Thursday, July 24, 2014

No, Daddy, No: Part 6: The Pigs (Finale)

Kate didn't know how long she had been laying there when her phone rang.  She reached over Drake's limp body and grabbed it off of the headboard.

"Hello?" she said softly.

"Hey, baby, how are ya? I tried to call this mornin' but you didn't answer." It was Deanna. Thank God, it was Deanna.

"I…I need the pigs, Dee."

Deanna was silent for the moment.  "What?"

"The pigs. I need the pigs. He came back and he…and he…he cut me, Deanna, he cut me and he beat me and he raped me, and I…I…oh, he's such a mess.  I don't know what to do." She started crying again.  "It's everywhere, Dee. You said I could use the pigs if I needed."

"Oh, baby.  Can you get him to the truck?"

"I…I don't think so."

Ten minutes later, Jim was at her door in his butcher's apron with a tarp and Deanna by his side.  He took one look at her and told her to go bathe while he and Dee got Drake loaded up.  While Kate had been waiting, she'd cut all the beads out of him so they wouldn't choke the pigs.  That had only gotten her and Drake even bloodier.  By the time she got out of the shower, Jim had the body loaded up in the back of Kate's pickup.

She rode in the bed with Drake, despite Jim and Deanna's protests.  Deanna followed in their car. Kate sat there staring at the tarp-covered head as they went down the bumpy dirt roads.  She must have been tired because it looked like the lips were moving under the blue material.

"Let me out, Katie."

She nearly fell out of the truck.  Oh, God, was he still alive?  No, that was impossible.  Jim had checked before they left.  He told her so.


When they got to the farm, Kate tumbled out of the truck bed, tripping when she tried to get up.

"Katie?" said Deanna, picking her up.  "What's wrong?"

"Make it stop talking!  I don't care what you do, just make him shut up!"  She ran out into the middle of the field between the house and the barn and dropped there, clutching her head and rocking back forth.  She winced every time she heard Jim's cleaver hit the wood of the table in the barn.

What was she going to do? Drake was dead.  His blood was all over the bed in the back room.  It was all over her clothes.  His car was in her yard.  Oh, God.  What was she going to do?  She needed to go home and clean up.  She needed to burn the clothes, the sheets.  She could do that now.  Drake wasn't there to mess things up.  He was no longer talking, at least.

She stood up, making a small noise as the cloth pulled on her cuts.  Her bruises still ached, but she'd make it through.  She wandered back out of the field, back towards her truck. She got in and turned the key.  Deanna was chasing after her as she drove down the long dirt road, but she didn't stop.

"Turn right at the stop sign."

Slowly, she turned her head. Sitting there in the passenger seat was Drake in his blue MMA t-shirt, the studded belt glittering around his waist.  Kate looked back at the steering wheel and rested her head on it with a sigh.

"Yes, Daddy," she said, and turned right at the stop sign.

Monday, July 21, 2014

No, Daddy, No: Part 5: Bad Juju

"Well?" he said, jingling the chains.  "You've got me tied up.  What are you gonna do now?"

She didn't say anything.

"Oh? Nothing?  Seems like a waste of good chain.  You should take advantage of the time you got, because you're not gonna like it when I get out of here."

Slowly, she got up and approached the bed, reaching toward him.  He lurched suddenly and she jumped away with a yelp.

Drake laughed at her.  "Yeah, that's what I thought.  Now, untie Daddy so I can figure out how you're gonna pay for this idiotic little stunt."

Kate ran out of the room again and came back with his belt.  He stared at her skeptically for the moment, and then snorted.

"You think you can hurt me with that, little girl?" He said, laughing at her again.  "You can't even talk back to me. Stupid and weak.  Untie me. Now."

Something snapped. "I'm not stupid!" She screamed and swung the belt down across his thighs.  She was so angry, the clack of the metal studs and the pulling of her cuts didn't even make her wince.  He hissed and grunted, but didn't cry out. She yelled a string of obscenities at him, almost unintelligible in her anger, swinging the belt wildly.  One blow caught him in the groin and he shouted.

He was still groaning as she climbed on top of him and roughly grabbed his hair, yanking his head back and forth.  She pulled hard, forcing him to look her in the eyes when he opened his again.

"I'm not stupid!" she screamed in his face.

Shocked, he looked up at her, searching her face for…something.  "Okay, okay" he said, in a voice one might use with a hostile animal. "You're not stupid."

She slapped him hard across the face, hard enough that the blow split his lip.

"Why did you come back?" she said, yanking his hair again. "And don't feed me that bullshit about whores. You could fuck anyone you want. You could fuck that blackmailer bitch. Why did you come back?"

He stared at her for a few long moments.

"I need you."

