No Longer Innocent
Aviana
Past
Age 10
My birthday was almost perfect. Mr. and Mrs. Widlow took me to the arcade, and I ran into some school friends who surprised me with mint chocolate chip ice cream—my favorite. For a moment, I felt like I truly belonged.
Now, with fifth grade around the corner, I’ve been with the Widlows long enough that adoption doesn’t seem impossible. I love my school and friends, but the thought of leaving scares me. Still, part of me holds back from enjoying it too much, knowing what happens behind closed doors.
As I lie in bed, the night is quiet except for the crickets and the occasional owl. Mrs. Widlow had brushed my hair after my shower, tucked me in, and sang her lullaby—a song I knew by heart but still clung to like a lifeline.
Sleep, my little sparrow, don’t be scared,
You are safe, you are loved, you are held with care.
Close your eyes, let the dark be kind,
Leave the hurt of the day behind.
The world has been heavy, I know it’s been long,
But here in my arms, you’ll always belong.
No more goodbyes, no more new homes,
Rest now, my love—you’re not alone.
Sleep, my little sparrow, don’t you fear ,
I am here, I am here.
Her voice was soft and warm, like a blanket wrapped around my heart. For those few minutes, everything felt safe. But as the song faded, so did that comfort.
The sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway freezes me in place. I lie perfectly still, not daring to breathe. The car door slams shut, followed by the heavy, deliberate stomps of boots climbing the front stairs. Each step sounds angrier than the last. Keys jingle, then slip from his hand, clattering onto the concrete porch.
“Please just go to bed,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, as if the words themselves could keep him away.
The keys jingle again, and the front door bursts open with a deafening slam.
“LILY! LILY, WHERE IS SHE?” His voice bellows from the foyer, sharp and filled with rage.
Panic grips my chest as I lie motionless, racking my brain for what I could have done wrong. Then it hits me. The bike. My birthday bike, the one Mr. and Mrs. Widlow gave me with the promise I’d treat it like a treasure. And I had, until today. I left it in front of the garage instead of putting it away. My stomach twists with dread. That bike was the best thing to happen to me since Mommy died.
“LILY! I asked you a question. Where. Is. She?” he roars again.
Footsteps shuffle through the house, growing louder, closer. My bedroom door creaks open, and I squeeze my eyes shut as tight as I can, willing myself to look convincingly asleep.
“Stay asleep, my darling.” A soft, gentle voice floats into the room—Mrs. Widlow.
“Move out of the way, woman. She needs to be punished,” he snaps, shoving her aside and stepping into my room.
“She’s asleep, Brandon,” she whispers sharply, her tone pleading. “Don’t do this right now. You can talk to her in the morning over breakfast.”
“Go to bed, woman. I’ll take care of this now.” His voice is cold, final.
I hear the sound of her being pushed back, the door shutting with a decisive thud. His heavy footsteps pound against the floor as he moves further into my room. I can feel him standing over me, his presence looming, suffocating. My heart pounds so hard I’m afraid he’ll hear it.
WHOOSH
The sound of his belt coming out of his belt loops makes me catch my breath in my throat. I am praying that he will walk away and listen to Mrs. Widlow so I can sleep but my prayer goes unanswered when he whips the belt through the air and it comes down on my backside with a crack.
A scream escapes my lips like no other. It was so loud, I did not recognize it as my scream.
Again.
WHACK.
SCREAM
WHACK. ??
“Wake up, girl.” he demands as if he didn’t hear the scream that emanated from my mouth when the first crack of his belt hit me.
WHOOSH
I hear the belt whistle through the air again, and before it can strike me, I scramble to the head of my bed, sitting upright with my hands raised in desperation. “I’m awake! I’m awake! Please don’t hit me again. Please. I’m sorry!”
“Sorry for what, girl?” he growls, his voice sharp and unrelenting. “Let me hear you admit what you did wrong.”
Trembling, I stammer, “I—I was almost late for dinner, so I hurried to park my bike and wash my hands. I enjoyed dinner so much that I must have forgotten to put my bicycle in the garage where it belongs.”
WHACK.
The belt snaps against the bed just inches from my feet. I flinch hard, my breath catching in my throat. Then, he lets it fall from his hand onto the bed.
