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“Stay still,” he commands. I watch in horror as he brings that knife down to my stomach.
“No,” I immediately say. He smirks then holds out his wrist in front of me, while his cock is still in me.
“Watch,” he commands. He digs the knife in, it cuts his arm open and blood begins to pool, not deep enough for blood to gush, but enough that blood is evident. He places the knife down and puts his fingers on his arm where he cut and puts the blood on his finger pushing on his skin to push more blood out, before he pulls it away and smirks as he puts it between us and onto my clit.
It’s sadistic. He’s a sociopath, of that I’m sure. But why, oh fuck why, does it turn me on as he rubs me with his own blood. My hips start moving and he whispers, “Don’t stop.” My hand wants to pull and clutch his hair. “Don’t stop,” he repeats.
A soft groan leaves me as my other hand squeezes my breast to the point of pain.
“That’s a good girl,” he says as I come, then his pace picks up and he’s coming right along with me.
“You are my favorite show,” he says, coming back down to put his full weight on me. My clit is sensitive, but the warmth of his body feels good over me.
“Hmm,” is all I manage to get out. Not even thinking about the blood, and I really should be. I’ve done some fucked up things, but that tops it all.
Lucas lays his head between my breasts, and soon, we both pass out.
It’s a normal day, as normal as any day could be, really. I come home from school to find Brody sitting on the steps. He should have been at school, he’s old enough, but he hardly went anymore.
“What’s wrong?” I sit next to him, nudging him with my shoulder when he doesn’t speak. Sometimes he prefers to be quiet, because our father won’t hit him if he is. He learned that quickly.
“I need to use the bathroom.” His legs are squeezed tightly together.
“Okay, well, let’s go.” I stand, offering him my hand, but he shakes his head.
“I don’t want to go in there. He kicked me out, and I couldn’t go to school because he wouldn’t give me my backpack. The kids at school already make fun of me for what I wear,” he grumbles, looking down at his bare feet.
I picked up some part-time work as soon as I was old enough, which means Brody has to spend more time at home without me.
And I hate it.
But I have to do it because we need to eat, and all our parents’ money goes straight to drugs. And that’s where it stays. They haven’t changed over the years, and they never will. I came to accept that fact a long time ago.
“Okay, let’s walk you over to Merci’s. I’m sure she and her grandmother are home. You can use their bathroom while I go and get some things.”
He nods and leans on me when he stands. I have to go to work in a few hours, but if Merci is home, I’m sure he’ll be fine to stay there.
When we get to Merci’s place, Brody knocks softly and she opens the door, smiling.
“Grandma’s just cooked, perfect timing.” I push him in, and he heads straight for the bathroom. We stand there for a moment before she looks back to me. “It’s been quiet over there. I was wondering where he was.”
“He’s been on the front steps.” She nods like she gets it, and she probably does. Her mother was the same, it’s why she lives here.
We don’t have any other family to lean on, as far as I am aware; it’s only ever been us. No one else.
No one has ever come to save us.
And I always knew I’d have to do it.
“I have to get a few things from home. Can he stay here tonight on your couch?”
“What about you?” she asks, biting her lip nervously.
“I’ll be fine.”
“You aren’t always fine. I see the bruises, Chanel. I know they hit you.”
She’s right, they do. They throw things at me and laugh, thinking it’s some sort of stupid game. I’ve gotten to that age now, though, where I can overpower them. The drugs have made them weak.
That’s how I see them.
Weak, weak, parents who couldn’t give a shit about anyone but themselves.
It took me a while to view them as that, but now, that’s all I see.
Who would bring children into this world if they don’t intend to do the basic things for them like feed and clothe them? Selfish assholes, that’s who, and I have two of them.
“I’ll be back.” She nods and watches me walk to my door. I push it open, because it’s never locked, and I’m met with silence. Bongs sit on the coffee table in the living room and cigarette butts litter the floor. One time, I came home from school to find Brody drinking the bong water. Right then and there, I knew I could never trust them with him.