"You don't need me. You proved that well enough."

He continued looking up at her, and, for a brief instant, she saw in his eyes the same wildness that clawed at the back of her brain, the same desperation that choked her lungs and clenched painfully around her heart. Kate watched the blood trickling slowly from the corner of his mouth.  Her back burned as she leaned over him. She gingerly lowered herself into the floor, careful of both his and her own injuries and rested her back against the side of the bed.  She didn't know what to do with those words, what to do with that look in his eyes. She ran her fingers through her hair.

"You're gonna kill me one day," she said.

"I would never kill you."

"Maybe not on purpose."


"I think that worries me more, honestly." She heard him fidget a little on the bed, the sheets scraping against the mattress with the sound of a windbreaker.

"Why?" he said. "I'll give you everything. You just gotta let me."

She laughed a little.  "I don't think I much like your everything."

She looked up.  The closet door was open.  It was one of those sliding doors, and the closet was so full of junk that it rarely closed.  She noticed her sewing kit stashed up on the top shelf.

"I don't wanna die.  I don't like the dark," she said.

"You ain't gonna."

"I know."

Kate lay on the floor and fished around under the bed for the royal blue ratchet strap stuffed there.  Crawling over him, she attached the strap to the bed frame and positioned it just below his navel before tightening so he couldn't move.

"What are you doing?"

She got the sewing kit out of the closet and pulled the box it sat on out with it.  She sat the two boxes beside him on the bed: the sewing kit, which was in a large purple SpaceMaker School Box, and a white Tupperware tub.  Out of the tub, she pulled a little sack cloth doll, crude in its design. It was small, perhaps the length of her hand. It had small black buttons for eyes, and a mouth embroidered in red thread.  All over the doll were sewn a dozen or so beads and charms. She sat it high on his stomach, and Drake craned his neck to look at it.

"What is that?"

"A juju doll," she said.

"What is a juju doll?"

She shrugged. "Some sort of voodoo thing. I know how you used to talk about wanting to learn about it.  I saw these in New Orleans over spring break a few years ago. I started makin' it back in October.  It was going to be your Christmas present."

"And why are you getting it out now?"

She opened the school box and pushed the tub close enough for him to see inside.  The tub was filled with hundreds of multicolored beads and buttons.  The school box contained a variety of sewing supplies, mainly a pile of straight pins, a couple spools of thread, and a handmade pincushion stabbed through with sewing needles.

His eyes widened a fraction.  "But you hate needles…"

"I hate serrated knives and metal belts too," she said flatly.  "I figured since you broke my limit, I'll break yours.  It's only fair."

"You can't do it.  Let me out, Katherine."

"I couldn't do a lot of things, before."

He struggled against the chains.  "C'mon, Katie. Baby, you don't wanna do this. I need you, and you need me.  You know this. I love you."

Kate ignored him.  He kept talking, more orders, but she tuned him out in favor of cutting his pants off and selecting a sharp needle from the pincushion.  She threaded it with an emerald green thread.  It wouldn't match the beads very well, but she didn't really expect it to stay green for very long.  She looked him over briefly before picking out a small black snake charm.  He got louder as the needle got closer to his skin.  He tried to thrash around, but the ratchet strap held him in place.  She pinched up a bit of flesh and stabbed the needle through his still-soft penis.

He screamed.  The sound was a satisfying one.  She continued to sew the bead on.  The thread turned black from blood. Blood trickled from the half a dozen holes she made.  After the fifth bead she had to go wash her hands.  The needle was too slippery and her hands were red too.  She graduated to a larger needle as she moved over his stomach up toward his chest.  The bigger needle meant the holes were bigger.  He looked like he was covered in red paint under the dozens of little beads.

She was crying now, and her hands were shaking.  She could hardly get the needle to go through the skin, but she needed to finish.  She needed it to be over.  His voice had gone hoarse from screaming.  During some of the beads, she had screamed with him.

She had to finish.

She laid a large metallic button over his right nipple and stabbed the needle through the rose-colored circle of skin.  It felt like sewing leather, heavy and thick, hard to push through without digging into her finger with the eye of the needle. He found the voice to scream again.  It was loud and long and cracking as she stitched the button to his chest through all four of the minuscule holes.  She drank in the sound like a good bottle of booze, letting it wash over her, letting it cleanse her.  It went on and on as she decorated the other areola with a bigger button that looked more like a gold coin.  He was breathing hard and fast now, finally out of control.  A small tear leaked out of his right eye.

"I," he forced out, "am going to kill you."

Kate crawled on top of him, straddling his waist.  Still crying, she slipped the studded belt around his neck with the studs on the inside, slipped the end through the buckle, and cinched it.