Relief floods through me, thinking the worst is over. My voice shakes as I continue, trying to appease him. “Please, Daddy Widlow, please don’t punish me. Take my bike away. Ground me from seeing my friends. Just—just don’t hit me again. I promise it wo—”
“Shut up, girl. Stop your rambling,” he snaps, cutting me off. “You need to be punished. That bicycle wasn’t cheap, girl. Someone could’ve stolen it, sitting out there like that. You think I’m angry now?”
I bite down on my lip to keep from saying what I know to be true: we live in the middle of nowhere. No one would have taken it. Anyone would have to drive, bike, or walk miles just to get here. But I know better than to argue. My mouth will only make things worse.
He stares at me for a moment before pacing away, then toes off his boots one by one, the sound echoing against the floor.
"Do you think you should be punished?” he asks, his tone dripping with mockery as he turns back to me. “Tell me, what do you deserve?”
At ten years old, I already know what punishment feels like. God took my mother from me, then abandoned me to this house of horrors. What could be worse than living under the roof of this monster?
I stay silent, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Even if I had one, why would I condemn myself further?
But then, before I can stop myself, the words slip out in a whisper. “Living here is punishment enough.”
My breath catches. My hand flies to my mouth. Oh no. Did I really say that out loud?
I pray—pray to the same God who took my mother—that Mr. Widlow didn’t hear me. But deep down, I already know better. And if he did… I know exactly what’s coming next.
He slowly turns his head in my direction and quizzically states “Say that again, girl. You mumbled.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy Widlow, but I don’t believe I should be punished,” I say carefully, my voice barely above a whisper. I hold my breath, hoping he didn’t hear the words I let slip before .
Prodding to my bed, all I see is his dark silhouette. It is hard to make out any facial features to give away if he did hear.
Stopping at the foot of my bed, I hear him start to flick open each button on his shirt. I hear him grumble as a stitch pops and a PLINK of a button hits the wooden floor.
“Take that blanket off, girl.” he demands. Slowly removing the quilt Mrs. Widlow put on my bed the first night I arrived while he took his shirt off.
“I said I am sorry, Daddy Widlow. Please do not punish me.” I beg him.
“Oh, my perfect little girl, there’s no need for punishment,” he murmurs. “You told the truth, and that’s all I ask. Now, let me show you how good honesty can feel.”
“Why are you taking off your shirt, Daddy Widlow?” I ask curiously.
“Just do as I say and I promise there will be no punishment. Can you do that for me, girl?”
“Yes, si-, Daddy Widlow.”
“That’s my perfect girl. Now slide your pants off. You know I don’t like my girls wearing pants in my house.”
Nervously I stand up next to my bed and slide my thumbs under my waistband to take my pants off. I fold them neatly and walk to the rocking chair in the corner of the room to place them on the seat.
“Back on the bed, girl.”
Taking my time walking to the bed in the dark so I don’t stub my toe on anything, I ask, “Daddy Widlow, may I turn on the lamp, please? I can’t see anything.”
With a huff he replies, “No, girl. You don’t need to see anything. You just need to feel good.”
“Now do Daddy Widlow a favor, will you? Lay down on the bed for me.”
He walks to the side of the bed and pops his button of his work pants open before sitting down.
Holding my breath not sure what he will do next as his hand slides over my knee where he grabs with just a bit of pressure .
“I thought I wasn’t going to be punished, Daddy Widlow.” I question him.
“You aren’t, girl. I just need you to keep breathing through this. I don’t need you holding your breath and passing out on me.” he replies as he starts to move his hand up my thigh.
His fingers stop at the apex of my thighs and I see the silhouette of his head look up at my face. “I need you to take these off, girl.”
“Wh -? What? Why, Daddy Widlow?” trying to hold back the tears because if I cry, he will punish me.
“Do as I say, girl or do you need help taking them off?” He asks.
“No, I can do it, Daddy Widlow. May I get up to take them off?”
“Take them off right where you are. You think you can outsmart me, huh? I don’t need you running to Mommy Widlow to tell her what I am asking you to do. You wouldn’t want her to be asking a bunch of questions, would you?” he asked.
“No, Daddy Widlow,” I said, confused.
“I had a long day at work. Now do as I say, take those panties off.”
Shimmying my panties off, I sit up to fold them and put them at the bottom of my bed when Mr. Widlow snatches them out of my hand and puts them to his nose.
