower, just like he said to do. I want to fucking cry until I drown in my damn tears because his rejection stings more than I care to admit to myself.

I turn the water on, surprise washing over me like the hot water cascading from the shower. He must have fixed the water. I stand there and let the hot water pour over my head and down my body, feeling my muscles relax and a small weight lift from me. I clean myself up as best I can, carefully washing the remnants of his orgasm from my skin and trying not to brush too hard against the tender skin between my legs.

After I don’t know how long, I finish up and head back into the room. The door is still shut, and probably locked by now, but I notice an addition to the room that I didn’t expect. There is a small pile of clothes sitting on the bed. He must have brought them in while I was cleaning up. I dig through the pile, looking to see what he gave me and spot Phoenix amongst them. I snatch him up clutching him to me as I drift into an uneasy sleep.

I wake with a cry and then attempt to stifle my sobs in the pillow. Nightmare, Jake. I can't bear to think of him as my dad. He stopped being a dad when he lost his job and started caring more about his Bourbon than me. Then his rages started, and the violence inside him escaped through his fists.

I hate him for what he did to me and mom, for having to hide the bruises and marks where he'd grab and shake me, for throwing me around the room those days when mom couldn't stop him. Sometimes she just wouldn't, because if he was hurting me, then he wasn't hurting her, and I loathe her for that.

Pushing the memories aside, I sit up. It’s still dark out, but there is a faint lightness to the sky, so it must be early morning. I hear movement outside the door, and turn to look at it.

“Z?” I call out, before holding my breath and listening intently.

The sound of retreating footsteps reaches my ears, and I exhale. I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or pissed that he didn’t come in, or comforted by the fact he bothered to check on me at all, as I must have been loud in my sleep. Unable and unwilling to work through my confusing feelings right now, I lay down again, with the last vestiges of the nightmare fading away with the dawn.

36

Z

I don’t get any sleep again, my mind whirling about the events that transpired in the kitchen. I was probably too rough with her, but I couldn’t stop myself; she is too damn fucking delicious to restrain myself from. I want to consume her, to fill her with my cock and my darkness until she is as corrupted as I am.

I lay naked in the darkness, the heat of the room too much for me to bother with anything now that summer is approaching. I’m pondering my next move when I hear her having another nightmare. I listen for a while, not going in to her this time. Trying to keep my distance, curb the need that fills me when I’m near her. She is my flower, my obsession, my Violet.

Then she starts to get really loud, crying out, “No, Daddy! Stop! You’re hurting me and Mommy!”

I sigh, getting up and going to stand outside her door. She must have woken up while I was listening to her whimpers and sobs and heard me outside the room because she calls out to me. Like the bastard I am, I don't answer, simply turn and walk back to my room.

I'll never tell her, but I know exactly how she feels.

I return to my silent pondering, and memories wash over me like waves on sand, watery tendrils creeping closer and closer. Shouts, screams, bangs, then silence.

I’d finally had enough.

“Oh Mother, you were my father’s pretty Rose at one time. At least until he couldn’t take it anymore, you, and your abusive, controlling ways and constant cheating. The bastard didn’t take me with him though when he ran. He left me with you. It fucking hurt when he left and slammed the door closed on us.”

The fucking mess that day by the time I'd finished with her. I was seventeen and she had come home with one of her friends, who I'd choked to death with a hose-pipe before finally turning on her.

"How much prettier you were after I caved your head in with the birdbath, and your petal-soft hair was stained red," I mutter, smiling up at the ceiling.

I grin darkly at the memory, the stirrings of a deep and twisted hatred began to creep out that day. It consumed my every thought, the need to make whores like my mother scream and bleed. Names and faces blur through my mind, on an endless reel of blood and death.

“Enough!” I shout out, slamming the door to the past closed, pressing my hands against my eyes.

I sit up, snagging a pair of boxers and pulling them on, before I get out of bed and move through the house, needing to be out of this room. Needing to be outside in the garden my father loved so much. I sit on the patio and smirk down at the tightly pressed bricks, watching the slow rise of the sun, and calmed a bit by the coolness of the air and the solidness beneath me. I close my eyes and inhale the scent of the garden, where the damp

earth tinges the air with its rough fragrance.

When I am feeling more human and the demons under my skin have stopped trying to claw their way out, I re-enter the house, grabbing two bottles of water and sandwiches from the fridge. I have to keep up my responsibilities. I frown, pausing on the way to Violet’s room and instead head towards the padlocked door.