"You're not going to kill me, Daddy." The belt tightened.  "You said so, remember?" Tighter. "You said you'd never kill me."

She stroked his face fondly for several long moments.  "You love me." She nuzzled his cheek, getting his beard wet with her tears.  "You told me so." Kate pressed her forehead to his.

She lay there for several minutes, holding the belt tight around his throat.  She rested her forehead on the part of his chest that had no beads until it stopped moving. Kate looked up at his face.  His eyes were closed. His lips were lightly tinged with blue.

She started shaking and her eyes got wide.  He was…She ripped the belt from around his neck, hurling it away from her.  It banged against the closet door, scraping the wood on its way to the carpet.


 Her fingers fluttered over his face and chest, touching down lightly for a split-second, not daring to caress his motionless body.

"No, Daddy…No…" Kate slid down his body and off to the right, nestling herself against him with her back to the wall. Her clothes were soaked with his blood, but she didn't care. She wrapped her arm around his middle and rested her cheek on the smooth skin of his chest, repeating those words over and over.

Friday, July 18, 2014

No, Daddy, No: Part 4: Turning Tables

Katie woke up in the bathtub, her back burning with an intensity she'd never felt before.  She was still wet, so she must not have been asleep for too long. She tucked her knees up to her stomach, but was careful not to hug them.  It was then that she noticed the soft green towel draped over her like a blanket. She shoved it away, letting it pool behind her in the tub.

While she was wet, she couldn't feel anything dripping down her back, so at least she wasn’t bleeding.  Her memory was a little fuzzy there.  She recalled a few flashes of a salt shaker and him yelling about her vodka. When the burn got too intense, she'd checked out for a little bit. Only when he’d washed her off in the shower did she fully come back to her senses. Afterwards, he had left her there again, but instead of bothering to get out, she’d just gone to sleep right there.

She sat up, catching her hair before it touched the cuts on her back. Tears threatened to fall.  Kate grabbed the towel and wadded it up, hugging it like the stuffed alligator on the floor in her bedroom.  It smelled like him, that unique scent of a man fresh out of a shower without the mask of cologne or deodorant, or even scented soap.  It smelled like him, just like the alligator had once smelled like him when he'd given it to her their first Christmas together. Their only Christmas together.

He was going to kill her.  She knew it, even if he didn't.  Maybe she wouldn't die, but he'd kill her just the same.  She might not wind up in the ground, but she'd be dead. She was halfway gone already. She couldn't let him do it.  She couldn't let him drag her up there where that whore was, far away from anyone who could or would help her.  She had to do…something.

 She crawled quietly out of the tub and slid the footstool beside the toilet over the hole in the floor.  Standing on it, she examined the damage on her back.   The angry red lines couched in bruises left by the belt stood starkly against the paleness of her skin, flying like banners across her back. DRAKES BITCH was spelled out in mid-sized, sharp, angular capitals between her shoulders.  They weren’t bleeding anymore.  She didn’t think that they had bled much at all. He hadn’t cut very deep. He’d probably stopped when they had started to bleed, like she had told him she’d done when she would cut herself back in high school.

She took a deep breath and let it out very, very slowly.  She opened the door and went into the hall.  The trailer was silent, not even the T.V. was on.  The light in the living room wasn't as bright as it had been when they sat on the loveseat.  She wondered how long she'd been asleep.

She checked the back room first, because it was closest, and, fortunately for her, that's where he was.  The room wasn't very big. Half of it was taken up by a full-sized bed that stretched from wall to wall.  Drake was splayed across the silky black sheets, snoring lightly.

Her eyes got big.  This was her chance.  Silently, she tiptoed out of the room and went to the kitchen, careful not to step too heavily and cause a thump.  The bottle of vodka was still sitting on the bar, but it was nearly empty.  She grabbed it and went back.  As she crept up to the bed, she stubbed her toe on the loose vent cover.  Drake sat bolt upright in the bed, breathing harshly.

The bottle flew easily into the side of his head.  He dropped to the bed, bouncing lightly on the cheap mattress.  Oh, God. Was he dead?  Edging closer, she nudged him.  An agonizing groan escaped his lips. Panicking, Kate tossed the bottle to the side and set about chaining him up while he was still incapacitated.  The chains attached to the metal frame of the bed were the hefty chains used to tow cars. Even if he could lug her substantial weight around, he wouldn't be able to break these.

"You should wrap it twice, you know."

Kate jumped at the groggy voice.  "W-what?"

"Wrap it twice.  If you're gonna be this stupid, you might as well do it properly.  So, wrap it twice and lock it as close to the skin as you can."

She did as she was told, re-doing all of the chains one at a time while mockingly he instructed her.

He looked over her handiwork disdainfully while she cowered by the closet door.  "Well, bitch, what are you gonna do now?"

