Father sits on the edge of her bed, holding a giant cake on a platter. It is five layers high and slathered in pink icing with a ridiculous unicorn horn on top. Something you’d buy for a child.
“What do you think, August?” Daddy asks. He cocks his head to the side and winks. “Want a taste?”
My heart rate quickens. What does he know?
“You need to have a slice, August!” Clemmie insists. “Cake for breakfast is a birthday tradition in our house.”
“You’re both eighteen now,” Father says. “It’s a big day for you both.”
“Where’s my cake?” I hiss.
He laughs. “You’ll get your present this evening,” he promises ominously.
I don’t want to know what he’s planned, especially knowing his expectations for me.
Clemmie freezes for a split second but recovers quickly.
“We need to eat cake!” Clemmie announces.
“Patience.” Dad tuts. “August needs to bring up an extra plate.”
I grit my teeth, not wanting to leave them alone, but I do as he asks. My time of being compliant will end soon.
“I’ll be right back,” I say.
“Bring forks too, August!” Clemmie says. “I’m a woman now. Real ladies need to eat cake properly.”
Dad’s face falls. Is he questioning how long he can get away with passing her around to his friends? How old is too old for them? Pigtails, child’s clothes, and a bald pussy won’t fool them for much longer. Those animals can smell real jailbait a mile off. I race to the kitchen to retrieve the plates. The idea of eating cake with them is ridiculous, but I must play along.
When I return, Dad is sitting next to Clemmie. He has a fat blob of icing on the end of his finger. Clemmie’s pointed tongue flicks out to lick it off, but he pushes his finger into her mouth, forcing her to suck it clean.
“Here’s the plates,” I say gruffly.
I want to rip his hand off his fucking arm.
“Come sit with us, August,” Clemmie says, patting a space on her other side. “This will be my best birthday ever; I can feel it!”
Father’s eyes dart to the cake knife in my other hand. “Why don’t you cut us all a slice, August?”
A challenge lies beneath his words. I step forward and sink the knife into the soft sponge, releasing a sickly-sweet raspberry smell that turns my stomach.
“There,” I say, slapping the cake down onto a plate for him.
“Today is only going to get better,” Father promises, putting a mouthful of cake onto the fork and feeding it to Clemmie. “I’ve got you both something new to wear for the party.”
My eyes narrow. “You want me to come to the party?”
Is it because he wants to reinvent me in his image or because he sensed something changing, in the same way a predator could detect when a threat is around? He can play God with Clemmie, but he can’t with me. I’m his son and being a monster runs in the fucking family.
“Of course, it is your birthday party too,” he says, ignoring my surprise. “I got you a new suit and a dress for you, Clementine. I’ll leave them outside your rooms when it’s time to get ready.”
Clemmie claps her hands wildly. “I’m excited!”
“There you go,” I say, pushing a large plate of cake into her hands to stop him from feeding her. As I do, my fingers brush against hers, and my cock hardens instantly.
Clemmie doesn’t take small bites. She shoves it into her mouth, not caring about getting crumbs over her expensive sheets. Buttercream smudges above her top lip that I want to kiss off.
“Don’t you want any cake, August?” Clemmie asks.