Daddy's Little Defect

There’s a bourbon glass on the table. It glistens in the light, glimmering under some light source. It’s an amber color, transparent, the image behind it distorted by the liquid. It looks about half empty, condensation slicking the outside, falling onto a white marble counter. One side of it is cracked, the alcohol leaking out of the glass and onto the counter. It creates a pool beside it. It looks sadly forlorn, as if it were abandoned while being drank from. There is a swinging light above the counter, the light flickering sadly. The ceiling is grungy; water stains litter the surface. It is a brownish white, almost saddening in its state of disrepair. The walls are tarpaper, meaning they are of poor quality. These are also a brownish white; a sickly combination of colors. There’s a small couch shoved against the wall. It is in unfortunate condition, stains are present on the surface. It used to be blue, but it’s faded to a light grey, with tinges of blue around the sides where white holes haven’t been worn through. The room smells of day-old alcohol and burnt food. The place looks like someone stopped caring about what happened. All of this mess tells a story. Someone just doesn’t care anymore.

Dishes are everywhere, strewn across the counter, the floor, and the tables. Broken glasses litter the floor, glistening in the dirty light. Some other cups are littered across the floor. Some old food is left on the tables. It’s day-old spaghetti. The sauce seems to be molding, turning white in some places. The fork is about six inches from the plate, as if it were never meant to be used on the meal. There is another bourbon glass beside the plate, which is cracked and a yellowish color. Pots lay in the sink, unwashed for maybe a week. The oven is old and worn out, covered in food, abandoned like everything else. The chairs around a wood table are battered; pieces are missing from the wood, as if someone had carved them out. Everything in this place seems so...lost and hopeless. Even a cabinet thrust against the wall was derelict in appearance. It was open slightly and bottles of liquor, such as Jack Daniels and tequila, line the inner shelves of the cupboard. It looks as beat-up as the rest of the house. The bottles, however, look to be in perfect condition. Fancy that.

A sound is heard. It is a small sob, from another room. It’s from one of two doors leading out of the current room, into another. There is a faint light coming from the left-hand door. The door is thrown open by a man, and a terrified young girl, probably about nineteen (maybe twenty) is revealed to be sitting on her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, tears streaming down her face. Her eyes widen as she sees the man come into her room. She seems terrified of this man. Her eyes are cornflower blue, clear like sapphires. Her skin is delicate and flawless, minus a scar across her left cheek. It runs from her temple to her upper lip. It looks like it is just healing, still a little angry and red. There is also a slight bruise forming on her face. It is only a slight tinge of purple and blue around angry red skin, but it looks as if it is fairly new and going to bruise something fierce. She’s rocking back and forth, as if frightened out of her mind. Black eye makeup is in lines down her face, long since washed off by the tears that are still coursing down her face. Her arms look torn, and barely healing. She appears to have been bound with rope at some point in time because the lacerations around her wrists are scarred and the image imprinted into the skin is that of a rope burn.

She speaks to him, imploring him to leave her alone. He shakes his head, clearly drunk, and advances into the barren room. The walls are bare, void of anything that would reflect the young girl’s personality. The bed is simple; it is a small twin bed with white cotton sheets and a light blue comforter, with stains all over the surface. They are faint stains, but against the powder blue of the comforter, the stains a garish flaw in the smoothness of the color. She picks at one of the stitches, looking away from the man in front of her.

The man stumbles to the girl’s bed. She recoils, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand. She pushes her blond hair off her face, trying to look defiant through the puffy, red eyes and the betraying tears that he’d seen running down her cheeks. There is a desk beside the bed. It is littered with paper and books and other sundry items. The man sits in the battered chair, stumbling and finally falling into the seat. She is wearing nothing but an old, ratty grey t-shirt that barely covers her figure. The t-shirt stops at the top of her thighs, where the frayed ends of the hem tickle at her inner leg.

She asks him again to leave her alone, but he does the opposite. He crawls onto her bed and grins stupidly as he touches her shoulder and tells her he knows she doesn’t want him to leave. He says she wants him to stay and play with her. There is a lingering scent of bourbon in the air as he spoke. The girl’s eyebrows knit together as she recoils from him again, shaking her head. In a small, meek voice she says she wants him to leave. He doesn’t move and asks her why he should leave.

She says he hurt her, so she doesn’t want him around. She touches her cheek and winces, frowning at him. She says she doesn’t want him there, because she’s afraid he’s going to hurt her again. He grins idiotically and tells her he won’t hurt her if she’s a good girl and follows his orders. She informs him in a bolder voice than she apparently feels that she didn’t want to follow his orders. She says she wants to be free, and she straightens up a bit. He grabs hold of her shoulder, and she tries to pull away, but winces as he tightens his grip. He lets go and walks to the door. He closes it, and turns off the light, telling her they were going to have some fun, considering she was his daughter after all. Everything goes dark. There are muffled sounds of protest. The room begins to smell of liquor and sweat, as the protests get louder. A scream is heard and a thud. The light is turned back on and the girl is standing beside the door, heaving, and wrapping a sheet around herself. She calls him a pig and opens the door, meaning to leave. He gets up and grabs a hold of her arm tightly, and she weakens, as she looks at him with pleading eyes, asking him to let her go.

He merely smiles and grasps harder. She winces and grits her teeth. She asks through clenched teeth to let her go, but his grip only grows, and the look of pain on the girl’s face grows as she tries to pull away. She tries to pull away, sobbing that she hates him, but he grabs her harder and pulls her against him. Her eyes are looking into his, frightened.

She asks him in a soft voice to let go of her, and she pulls away again, and this time he lets her go. His eyes are bloodshot and wide, the stupid grin plastered on his face. She backs away from him, against the wall. She breathes in deeply and screams at the top of her lungs. The man cringes and runs at her, pinning her hard against the wall. He warns her not to scream again, or he would hurt her again. She says he already has and tries to get out of the way. She struggles fantastically, more tears streaming down her face as she thrashes in his grip. She makes small noises as she realizes her fight is futile. She goes limp in his arms. He wraps his arms around her, picking her up and taking her back to her bedroom. He doesn’t make it that far, however.

Moments later, sirens can be heard, and the man drops the girl in an outrage. He starts blithering drunkenly about neighbors and cops. There is a voice outside, saying to come out with his hands up. He curses and opens the door, shouting for them to go away. One of the officers comes up and grabs him, pinning him to the doorway, placing silver handcuffs on his wrists. They glisten cleanly in the dirtiness of the house. The girl looks frightened as the man looks to her with an evil look, as if saying ‘I’ll get you for this.’ She can’t help but smile as they take him away. It’s the first smile seen this night from her.

A kind-looking cop comes into the house and kneels beside the girl, smiling. He asks if she’s hurt and she nods. She had been dropped, so her back is jarred slightly. He asks if she need medical attention, and again, she nods. The cop nods and picks her up easily and gently, carrying her out to one of cars; it’s black and white, with red and blue flashing lights atop it. He puts her in the back. She’s looking at a fence-like barrier between the front and back seats. He flips on the siren, pealing out of the driveway. She sighs and manages a small smile when the cop asks if she’s all right; she’s finally free from him.