She grabbed her phone out of his pocket and ran out of the room.  What was she going to do?  The logical answer was to call the cops.  That's what her friends would have her do.  Even Deanna.  Even though she knew about all the calls that had been made in the past, that's still what she would advice.  After the cops had found out that they were a BDSM couple, they had stopped responding to the calls the neighbors made.  Even if they bothered to show up this time, they probably wouldn't do anything.

They would blame it on her.  If it went to trial, they would blame it on her too.  A trial would out her, and then the entire town would know.  All of that talk on Law and Order about confidentiality was crap. Kibler was a small community and the towns around it weren't much bigger.  Sure, the authorities couldn't officially tell anyone anything, but there would be people at the trial, and people talk.  Once they started talking, she would be nothing but a freak and a whore who brought all of this on herself.  Her church, which was nestled just down the road from the house would likely run her out of the building, if not the town altogether.

If she called the cops, she would be ostracized, and he might go to prison for a while if she was lucky.  Then he would come back.  He would come back and it would all begin again, and it would be worse.  Maybe he would even kill her.  Maybe he would keep her.

Jim wouldn't tell her to go to the police.  If anyone would help her, it was Jim.  Deanna and Jim's farm was only a few minutes down the road out past the church.  They could be here fast.  Even if Deanna still believed in the system, Jim knew better. He would know what to do, how to fix it.  He'd been fixing things for her since she'd first wandered onto the porch that summer seven years ago looking for work.

The three dreaded beeps and the automated voice of a woman saying the number was out of service were almost instantaneous.  She stared sadly at the screen on her phone as she remembered Deanna mentioning last week that they hadn't been able to pay the phone bill yet, so they wouldn't have phones until next Tuesday.

Kate dressed and returned to the back bedroom, sitting on a dirty ottoman that matched the armchair in the living room. It was shoved up against the broken dresser on the wall opposite from the bed.  Her chest of toys was on top of the dresser.  Drake was staring at her, one brow arched slightly.  She still found him attractive.  Too bad he was a psychopath.  She really did like his beard.

The psycho part was just a bit too big of a problem to overlook, though.  That would always be hanging over her head if she gave him to the cops.  If the cops would even take him.

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

No, Daddy, No: Part 3: Old Magic

While she'd been organizing the books, Drake had settled himself in the floor, sorting through a deck of Magic: The Gathering cards.  One of the first things he'd done when they started dating was to buy her a starter deck and teach her how to play so he would have a partner.  Every few weeks, he'd buy a few booster packs, and give her the ones he didn't want for himself. After the first few months of their relationship, they hadn't played anymore, but he still continued to buy the cards.

"Where's your deck?" he said without bothering to look up.

Kate shuffled over to the fridge, standing on her toes to pull the small cardboard box off the top.  In the box were a few hundred Magic cards, dumped into a disorganized pile. They'd been in the box since before he left.  While at the fridge, she grabbed a box of cold pizza out of it and took it with her back into the living room.  She sat it on the floor beside him, and plopped down in front of him.  She hugged the box to her chest, smothering the sound she almost made when it hit the ground.  He reached out and tilted the box forward with a single finger to see inside.

"Well, this is a mess," he said, plucking from the box from her hands

"Yeah, it is."

He frowned at her.  "Do you remember how to play?"

Kate shook her head. "Been too long."

He sat his deck down and picked up a messy pile of cards and went to sorting them.  He was fast at it too, like a sort of geeky card shark dealing poker only with monsters and mana. Kate sat there in silence, watching him build her a deck he could beat easily. Not that her meager collection could stand up to the thousands he had been buying and trading long before they had met.  He used to leave them scattered around the house, and she constantly found herself tripping over them.  Piles of them had spilled all over the bathroom: on the small vanity, in the floor. He wouldn't let her clean them up either.

"Why did you come back?" she said.

"To get my property," he said, sorting the cards in his hand

"Your dad said you told him to sell the car."

"I'm not talking about the car."

She was silent.

"I need my little whore."

Kate laughed.  It was stupid of her, but she laughed.  How could she not?  He always had a habit of saying the dumbest shit at random moments.

He lowered the cards slowly, staring at her.  "Why are you laughing?"

"You…you sound like you crawled out of a bad porno."  She just kept laughing.  She couldn't help herself. Maybe she was still drunk.  She didn't know how long that sort of thing lasted.

She blinked as the cards hit her in the face. Before she realized what was happening, he had her by the hair again, dragging toward the kitchen.  The carpet tugged the towel loose and bit into her skin, rubbing burns into her belly and hip as she struggled to keep up.

