FicWad

Later that night she finally tires of playing stylist and collapses on her bed. “So…you like anyone?”
I shake my head, leaning back against the mirror on her wall.
“Come on, there has to be SOMEONE,” she laughs, looking at me from under her light brown hair as she runs a brush through it.
“Well…there’s that cute guy in my English class.”
“Who? Ronnie?”
“Is that his name? He’s the one with black hair that always hangs just above his eyes.”
Her jaw drops. “He’s like, one of my best friends! You should totally go for him!”
I smile and shake my head.
“Come on,” she whines. “He’s always lonely whenever he hangs out with us as a group, because everyone has a date! You could be just what he needs.”
I laugh at the absurdity of the idea. Him? Need me? No one needs me. “I don’t think so,” I say. “I have…shall we say, commitment issues.” Which I didn’t, but if I got a boyfriend and my father found out, I was good as dead. Literally. And, what with the way he touched me tonight, I am about to become even worse if things go down this new, completely uncharted road.
“Lacey, you’re gorgeous. Really, you are. Your hair goes with your eyes so perfectly anyone who looked at you would be completely entranced. Don’t say stuff like this about yourself.” She gets up and, taking my chin between two fingers, tilts my face up to look at her. “You are beautiful and strong. You can do it.
“You should go talk to Ronnie Monday. He’s as good as yours.”
No one but my mother has ever said something so sincere and…nice to me. I blink back tears and smile the first genuine smile I’ve smiled in a long time.

I sit up as Sophie slumbers softly next to me in her enormous bed. Must make sleepovers easier.
I’d had more fun tonight than I’d had in years. I’d actually smiled for once, almost laughed a few times, and I’d made a friend. A friend who called me pretty. A friend who gave me a little self esteem. She’s being a great distraction from my life. I hug my knees to my chest and bite my lip to keep from crying. This is so unlike anything I’ve known in such a long time it almost hurts. In a very, very good way.

“Get up!” Sophie yells, shaking my shoulder. “My mom made breakfast!”
I blink a few times, trying to remember where I am before it all comes rushing back to me. I sigh and sit up, rubbing my eyes. “Good morning to you too,” I mumble sarcastically.
She smiles. “Up. Now.”
I follow her downstairs and into a brightly-lit white dining room/kitchen. Her mother is setting a plate of pancakes on the table. She smiles at us and leaves. We sit and start eating.
“Sleep well?” Sophie asks, trying to break the silence.
“Yeah, did you?”
“Like a baby,” she smiles. “So, are you gonna talk to Ronnie or not?”
“Probably not,” I admit, meeting her gaze.
“WHY NOT?!”
“Because…because I’m shy.” Which I’m not.
“Come on.” She rolls her eyes. “If you never take the chance, you’ll never know.”
I blink. That may be the truest thing she’s said all day.

Sadly, I can’t hide at Sophie’s house forever. Later that day, I leave her house, after she hugs me about a hundred times. I slide in through the bathroom window, hoping the monster won’t notice my return. But of course he does. He yells at me from downstairs when he hears my footsteps in the hall.
“Bitch! If this kitchen isn’t clean by the time I’m back, I’ll beat the shit out of you!” The front door slams, and I know he’s gone to the strip club down the street with his friends, where he’ll get kicked out for getting a little too touchy for the strippers’ liking, come home, beat me, and pass out on the couch. I slowly make my way to the kitchen, where he and his friends have made a mess with broken beer bottles and no doubt a few drunken fights. I mop, scrub and sweep up the remains of his home collection of alcohol.
When that’s done I hide myself in the bathtub, close my eyes, and try not to fall asleep.

Showers are nice. Showers are relaxing. Showers are my main source of happiness right now.
I turn around and shut off the hot water, climbing out and drying off with a towel. Wrapping the towel around me, I leave the bathroom.
My father is waiting for me in the doorway to my bedroom. “Hey, baby,” he mumbles, his hands on my hips.
I shove him off, repulsed by the smell of alcohol and vomit on him. “Don’t touch me.”
But he just comes closer, drunk and horny. His arms wrap around me, his heavy, fatty form clinging to me like wet clothes, weighing me down. “Get off,” I gasp, trying to push him off, but he doesn’t move. I start to wonder if he would really go so far as to rape me.
“I love you, Lacey,” he moans into my hair. “I love you.”
“GET THE FUCK OFF!” I scream, shoving him away as hard as I can.
He slaps me. “Shut up, bitch. We wouldn’t want to disturb the neighbors. Now come here.”
“NO!” I shout at the top of my lungs, backing into a wall. “I will not come any closer to you, you disgusting, perverted bastard!”
His provocative expression fades into a blind rage. Good. Pain is better than rape. Suddenly I’m on the ground, and he’s slamming a baseball bat against my naked body over and over, and it hurts so bad I think I’m going to die before I finally pass out.