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

His face was right in front of mine. I stared into his eyes, looking for a flicker of light. Could he see my terrified eyes? Could he see my face, frozen with fear? I was too afraid to speak. It felt like my tongue was glued to the bottom of my mouth. I could hardly breathe. I didn’t want to breathe. I didn’t want to smell his foul smell. I wanted to spit out his smell, not breathe it in, but I was trapped and paralysed.

I felt like the little bird I’d seen in the garden when the neighbour’s cat caught it in its jaws. It seemed to give up the second the cat’s jaw locked, like it knew struggling would only make things worse and prolong the agony.

Daddy was doing something different tonight. I felt the clawing down below that I’d felt before, and I screamed inside my head: Not there again. Please don’t hurt me down below. Daddy carried on scratching and pushing into me, and then I felt him lower himself on top of me again. It felt dangerous, like he was crushing the breath out of me.

I was so afraid of what he might do next. I thought he might kill me, and I didn’t want to die in pain. ‘Please stop, Daddy!’ I gasped desperately. ‘Please, no.’

It was too late. This time Daddy really was killing me. I was going to die, I was sure of it. He was inside me again. I could feel him moving like I had before, but I didn’t want to believe it was happening.

I couldn’t take it in. It was different to last time. It was even worse. The pain wasn’t in my bottom, it was right between my legs.

It wasn’t like a knife slitting me open this time. It was ten times worse, like my bones were being ripped apart and then I was being stabbed and stabbed.

I was burning inside, and the pain was shooting right though my tummy and chest and heart and head. I could feel it in my fingertips and eyelids, in my little toes and in my throat. The pain was everywhere, the agony unbearable. I thought I was going to be torn in half and die in two pieces, wrenched apart. ‘Please,’ was all I had the strength to gasp. I thought I might pass out. It felt like the life was being punched out of me.

Daddy’s hard voice cut through the air like a knife. ‘It’s your ma’s fault I have to do these things to you,’ he said coldly, without looking at my face.

I gasped in shock. Daddy could hear my pleas! He knew he was hurting me very badly. He was almost killing me with pain. But he didn’t stop. He was making excuses!

‘It’s all her fault because she won’t let me do it to her.’

What did he mean? Why would he do this to Mammy? Why would he want to hurt anyone in this horrible way? Should I tell Mammy what he was doing and what he said? My head just swam. Nothing made sense. ‘Go down and tell her what I’m doing to you. It’s all her fault!’

I was so sore, all my energies went into coping with the pain. I couldn’t think straight. Maybe he wanted me to tell Mammy what he said, but I didn’t trust him. How could I trust him after he had hurt me so badly? Was it a trap? Mammy might thump me and beat me, and I couldn’t bear the thought of any more pain. I wouldn’t tell Mammy, if that’s what Daddy wanted. I would do what Daddy wanted after he had hurt me so much.

After what felt like ages, Daddy shoved himself as far away from me as possible. Did he hate me so much that he didn’t want me near him? I felt hurt by that, even though I didn’t want him to touch me ever again. I couldn’t understand why he got so close, far too close, if all of a sudden he didn’t want me near him. Nothing made sense.

Eventually the burning in my body subsided into numbness, like I’d been beaten black and blue inside and out. No, I couldn’t tell anyone at all. I definitely couldn’t risk another beating. Another beating would kill me, I was sure of it. I had to be extra good. I had to help Mammy and keep the peace. I had to keep this secret.

Besides, Christmas was coming. Christmas might make things better. Remember that time Daddy took me to Woolworth’s and I got a mug of milk and a pink wafer biscuit?

Perhaps this Christmas would be the best ever, the start of good things. We had lots of drink and cigarettes, so Mammy would be happy. I looked at Daddy sleeping on the edge of the bed. I was pressed against the wall. I didn’t want to wake Daddy. I didn’t want to annoy him in any way. Tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow had to be better. It just couldn’t be worse.

About three weeks before Christmas, Daddy surprised me by telling me to pick out what I wanted for my present. Mammy and Daddy gave us separate presents, and Daddy usually let us choose what we wanted.

I’d already spotted a miniature blue piano and a matching stool in a shop window in the main street. My heart melted when I saw it. It was the same baby blue as the old cot, and it had fancy carvings on the legs.

I never thought for a moment I might actually be able to own it, but now Daddy had told me to pick my present I shot straight down to the shop and told the woman behind the counter, ‘I’m havin’ that! It’s mine! Don’t sell it to anyone else!’

She looked me up and down and reluctantly agreed, but told me to come back soon.