Living With Evil by Cynthia Owen (best way to read books .TXT) 📕

filthy and dirty. Daddy was trying to make me rub him, the way he rubbed himself up and down my back and around my mouth. Please stop, Daddy. I wanted to say it, but how would he react? I wasn’t brave enough to speak.

Mammy had given me a lot of cider and it had made me sleepy, even though I still hadn’t managed to sleep. I remembered that my head was aching when Daddy got into bed. I didn’t move. I just had to lie there and wait and see what he would do next.

I wanted to push him away, but I felt too weak and too scared. I wanted to scream out with the pain when he touched me. His big hands reached down between my legs.

I sobbed silently. I tried to wedge my thighs together tightly, ramming my kneecaps against one another until they ached, but I could feel Daddy’s fingernails scratching my skin, pulling them apart.

He touched me in my private parts. It made me feel dirty and embarrassed.

Why did Daddy want to touch me there if it was a filthy part of my body? His fingernails dug deeply. Everything felt dirty. But the pain was the worst thing. What was causing so much pain? His fingers were clawing at me, digging into me and hurting me. Please stop, Daddy.

It was only a few days later, a week perhaps, that everything changed again. I was lying in bed, wondering as I always seemed to be these days, what Daddy was going to do to me tonight.

I could hear Mammy’s muffled voice downstairs, punctuated by regular pauses when she drained her glass or dragged on a cigarette.

I prayed silently that maybe, just this once, she would come to bed before Daddy came home from the pub and protect me. Deep down, though, I knew that wouldn’t happen. I wasn’t sure if Mammy knew what Daddy did in bed, but I knew for sure that she never protected me or did anything nice for me at all.

The steady rhythm of her voice and the distant strains of country and western music on the radio went on for what seemed like hours. She wasn’t coming to bed any time soon.

I tried to calm myself down. Maybe the things Daddy did to me were all part of growing up after all. But I just wanted to be like all my other friends.

They all seemed so happy and normal compared to me, but I just knew I could never be normal. I’d already worked out not to hope for things to get better, because they just got worse. There was no point kidding myself. I couldn’t imagine ever being happy. I was used to being beaten and insulted, used to Mammy’s casual slaps and kicks for no reason and I never knew what I had done to deserve it. I had stopped trying to work it out.

I was dragged out of my thoughts by the familiar sound of Daddy’s key in the door. My stomach lurched. I tried to wrap myself in the thick, smelly blanket, hugging it tight around me.

It stank of smoke and scratched my face, but it was my only protection. Maybe Daddy would leave me alone if he saw I was tucked up snugly, asleep? It was worth a try. Anything was worth a try.

I clamped my eyes shut, so hard that I had dark shapes swimming around in front of them and they ached. But no amount of pretence was going to save me; as soon as I heard his footsteps, one by one on the stairs, I knew tonight would be like every other night. He hadn’t stopped to speak to Mammy, which could be good or could be bad. There was never any way of telling.

As each step got louder, his old leather shoes slapping on the thin grey lino, my heart beat louder inside my chest. I thought I would explode.

Now I could feel him next to the bed, breathing heavily as he took off his clothes.

I heard that clink of his belt buckle as it hit the floor and then he got into bed behind me, snatching my blanket roughly off me and tossing it over us both.

A cold blast of air whipped across my curled-up body and I shuddered, still trying to pretend to be deep in sleep even though my body was rigid with terror and he was trying to unfold me.

I felt the heat of Daddy’s breath on the back of my neck as he pulled himself in close behind me, and the familiar stench of stale beer and pungent sweat started to suffocate me.

I knew something horrible was about to happen, and a little voice inside my head started screaming as my breathing got quicker with fear. Next I felt Daddy’s clammy hands clamp around my stomach. I held my breath as he wrenched me back sharply towards him.

Suddenly the pain was so excruciating I almost passed out. My body felt like it was being slit open with a razor-sharp knife.

‘No, Daddy, no! Please, Daddy, no!’ I stuttered.

It was the first time I had ever broken the silence while he was touching me, but he didn’t seem to hear me, and he didn’t stop. It was like I wasn’t actually there.

I didn’t know what he was doing to cause me so much pain - why would I? My head felt foggy, as if I was only half conscious, and the pain was now so bad I thought this must be what it is like just before you die.

‘No, Daddy, no! Please, Daddy, no. Please stop,’ I begged, whimpering like a wounded animal.

He carried on in silence, getting rougher.

The pain was worse than anything I had experienced in my life before, and then a wave of sickness and panic washed over me as my eight-year-old brain worked out what was causing it.

He was inside me! I could feel him moving backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. I realized he had