She stood by the window, looking down at the street. A young man went by, walking a little dog and smoking a cigarette. A car turned into her street, silent-like. There weren’t many cars here this time of night. Bats hunted moths around the street lights. The breeze came in through the window, moving her hair and the pink curtain behind her. Down there, far below, was the street. Wet now with the rain, but the rain had stopped. And if she … ? But she was afraid. Would it hurt? Would she scream?
The young man with the dog walked by again. Going home, not smoking now. Her … He smoked, too. He always smelled of cigarettes, and when He came, He always smelled of the drink. Her eyes hurt. She clenched her teeth. Don’t, she thought, hard. Don’t think.
She’d love to have a little dog. She’d teach it to Sit, and to Fetch. Yes, a little dog like that one, small, with a curious little nose. Yapping at her. Licking her face … No, no. She wouldn’t want that. But dogs were beautiful. She loved dogs.
The breeze got stronger now, and the rain came back. The pink curtains blew. Would the rain… ? No, she didn’t dare. And they’d still hear her. And the rain, and the puddles down there, far, far below… Her eyes hurt again.
The door creaked open behind her. It couldn’t pass her throat. Too tight.
“Come here.” His voice, of course. Mommy would be in front of the TV. Mommy knew, but she never said a word. Mommy was scared, too.
He was here. He smelled of the fags, and He smelled of the drink. “Come here.” Urgent now, and she knew that tone. She went. Lay down, on her tummy, the way He always made her. And as those big, big hands, those hands that almost fit around her thighs…
The dog, the dog, the dog… but the pain… the pain -"Please, Daddy, stop!"