5
Pixie
I spend an hour and a half in the shower, sitting on the floor of the tub and letting the water spill down over me. It’s as though I’m in a trance. Every detail of my encounter with Baron replays in my mind in a continuous loop. Even in my own mind I can’t get away from him.
The first thing I did was wash his cum off me. The teachers at school scared us so badly in sex-ed that I’m still not positive that I won’t end up pregnant by a rogue sperm that’s found its way inside me. Baron would definitely kill me then.
After what he did, I’m honestly shocked he didn’t rape me. The look in his eyes…it was like he was amused by my pain and suffering. He was always cold and ruthless, but I never expected anything like that from him. It makes me wonder what he’s put my mother through in private.
I manage to get out of the shower, wrap myself in a towel, and go to my room where I collapse onto the bed. My butt is still stinging from where he belted me, and even though I hate to admit it, the aftershocks of my orgasm are still buzzing through me.
I hate to admit that it even happened, but it was completely out of my control.
I guess it’s official; my stepdad is a total psychopath.
After lying in bed for two hours, I remember I have some melatonin in my desk and take two tablets and try to go to sleep. Maybe it helps, maybe it doesn’t, but once I finally pass out, my dreams are absolutely nightmarish.
I’m running through the woods being chased by two men who might be Harry and Baron, but whose hands are the size of five men and whose eyes are blood red. I want to wake up, but I can’t. I run and run and run as thorns tear at my clothes, ripping and shredding them until I’m completely naked. Finally, the two monstrous men corner me, cackling, slobbering all over themselves. One of them reaches in to touch me, and I rocket up in bed, drenched in sweat.
“Shit…” I groan, brushing my hair from my face.
Back to the shower. This time I only sit on the floor of the tub for forty-five minutes. I don’t even bother drying my hair; I just wrap it up in a towel to deal with later. It’s another dreary day with heavy clouds and a curtain of cold rain beating down on the house.
When I get dressed, I find a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt and throw them on. I even put a bra on underneath. My plan is to stay inside the whole day, but that’s when I hear my mom calling from downstairs.
“Pixie, can you come down here please?”
Sure, it sounds like a question, but it’s actually a command. I might as well be a trained dog at this point. Since I know that ignoring her will only result in her storming into my room in a tizzy, I do my best to piece myself back together and head downstairs, praying Baron isn’t home.
Fortunately, when I reach the kitchen, there’s no sign of him.
“Where’s Baron?”
“Honey, when are you going to call him Dad?”
Never. Ever fucking ever.
For some reason, my mom’s making breakfast, which she never does. It’s either call Baron’s private chef or order in. She’s also wearing makeup. Something fishy is going on, and I’m praying it’s that last night I was transported into another dimension, one where my mother is motherly and my stepdad isn’t a psycho.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
My mom looks at me like it should be obvious. “Making scrambled eggs.”
“Yes, but why?”
“A mother can’t cook for her daughter?”
I can’t tell if she’s actually trying to convince me or just laying on some really bad sarcasm.
“You’re wearing makeup.”
“A mother can’t look nice for her husband?” She smiles.
A terrible thought enters my mind: I’m the one who looks nice for your husband. Nice enough to sexually assault.
“Gimmie a break, Mom. What’s going on?”
Frowning, my mom adds a few strips of bacon to the pan as I walk over to the windows overlooking the front yard. Maybe I’ll put on a poncho and just go be miserable in the rain.