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I think back to my day today and how we took Curlyfry to the park together, me, Lane, Stanley, and Paisley and Presley tagged along but in the background. I watched Stanley push Paisley in the swing, and then I watched Lane bounce the seesaw with her foot because when she sat on it, Paisley almost went over her head. The joy I witnessed was something new and incredible.
I felt like I was part of something huge. I felt like I was part of a family and now I’m terrified to ever be alone again.
“Senator Newman!” Mr. Jefferson calls out to the assembly and my uncle walks out on stage.
My mind slowly shuts off, my breathing quickens, my hands grip each other on my lap so tightly my knuckles turn white.
I sit and listen to him harp on about the importance of voting in elections and why.
He’ll never have my vote.
I bet he’s going to run for president. That’s just what this country needs.
He gets the pity vote too because his son was murdered by a serial killer and he still provided for me even though they thought I was the murderer. He’s a favorite, that’s for sure. He’s a very powerful man.
I would love to take him down a peg or two, but I don’t have that kind of clout, even knowing what I know, having what I have. Even with the help of twenty-something journalists.
No. I’m not risking the life I have to try and take him down. I’ll end up in another psychiatric facility getting pumped full of sedatives, locking me in my nightmares.
When he finishes his speech, he shakes Mr. Jefferson’s hand and they both look my way. Everybody else does too. It’s no secret that I’m the senator’s niece, especially not after the fire incident. That only earned him more points with the state, and likely the country. Just what he needs, more love.
If only they knew just how fucked up he is.
Mr. Jefferson calls for me after the gathering and I have no choice but to walk with him.
When my uncle calls for me, he will be heard or the consequences aren’t pretty.
The moment the door shuts behind me, my bag is taken from me and my uncle’s guards roughly search me for wires or any kind of recording device.
“Getting paranoid, Uncle?” I ask, glaring at the man I despise with every fiber of my being.
He’s such a smarmy, tall, skinny waif of a man with dark blue eyes like mine. Thankfully that’s the only similarity we share.
He has this way about him that tells you you’re beneath him without him even uttering the words. His energy is poisonous and he is such a toxic person. He’s racist, sexist, homophobic…
He’s vile and yet there are so many he knows who are like him and he has so much power.
“I wanted to congratulate you personally on your rescue last week. You’re the talk of the state, maybe even the entire world.” He reaches for me with long fingers that hold trimmed nails. It’s the hand I bit so hard when I was thirteen that he still has the scar.
“Ah, I see, threatened that I might have a voice now that I’m a sort of hero, and tell them all about you and your tiny dirty dick?”
His nostrils flare, if there’s one thing my uncle hates, it’s having his manhood insulted. “I don’t have to warn you what will happen if you say anything. To your friends, your new family, to you.”
I chant in my head to stay strong. He can’t hurt me anymore.
But he can… It’s naïve of me to think otherwise.
“I just want to be left alone.”
“Good. And it will stay that way unless you try to discredit me with your vile lies.”
I snort and snatch my bag back from one of his henchmen. “Stay the fuck away from me and you’ll have nothing to worry about. You’re disgusting. Even more so than the rotting corpse of your beloved son.”
I inhale so sharply when my front connects with the wooden door that I start to choke. My face stings when it slaps against the smooth surface, and my body aches. His hand is tangled in my hair and I am furious at myself for letting him get the drop on me. I vowed that I never would again.
I’ve practiced and trained and watched videos on how to never let this happen but in the moment I wasn’t expecting it and here I am, at his mercy just like the good old days.
“You say I’m disgusting,” he whispers in my ear and his hand not in my hair grabs my groin over my pants. I fight back bile as his fingers press over my most sensitive part. It hurts, but the pain is welcome. Pain is life and, while I’m living, my uncle will always have something to fear. “But you forget how many times I made you cum, niece.” The ending S sound of the word is slithered into my ear like the noise of a snake. “And you forget how easily I could have you under the thumb again.”
