Page 53 of Apathy
Nikolai Aster, Logan Nightingale, Agostino Romano, Frederick De Wolfe, they were frequent visitors, and I knew every single one of their faces from the television and from newspapers. They were supposed to be good men, but the first time Nikolai Aster hugged me, I knew that there was nothing good about them.
The first time Logan Nightingale undressed me with his eyes, my skin crawled, my stomach clenched, and I wanted to hide from them and their leering eyes. The masks they wore for the public to see were left at home, and the true monsters came out to play. I saw them for what they truly were—monsters.
And my father, the person that used to put Band-Aids on my knees, he was one of them. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when a year after I first met them, that my father told me to undress in front of him and start touching myself.
I was fifteen years old.
I couldn’t tell Dylan. I couldn’t tell my friends. I couldn’t tell anyone because he threatened every person I loved. He made me feel like I was filthy, unworthy. He made me do things I never dreamed of doing. He fed me poison. He pushed me into the dark abyss, and I fell so hard, all the way to the ground and I couldn’t climb out.
“Are you going to come for me?” He bit my earlobe, punishing me with each thrust. “I want to feel you squeeze my dick.”
His other hand gripped my breast, flicking my nipple, pinching me, making me scream all over again. And I let it go.
I let it all go because he knew I couldn’t come for him without pain. He made me into this. He made me beg, plead, cry, because my body needed to be punished to get to the soaring heights only an orgasm could bring.
“That’s it,” he breathed into my neck. “Oh yes, yes, yes. You love my dick. Admit it.”
“I love your dick, Daddy,” I answered with a robotic voice, sounding nothing like myself. But that was the point, wasn’t it? Not to be myself, because if I tried to be myself, I wouldn’t get out of here alive.
I stopped fighting him long ago, because every time I ended up with a new cut, a new bruise, new damage to my soul. My thighs had scars he inflicted upon me. My heart had marks no one would ever be able to remove.
My soul bled and bled and bled, and I wasn’t sure if there was going to be anything left of me once this was done. He was too powerful. He was everywhere, and I had to be careful with the plan I concocted. I had to. If he knew what I had planned, he would kill me before I managed to escape this town.
My hair fell over my face, over my eyes, and I welcomed the darkness as I closed my eyes, pushing my ass against him. The sound of his balls slapping against my skin, the sounds of our moans, my cries, the pouring rain, and thunder crying in the night, it was the song of depravity. The song of loss.
He increased his pace, letting me fall on all fours, and held my hips with bruising strength, letting himself go.
Ash, Ash, Ash, I chanted in my head as my body clenched around his dick.
My stomach tightened as my father kept pounding into me, drawing out the orgasm I didn’t want to give him.
No, it’s for Ash. It’s all for Ash, not for him.
He flicked my clit, and I erupted around him, my entire body shaking, but it wasn’t his name on my lips. It wasn’t his poison killing me slowly. It was thunderous eyes and a violent touch. It was a guy I didn’t only want, but needed. I needed him to chase away all the bad things surrounding me.
And I was going to find a way to get what I wanted, again.
* * *
“Dylan told me there’s a new kid at school,” my father started as I pulled on my sweater, careful not to touch the spots where he bit me. He was usually more careful, worried that people would ask questions if they saw me like this.
He could punish me, he could fuck me into oblivion, he could take everything away from me, but I still had to behave like a good daughter of a senator. He cared more about his picture and how people saw him than about his family.
“Yeah,” I murmured and picked up my bag from the floor. “His family moved to town recently.”
“What is his last name?” he asked and pressed the tip of his cigar to his lips, inhaling slowly.
“I’m not sure.” I shrugged. “I can find out.”Liar. I already knew his last name.
Ash Weber.
He wasn’t mine to protect, but knowing my father, he would find out about this weird attraction I felt toward him, and he would hold it over my head.
No, Ash had to stay out of this.
“Good.” He nodded, enveloped in the cloud of smoke. “Do that.”
I crossed the room, heading toward the door, counting when I would be able to break down without him seeing it. Counting down the minutes until I would be able to breathe without his foul stench surrounding me.