"I didn't know you were this stupid. I don't think you know your place, bitch," he said, using his favorite pet name for her again.  He gave one last heave to get her off the carpet and onto the dirty kitchen floor, "which is something I'm gonna have to fix."

He shoved the chairs away from the poker table and dumped her there at its feet.  He picked a coiled chain up off the bar.  He'd clearly been busy while she dawdled in the bathroom.  Drake spun her around so she was facing the table and wrapped the chain around her left wrist, securing it with a small brass-colored padlock.  He wound the chain around the table legs, using the last bit of slack to bind her other wrist to the right table leg. He left her for a moment and rummaged through the drawers. The clinking of cutlery had her pulling at the chain.  She knew it was pointless.  Even if the chain only had a load capacity of sixteen pounds, she would have to tear up her wrists to break it.  That was if she had enough strength to break it in the first place.

He came back over to her, crouching behind her and resting his chin on her shoulder.  He held out a couple of knives in front of her face.

"Which do you think will scar? Hmm? Filet or steak?"  He held up each knife as he named them.  "I really want this to sink in."

Kate flailed, pulling on the chain and trying to scramble away from the blades. Between him and the chain, she didn't move very far.  She did manage to knock her skull into the side of his, which made him wrench her head to the side.

"Which one?" he said again, tapping her cheek with the smooth blade of the filet knife.

"HOW THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW?" she screamed in desperation.  She didn't want this. Even the fucking belt was better than this.  He knew that.  He knew cutting was one of her hardest limits.

"Oh, you know," he said.  He trailed the blade down from her cheek over her shoulder to brush the cold tip against the largest scar on the top of her forearm.  It wasn't too big, just barely an inch long, but it was pale and shiny and very, very visible.  A smattering of smaller faded scars decorated the skin around it.

"Fuck you," she said bitterly.  She wouldn't help him mar her.  She wouldn't help him violate her in a far more intense betrayal than sex.

"Don't worry, slave.  You'll get to do that later." He went back to the drawer and closed it.  "I think I'll go with steak.  I know how much you liked to carve."

She shrieked.  He wrenched her head back and smacked her face.  The wail died abruptly in her throat.

Forcing her head down, he laid the cold steel against her back.  "Don't move.  Wouldn't wanna cut anything necessary."

Monday, July 14, 2014

No, Daddy, No: Part 2: Love-Craft

Kate stared vacantly at the small green tiles of the shower wall as the spray continued to gently batter her chest. The weak light of the early morning spilled through the small window above their heads.  Drake was behind her, pressed against her back, his hands reaching around to play roughly with her breasts.  His skin, cold compared to the heat of the water, felt good on her bruises, but she was too scared to enjoy it.  Her body ached with the marks that painted her from back to calf.  They looked worse than they were. It had never taken much for that belt to hurt like hell.  It didn't take much for it to bruise either, and he'd spared a small sliver of her back where the kidneys were, like she'd taught him back in the beginning.  She hadn't taught him to use that belt, though. He'd picked that up on his own, but even when he drank, he'd always been careful about damage, where and how much.  After all, he didn't want to break his toy.

He took his hands from her breasts and stroked her shoulders.  It was all she could do not to teeter forward.  She was torn between the desire to moan and the impulse to cry.

"I'm sorry about last night, sweetie," he said, resting his chin on her head. "But you know better.  How could you burn it?"

"You abandoned me," she said in a small, desolate voice.

He grabbed her hair.  "I'm back now," he said, stressing each syllable.  "That issue is over and done with.  I don't wanna hear it out of you again." He pushed on one of her bruises.

Kate winced.  "Yes, Daddy."

He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, brushing his fingers against her cheek before leaving her there to dry herself off.  The urge to just stand there and drip dry forever was overwhelming. At least that didn't require her to disturb the bruises…and it would keep her away from him for a while.  She doubted that he would take kindly to that, but, still, she did milk it for a few minutes, just hovering there in the bathtub, dripping quietly.  When she figured she couldn't waste any more time without pissing him off, she stepped gingerly out of the bathtub and wrapped herself in a towel.

The floor of the tiny bathroom was soaked.  Water slithered across more of the fake hardwood, dripping into the rectangular ventilation hole where the cover plate was missing.  That was par for the course when they showered together, although she had generally been an enthusiastic participant in the past.  Now she simply followed orders and valiantly resisted the urge to bite his cock in half when he'd shoved it down her throat. Kate was rather proud of herself for that feat.

After throwing down a towel from the hamper to dry up the water, she left the bathroom and wandered down the short hall to the living room.  The dry, brittle carpet scraped against the rough skin of her feet. The sound made her uncomfortable.

