a first date

Fifteen years old and no one home...


She greeted him with a smile, shrinking back a little when she met his eyes. They shone with something she could not put a name to, but that screamed a warning in a small part of her mind. She did not pay attention to it; she had refused to listen for years. Listening caused doubt, caused disturbing images and sounds to bubble up in her memory. Far easier to push it away. Far easier to pretend everything was fine.


He took her hand and led her upstairs. One of her remained behind, staring at a mirror. What would it take to become Alice and slip through to the other side?


They sat on the floor together. Red bunkbeds. Pictures of old sailing ships. A gull cried, but that was only in her mind. Tremors stilled with the iron control that nightly caused fingers to close around a serrated edge and tighten, searching for definable pain. A lump in her throat-- could not swallow, barely breathe.


Cold fingers on warm skin, squirming in her stomach with the impulse of years gone by. Cold like the ice on the windows, on her heart.


He put his hand on her heart then, and smiled, thinking her with him. She smiled, automatic response when no one was there to react.


She heard a voice in her head; her father-master, telling her what she was. Loose women wore makeup and had pierced ears, he told her. By virtue of pale pink polish and tiny gold hoops she screamed, slut. Again it screamed, the voice of one who never slept, never had an instant's ease from the pain. Fingers inside her then, and all she could hear was the screaming. Smile frozen in place as she tried to keep him happy, so he wouldn't go away, wouldn't leave her alone in the cold.


Numb, then. Numb from the effort and from the screaming. Shaking as the bathtub filled. Red of nearly scalded skin scrubbed, trying to free herself from the taint.


Don't hate me, she thought bitterly. Don't leave me. I'll do anything you tell me to. I'll never tell a soul. I'm good at keeping secrets...