Samantha Brittain

November 27, 2006

Brenner

Fiction 1

Man/rub/girl

White/trip/yell

He rubs the girl's skin, making her go rigid. She is three years old. No one has ever touched her bare chest unless they are bathing her. Her eyes grow wide. This is wrong, she knows, but she couldn't say why it is wrong. She makes no sound, her vocal cords feeling as though they have been scraped by gravel. Not a word, not a whimper will escape. He continues rubbing her tiny, shirtless chest. Tears well in her eyes, and hate, rich as dark chocolate, wells in her heart. She stares unseeing at the television screen. The Wizard of Oz is playing, but she is not seeing Dorothy or the Wicked Witch of the West. She stares at it more because it is the only light source in the white-walled apartment than because it is in any way entertaining. She never liked this movie, but now she despises it as much as she hates the dark—haired, blue—eyed man stroking his fingers over her torso. She tries to think of something, anything else.

Mommy! The thought comes unbidden and suddenly her mother's face fills her mind, the woman's kind green eyes and bright white smile. Her mother should be here. Her mother wouldn't like this. But her mother is at home, unaware that anything is wrong. She can't hear her daughter's mind screaming for her; can't hear the small, high voice calling, "Mommy, come and get me! Make Kevin stop! Please, Mommy!"

Dad doesn't stop. Dad has never been "daddy" only "dad". Once she tried to call him by his name, and he yelled at her. He said daughters should never call their fathers by their names. But that's how she thinks of him. In her head, it is never dad. It is only Kevin. Years later, she won't even call him Kevin. It will just be Mr. Riley.

But for now, Dad does something that no one has ever done to this little sandy—haired girl child. He slips his large, tanned and calloused hand into her jeans. The tears spill over, but he either does not notice or does not care. He is intent upon his purpose.

He strokes her and she bites down hard on her lip until it bleeds. That cut will scar. In the future, she will have a barely noticeable crease in the center of her bottom lip. No one has ever noticed, and if they had, she would never tell them how she got it. What happens this night will be a secret for years to come.

Right now she tastes the metallic tang of blood in her mouth and there is a lump in the back of her throat. The Yellow Brick Road swims in her vision, tears obscuring it. Her father continues to touch her. If someone could see this, if someone could stop it! She should never have to come back here again. She doesn't care what the judge says. She cannot, she will not come back. They can't make her!

She wrenches herself away suddenly and mumbles something like, "I have to go to the bathroom." He makes no move to stop her as she tugs on her shirt and tried to get away. On the way out of the living room, she trips and falls. He reaches out to help her up, but she scuttles backwards away from him on her hands, tears pouring down her cheeks. She wants to scream "DON'T TOUCH ME!" but no sound will come out. She jerkily pulls herself to her feet and runs to the bathroom, locking the door behind her and resting against it, sobbing. Her lip is still bleeding and she gets some toilet paper, pressing on it the way her mother taught her.

She climbs into the shower and huddles against the wall, curled up and shaking. The salt in her tears is stinging the cut in her lip, but she cannot stop crying. It is out of her control now. When he knocks on the door and asks if she's alright, she freezes dead and the crying stops. She says she's fine and will be out soon. And she will be, because she can't stay locked in the bathroom all night, even though she wants to. She will have to submit to him tucking her in, and making her breakfast the next day, and driving her home. She has no choice. Even if he would let her call her mother, she couldn't tell her what happened. What is she hated the little girl? What if she thought what Kevin had done was Jenny's fault? Jenny hadn't wanted him to touch her, but what if her mother didn't believe her.

Eventually, when he lip stopped bleeding and she stopped crying, she unlocked the bathroom door and came out. She let him tuck her into bed and go to his own room. Then she got up and shut her door. Carefully, she locked the door. He would not be touching her tonight, and since she always woke up before him, she could open it before he awakened. She didn't want him screaming at her, or taking the door off its hinges, which she knew was what he would do.

He drove her home the next day in silence, listening to the radio. She said nothing. When her mother embraced her and suspiciously asked Kevin what had happened to Jenny's lip, Kevin said she tripped and bit it by mistake. Her mother accepted this. Jenny couldn't find the words to tell her otherwise.

Two weeks later it was Saturday morning, and again time for her father to pick her up. As her mother was helping her dress, Jenny said something that her mother will always remember.

"I will never spend the night at Dad's again, Mommy," the little girl declared as she pulled her red Thomas the Tank Engine shirt over her head.

"Did he tell you that, sweetie?" her mother asked, trying to keep the hope out of her voice.

"No, but after tonight, I'm not gonna go back." Jenny answered, squaring her tiny shoulders. Her mother's eyes welled with tears.

"Honey, the judge says you have to spend the night with Daddy. I have to let him take you. I'm sorry."

"Ok, Mommy, but after tonight, I won't have to go any more." Her mother just shook her head and closed her mouth. What else could she say? The little girl would have to go with her father.

An hour later when Kevin arrived and said it was time to go, Jenny started sobbing. She clung to her mother, who had no choice but to brush her off, though the little girl could see the anguish on her face. In the end, Kevin ended up picking her up and hauling her to the car, despite the fact that she held onto the doorknob for dear life. She cried the whole car ride, and when he got to his apartment, he shook her and yelled, "Shut up, you little shit!" This shut her up. When he wasn't looking, she smiled to herself. It was working.

That night, no one in Kevin's apartment slept. Even his girlfriend, who had been out of town on business, was kept awake. Jenny spent the whole night crying. She would only say one thing.

"There are monsters, and if I go to sleep, they'll get me." The only real monster assured her that there were no monsters. He showed her every nook and cranny of his apartment, but the little one still refused to stop crying. He and his girlfriend, Mary, ended up screaming at each other, which Jenny took to mean it was working and she should cry louder. And cry she did; she cried until there wasn't a single tear left in her to cry. It was 5 o'clock in the morning when Kevin called her mother.

"Your daughter has been screaming and crying the entire night. Mary and I haven't gotten a wink of sleep. I'm taking the little brat home." Jenny smiled behind her hand.

The drive home in the dark was silent. She dozed fitfully and he cursed under her breath. The sky gradually lightened, and she watched it out the window, resisting the urge to smile.

He walked her up the front walk, and her mother opened the door in a bathrobe. She bent down to embrace the little girl, who weakly accepted the hug, wrapping her arms around her mother's neck. Crying all night had exhausted her.

As the red pick up truck pulled away into the early morning sun, her mother asked her what had happened. Jenny smiled.

"I said I was never going to spend the night at Dad's again. Now I won't." And she didn't.