Drake was sprawled out on the couch, wearing nothing but a pair of loose, dark plaid pajama pants.  One of his pockets had a phone-shaped bulge.  It had been in her room, but he had been sure to scoop it up. He looked odd, sitting there in the soft glow of the light filtering in through the thin white sheets she used for curtains, with all that hair on his face but none on his chest.

He straightened a little when he saw her to make room for her beside him.

"Get me a beer."

She went to the kitchen and reluctantly got a bottle of Sam Adams out of the case he'd put in her fridge some time this morning. Sitting it on the bar to pop the top off, she noticed a small pile of her pills were sitting there next to a bottle of water. She looked up at him. He was staring at her. She took the beer to him and went back to down the pills.

"Still on the anxiety stuff?" he said, referring to the yellow ones she'd just popped into her mouth.


"You got an odd number of the twice-a-days." He took a swig of the beer.

"I don't take them when I drink," she said.

"You drink a lot?"

Kate stiffened. "Do you?"

"I asked you a question."

"So did I."

"You know the answer."

"So do you."

Drake turned back to the T.V. "You shouldn't take so much medication. Too dependent on that shit. The B.C.'s all you need."

"You shouldn't drink so much."

He glared at her. "Sit," he said. "Now."

Kate smiled softly when his gaze left her again and put the water back in the fridge before going to curl up under his arm.

It was strange, being in this position again.  He had only been gone for a few months, but it had been nearly year since they had sat on a couch together in just this way.  That was back when they had been happy.  Now, back in his side, leaning against his smooth chest, she felt immediately better.  The thought disgusted her.

She closed her eyes, blocking out the warmth of him and the stupid prattling of cartoons coming from the T.V.  What was wrong with her? This man had neglected her for months, toying with her mind, making her feel bad for wanting to spend time with him, beating her when he bothered to pay attention to her, and then he'd left without a word.  That was bad enough, but now he'd come back, and some sick part of her liked it.

But, it was hard to ignore the hand idly stroking her hair.  It felt good. Even the small exchange about the pills had felt good. She had missed those little moments of banter, missed the small acts of kindness that interrupted everything else, even the strange compulsions he had, like counting her pills.

The worst part was that she knew she should hate him.  She was falling into that same old trap, where you loved the things you hated and hated the things you loved.  She had denied all of the abuse while it had happened.  But she couldn't deny that part of her enjoyed him, and it was hard to be angry about the sex. Their sex lives had always been violent, so she could barely distinguish last night as rape, because it was so like everything she had become used to. In her mind, she knew it was, but, then, she knew a lot of things. In the middle of nowhere, surrounded by people who couldn't understand half of the words in her books, that knowledge had never done her much good.

Drake shifted to get more comfortable, knocking over one of the stacks of books in the process.

"Put 'em up," he said. "Gonna kill myself."

Kate got up and started picking up the ones he had knocked over first.  Before she had delved into the Barnett's last night, she had been sorting through her little library.  Two-thirds of the books on the floor had yellow yard sale dots stuck to the spines with a hastily scribbled H for Horror in ink pen.

It wasn't like she'd had anything else to do last night.  She had applied for a long term substitute job at the high school in Alma—the World History teacher was about to go on maternity leave—but they were being wishy washy about making a decision.  Kate had the feeling that they were going to turn her down. The new resource officer out there was Jake Coomer, who had been a Kibler cop not too long ago.  He'd made more than a few trips out to her trailer last year when the neighbors had called about the noise.  She could only imagine what he might have told them during the background check.

Clutching a fat H.P. Lovecraft hardback to her chest, she took it back to her room and put it lovingly on the black shelf in the corner by the other bathroom door.  After a few minutes and a few trips, the living room floor was empty again, but for the little plastic package of neon-colored yard sale dots.

Saturday, July 12, 2014

No, Daddy, No: Part 1: The Demon at the Door

This is a piece that I developed over 2 semesters of college. The first incarnation was in a Noir Fiction workshop, consisting of perhaps 3 drafts. The second was in a Fiction workshop, with 4 more drafts. I'm a fantasy writer, but that wasn't allowed in my college classes, so I wrote things about BDSM, polyamory, and the redneck soap opera that is my brother's life. Many of my stories involved my friends and people I knew. This piece is very personal, and 7,600 words long, so it's going up in parts. There are many elements of my failed first relationship in this story, although all the horrifying shit is completely fictional. This was my attempt at catharsis. I hope you enjoy it. 

By the time she heard the knock on her door, Kate had a nice buzz going. Maybe more than a buzz.  She had long since abandoned the Solo cup on the table beside her in favor of the bottle of vodka now cradled in her lap.  Her limbs felt heavy and her brain was a little fuzzy. It took her a minute to figure out the knocking was not, in fact, coming from the Viking documentary she was watching and she looked at the clock on the VCR.  Who the hell was knocking on her door at one in the morning?