“You smell so innocent, girl. Tonight, you are going to be my perfect girl and you will only ever be mine. Do you understand? No other boy or man will ever make you feel good. If they try, you will always think of your Daddy Widlow. Now lay back down and just relax.”
He pockets my panties and slides his hand back onto my thigh. I’m grateful my nightshirt is long enough to cover my private parts. It’s dark in the room, but I’m not sure how well he can see through the shadows . I hold my breath as his hand travels further up my thigh. Again, stopping at the top of my thigh where it meets the parts of my body Mommy always told me no one should touch. She always said I should scream if someone touches me there but I know if I scream now, Mr. Widlow definitely will punish me. Therefore, I lay here, holding my breath trying my best to not cry or scream .
“You just had a birthday, girl. Now that you are getting older, I wonder if we have to buy you bras. Take off your shirt so I can see and let Mommy Widlow know.”
Mommy told me that no one is allowed to touch my chest either but Mr. Widlow isn’t touching. He just wants to see them. It should be okay, right?
Sitting up, I lift my shirt over my head and I am left completely bare in front of Mr. Widlow. I am thanking God my room is still very dark so he can’t see anything.
CLICK
I didn’t even realize that he had leaned over to my night table so that he could turn on the light. But once I realized what he was doing my arms instantly go to cover myself up.
“Lay down, girl.” he orders. “Move your arms out of the way. Ahhh, look here. We have a perfect girl indeed. Such a beautiful body you have. I know this body could make Daddy Widlow feel very good. You see what you do to my body, girl?” he asks as one of his hands gropes the front of his pants.
“You make my cock so hard with your bare pussy and those tiny mounds of yours. Too young for hair just yet which makes you my perfect girl.”
“Please, Daddy Widlow.” I beg.
“Yes, girl, beg your Daddy to make you feel good.” he says.
“Please, don’t.”
“Oh, girl, I want you to come here and take my pants off.” he demands as he stands.
Laying there deciding to scream, cry or follow his instructions, I remember him telling me that if I do as he tells me, I won’t be punished. I go to stand next to him and unzip his pants feeling that his cock, as he called it, is hard like steel. How did I do that to him? I never touched him.
“Faster, girl. Mommy Widlow will come in here wondering why I am taking so long with you.”
“I am sorry, Daddy Widlow.” and I go back to unzipping his pants. There he stands in his blue plaid boxers while I am standing here bare in front of him .
With us standing facing each other, I don’t know whether to lay back down or wait for the next instructions. Thankfully they come quickly.
“Now reach into my boxers and grab out my cock, girl. When you grab it, don’t squeeze too hard. I want you to just squeeze gently. Don’t hurt me now.”
When I reach into his boxers, it feels as hairy as his chest and belly look. He is covered in hair like a grizzly bear. I do as he says. It feels so soft that I end up petting it instead of squeezing gently.
“What are you doing, girl? I am not a dog. Quit petting it. Just sit.” he shoves me so my legs hit the back of the bed and I end up sitting on the edge as he drops his boxers around his ankles.
“Look what you do to me, girl.” he says as he strokes himself. “Now open that pretty mouth of yours for me.”
I open my mouth.
“Wider.” he says.
When I start to open my mouth, he shoves his cock into my mouth so fast I gag and I end up biting it.
My ears are ringing and my eyes sting with tears as I realize he slapped me with the back of his hand.
“Bitch! Do not try to bite me again or I will punish you. Are we understanding each other?”
“I am . . . sorry . . . Daddy . . . Widlow . . . it scared . . . me” I stutter between tears.
“Open up again, bitch.”
I now know what he is going to do and I refuse to open so he tries to shove his cock passed my lips. When I keep refusing, he reaches over to his belt and lifts it in the air.
He growls, “Open your mouth now bitch or I will open it for you. Choose.”
When I open my mouth and he tries to insert his cock again, that is when I let loose a howl of screams that are ear piercing.
The door slams open against the door, “What is going on here, Brandon? What? Why is Aviana naked? Where are your pants? What the hell?”
She takes in the scene of Mr. Widlow and I. Her stare at me becomes venomous.
“How could I ever have thought about calling you my daughter, you disgusting little whore.” Mrs. Widlow strolls up to me and slaps me so hard she makes me stop screaming and tears wet my face.