Chapter 27 #2
I grab the pill bottle from the tray and open it. The contents fall into my hands. Four small blue capsules, ones my boyfriend and I filled by hand with powdered poison.
I break the first pill open above her mouth.
The white powder falls onto her tongue. My throat constricts.
I could use the pills on Daddy or save them for myself—a way out of this fucked-up existence—but I open each pill, letting the powder fall like snow into her mouth, until all I have left are the empty blue shells and the orange container. Ghosts of a promise. Of hope. Of loss.
Living with Daddy like this for twenty-five years is enough of a punishment, I tell myself. This is a mercy killing.
“Why are you killing her instead of me, sweet one? Is it because you feel sorry for her?” Daddy laughs.
My blood runs cold. “I’m doing this to save her.”
He licks his lips, closing the distance between us.
“No, sweet one,” he says. “It’s not about her. It’s about you. You can’t stand the thought of sharing my attention with her any longer. If you could, you’d kill every single woman in this room.”
My chin quivers. I gulp hard and turn back to my mother. Her mouth is open, her tongue covered in powder.
Is Daddy right?
Maybe I don’t want to share Daddy’s attention anymore.
Maybe he is right.
Maybe—
I put my hand under her chin and close her mouth.
She coughs, rattling the gurney. I jump back.
“Mom?” Tears fill my eyes. “Mom?”
Daddy puts a small bucket of water in my hands, then he slams the narrow end of a funnel between her teeth.
Her body convulses. He keeps the funnel steady.
“Let’s do this the right way,” he says. “We need to end this once and for all.”
And Daddy knows best.
I pour the water into the funnel. She jerks so much, some of the liquid splashes onto the gurney and floor. I keep adding water. Once the bucket is empty, Daddy tosses the funnel, then pinches her nose and mouth shut, forcing her to swallow. Her body thrashes.
After a while, she stops.
My world spirals, and I’m surrounded by him. Only him.
It’s only us now.
Daddy holds my hips. “Now, fuck her face.”
This time, I don’t hesitate. I climb on top of the gurney and mount her head.
I could tell myself I’m only doing this to get the test over with, but my sole desire is to please Daddy. I burned him with acid. I hit him with the shower head. I cut him with the pocketknife.
But I gave her the poison. I finished this.
I rub my pussy across the face. The friction of the nose against my slit sends shivers down my spine, ecstasy barreling through me.
Daddy undresses: his lab coat, his dress shirt, his pants, his boxer briefs.
The pink, inflamed scar, right above his heart, warms me.
I gave him that wound in the cemetery; I marked him forever.
It’s bright red, like he’s been picking at it to make a permanent scar.
He grins at me, and the sallow bags under his eyes grow deeper, as if he’s completely enraptured by what I’m doing. And I’m finally happy.
But then images flash in my mind:
Daddy sitting on my mother, just like he sat on me.
Daddy’s fingers down her throat.
Daddy putting a long, thin instrument into the corner of her eye socket.
I hate that he hurt her.
I hate that he kept her all of these years.
Most of all, I hate that he could’ve been fucking her this entire time.
My fluids drip over the corpse’s face, and it’s like humping a lumpy pillow, bringing myself closer to the edge with pure friction.
Daddy reaches for me, offering his hand, a choice. For a split second, I wonder if I still have power, but the thought fades. Even if I wanted to, I can’t disappoint him now.
I take his hand, and he helps guide me off of the gurney. He paws my breasts, my disheveled hair, my neck, my clit. His scent—mold and musk and so much heat—fills my brain, and I am solely his.
“This is your only purpose now,” he murmurs. “You are a toy meant to please me.”
I rub my clit, and pleasure inflates Daddy’s shoulders. His tall, sinewy body curls around me like a chain binding me to a prison cell. He lifts me up, resting my ass on the gurney, and his veiny purple cock stabs my thighs, the pus-oozing tip wetting my skin.
“Do you still fuck her?” I whisper.
Joy sparkles in his dark eyes, his cock bobbing. He spins me around until my ass is against his crotch.
“Are you jealous, freak?” he asks as he pushes on my back, forcing me face down against the body. “I stopped fucking her years ago, shortly after you were born. I knew this day would come, and I wanted to be ready. I saved her for you.”
I mold to his touch, his command, his complete and total will. Keeping her wasn’t about her then; it was about me. He kept her for me so he could torture me. So he could teach me. So he could train me. So he could see exactly what I would do when I finally met her.
This isn’t a test. It’s a gift.
Fire smolders my ribs, and as my face rests against the corpse’s stomach, the place where I grew from cells to an infant, I realize this—Daddy’s influence—has always been at the core of who I am.
I am his freak.
Daddy’s cock pushes inside of my pussy. I suck in, squeezing my muscles around him.
“That’s it,” he growls. His hands circle my neck, and cold metal cinches around me: the collar from the tray. “You’re mine. My disgusting freak.”
My mind detaches from my body. I watch my father fuck me over my mother’s cooling corpse.
Maybe it doesn’t matter where I came from or whose blood runs through my veins.
Maybe revenge and justice don’t have meaning when you give your life to the man who wants you, who needs you.
Maybe none of it matters, as long as you know where you belong.
Thoughts fall through me, every one of them laced with him, and as I return to my body, I realize I’ve found myself. I know who I am. I belong now.
My family is right here with me.