Rolling off of the cream leather couch, she pulled on a soft grey hoodie to make up for the bra tossed haphazardly on the top of the armchair sitting by the entry to the hallway.  Dodging the small towers of books she'd been sorting through earlier, she zigzagged into the kitchen to open the door, liquor bottle in hand.


She slammed the door in Drake's face.  It wasn't much of an impact.  Trailer doors are notoriously flimsy pieces of shit.  They don't make much of a sound when thrown in people's faces, but that wasn't the point.

Even more to the point, what was he doing here?

"Katie? Please let me in."

She opened the door for a brief second to throw the restraining order she'd gotten last week in his face, and slammed it again.  She had been reluctant to get one.  She hadn't thought she'd need it and she didn't like dealing with law of any sort, but Deanna had been insistent for some reason, going so far as having her husband Jim drive Kate to the Crawford County courthouse to get it.  Kate wasn't sure why.  Surely Deanna knew that restraining orders were pointless, but Deanna had always been a bit of a mother hen with her. She'd been protecting Kate ever since Kate had begun harvesting tomatoes on Jim's farm back when she was a teenager.  Kate imagined the useless piece of paper fluttering ineffectually to the ground in front of him.


"Fuck you! Go away!"

She looked at her bottle and took a swig.  It burned on the way down and she coughed. She didn't want him close to her; close enough to sap her willpower with the need to touch him.

"Katherine."  Drake's voice took a hard edge.  While not deep, his voice was still masculine and commanding enough that she felt compelled to open the door against her will.

She sat down in front of the door, hugging her knees.  She couldn't let him in.  If she blocked the door, maybe she wouldn't.

"Katie?" he said again, his voice a little softer.

"Go. Away." She spoke the words into her knees, so they came out a little muffled.

A tentative knock came from somewhere near her head this time. She looked at the spot and knocked back with the thick glass of the Barnett's vanilla vodka. The small wooden deck that sat outside her door creaked slightly as Drake moved.

"Baby?" he said, his voice coming from the spot where he'd knocked.  

Maybe it was curiosity that made her do it, maybe it was the liquor eating away at her judgment.  Maybe it was the fact that he'd only ever called her "baby" once in their almost two years together, but she stood up and opened the door.  She backed away from it as soon as she threw it open, clutching the neck of the bottle in her hand as her ass came up against the dishwasher.

Drake wasn't a very big man, only of about average height, but he had a big presence.  He was relatively fit, except for the small protrusion of his stomach that he could never get rid of.  He could have hidden that, but he had a penchant for wearing shirts that were too tight. The blue MMA t-shirt he wore now was definitely too tight, clinging to the muscle of his arms. His jeans sagged a little, held up by an old black belt embellished with three rows of silver pyramid studs. The sides of his head were buzzed, his jet black hair trimmed harshly across the top.  A couple of weeks' worth of beard covered his unwrinkled face.  The aggression emanated from him like heat from an oven. He was intimidating, he always had been.

He came toward her, his arms lifting like he wanted to hug her.

"Have a seat," said Kate, stepping to the side to avoid him. He dropped his arms, giving her a slow once-over before going the living room to the dirty grey armchair draped with a white blanket.  He stopped for a moment to move the bra before taking a seat.

"What are you doin' here?" Her words were a little slurred.  She took another small drink from the bottle because she didn't know what else to do.

He frowned at her slightly, looking at the bottle and back at her face.

"I was in town, and I wanted to see you."

Kate snorted. "Didn't wanna see me before."

"That was then."

"And this is now? You run outta money, or somethin'?" She took a step toward the bar, swaying a little. She caught the edge of it to steady herself.

His brow furrowed. "Are you drunk?"

"Screw you." Kate dug a shot glass out of the cabinet and shakily slammed it onto the bar.

"Watch yourself, Katherine." There was that voice again, the same one he'd used to try to get her to open the door.  It pissed her off.

She sat the bottle down slowly, trying to calm herself.  His dark brown, almost black, eyes were hard.  "Keep your orders to yourself, thank you very much. You ain't got no claim on me."

Drake shot off the chair and slapped his hands on the bar, glaring at her, his face inches away from hers, daring her to press harder.  His breath smelled like beer.  "I got more claim than anybody else."

Kate snatched up the bottle to screw the cap back on and slammed it back down on the bar.  It wobbled as she almost missed the edge of the bar.  "You took off like a little chicken shit to some state you never been to. Oh, wait, but that's where that crack whore lives, ain't it? The one who's been threatenin' to turn you in for foolin' around with that sixteen year old a couple years ago?"

"I'm gonna tell you one last time, bitch.  Watch yourself."

She tucked a lock of dark blonde hair behind her ear, the buzz crashing into a roar.  "And I'm gonna tell you one time only…jackass…call me a bitch again, and you can get the hell outta my house."

He smacked her hard on the cheek.  Kate blinked at the sting, surprised by the slap.  It was a decent little pop, well-aimed.  Pain bloomed in her face, tingling as it faded.

"I don't think you get it.  You're my slave, remember? Slaves don't get to call the shots."  His words were soft and very deliberate.

"I'm not your slave anymore," she said, backing out of striking range.

Drake rounded the bar, eyes darting about like he was searching for something.

"Where is your collar?"

Kate snorted. "I tossed it into one of Deanna's trash barrels on burnin' day."

He whirled around and backhanded her.  She hit the floor hard, the impact vibrating up her spine.  No, he wasn't a big man, but he'd always packed one hell of a wallop.  The headache was instantaneous, echoing from her cheek and jaw to throb through her muddled brain.  Oh, God, she was in trouble.  He'd never hit her like that before.

She huddled there on the floor, clutching her head, trying to clear her mind enough to move.  She heard the click of the door lock sliding into place and the hiss and jingle of a belt being pulled. She scrambled away, crawling toward her bedroom.  His steps pounded hollowly on the trailer floor. She crawled faster.  Oh, God, where was her cell phone?

He planted a foot in the small of her back and stomped her into the imitation hardwood.

"Where do you think you're goin'?"

She tried to get up, but the cheap cloth rugs lining the path to her room didn't give her enough traction.  The woven brown striped mat slipped from under her hands. Her face smacked the floor and the headache intensified. She was too dizzy and in too much pain to be bothered by the smug chuckle coming from the man looming over her.  He grabbed the hood of her sweatshirt and slid her back out of the tiny hallway into the kitchen proper.

Pinning her down with his weight, he went to work yanking off her clothes.  He shoved the black yoga pants down and off her feet, never letting go of the belt as it clanked against the floor.  The hoodie and t-shirt were gone soon after—the t-shirt in pieces—tossed away under the rolling chairs at the poker table by the door.

Three rows of metal studs crashed into her thighs.  She screamed.  Pain roiled through her, making every bit of her legs throb.  It was an abrupt, sharp pain that stole her wits and left her with nothing but the urge to cry.  She remembered this pain well. Had she been standing, she would have collapsed.  It landed again.  Her thoughts disappeared.  There was nothing but the sound of her own voice falling down around her.  She couldn't move.  All she could do was make that awful, awful sound as the metal and leather fell again and again.

"Who are you?" He asked, his reeking breath hot on her ear.

"Your s-slut," she said, continuing the ritual he'd started two years ago.


"Y-your slave," she said, the words barely intelligible through the wracking sobs.

"Are you gonna obey?"


He snatched a fistful of her hair and pulled.  "Yes what, bitch?"

"Yes, Daddy."

Monday, July 7, 2014

Friday, July 4, 2014

My New Mistress

May I present my new mistress. Her name is Uli. It means "mistress of all" or "ruler of the universe." I did not know that before I picked it. It must be fate.

I am taking a bit of a leap and moving out of my parents' house prior to relocating to be with Daddy. I have always wanted a cat, and being on my own (so to speak. I'm moving in with friends.) I can now have my own cat. I planned to get one when I moved in with Daddy, which he was all on board for, but I'm happy I have one now.

I also couldn't have gotten a more beautiful cat. My roommate found her for me and even went and fetched her. She's a seal point Siamese with a traditional/applehead body type. Basically she's short and chubby, which I love.

The first day we had her, she was 10 shades of terrified, constantly hiding and clinging to your shoulder like "Omg, don't let me go I'm gonna die." That night she somehow dug a hole in the liner of the couch and hid herself away inside it. My roommate had to cut the liner to get her out. She hid there 4 times the following day. Fortunately, she had been wearing a harness we got at the pet store the day before so she was easy to fetch. It really helps that's she's not an aggressive cat.

Although, thank God they clipped her claws at the vet we picked her up from because otherwise my arm and shoulder would be in ribbons right now. She likes to knead with her paws and panic clings when you pick her up.

By day 3 she wasn't hiding as much and we got her to play and eat. I had to hand feed her bits of the ground up chicken at first, but she's eating out of the bowl now.

I'm so excited about my new kitty. Daddy can't have anymore kids, so since I'll never have my own babies, I'll have to settle for fur babies. At least they stay cute forever. :3

I'm excited about the move and about my new cuddle buddy. She'll make it easier being apart from Daddy. On the upside, he's starting his physical therapy next week, so hopefully we're getting closer to the big move.

Well, it's kind of blurry, but here's Uli trying to murder my Yoshi doll.