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I’d need to feel her throat tighten as she gagged. I’d have to grip her hair and control the way her head moved, guide it up and down my shaft and hold her steady while she chokes on me.
Then I’d demand her to promise me that she’d never take another man's cock to her mouth so long as she lives before I permitted her any air.
I can’t let it happen. Not now, not ever.
“Get up,” I growl at her, and I can’t decide if it’s confusion or disappointment that she stares back at me with. When I stand up, it’s with so much force that I almost knock her off her knees, and quickly I shove myself back inside my jeans.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Grimm?” She yells at me like she’s hurting, and it’s impossible to ignore the stab it causes deep in my chest. Still, it’s a damn sight better than the alternative. That shit could be irrepairable.
Rushing for the door, I leave before the pain consumes me. There's no way I can give into temptation, not with her. She’s not just some club whore. I care about her. In my own fucked up way I like her, and this is the only way I know how to save her.
I ignore her angry demands for me to go back to her as I storm out onto the yard, jump on my bike, and ride down to the club. I pay no attention to who’s hanging round the firepit, or the fact that Roswell the local sheriff is being led up to one of the rutting rooms by Haven, Prez’s number one girl. I just slam through the doors to the main bar room, and snatch the bottle of Jack from the end of the bar, wiping off the top with my shirt before I throw back a huge mouthful.
It’s not e-fuckin’-nough to calm me down, and it won’t be enough to forget.
AGED 11
“All your chores are done, why don’t you go get some fresh air, sweetheart?” Mama’s ironing again, all her concentration is on getting the creases just right. “Maybe you could go help your father over at Mrs. Pinkerman’s place?”
Dad always does charitable things on a Saturday. He likes to give back to the community.
“Sure,” I agree, pulling on my jacket and heading out the door. It’s about a twenty minute walk to Mrs. Pinkerman’s place and there's always loads to do there. Her husband died last year and she refuses to move from the homestead.
I pass the Hopewell’s bungalow on the way, and notice something that makes me stop. My father’s car is parked on the drive, which is strange considering what he thinks of them. I hope he’s not here because he knows I snuck out with them last Tuesday, or to preach, I hate it when he does that. The Hopewell’s may not attend church but Todd and Kaleb are the only kids at school that speak to me. Everyone else thinks I’m weird. I can’t exactly blame them for it. While all the other kids turn up to class in jeans with T-shirts of their favourite cartoon characters, Mama insists I wear a shirt and tie.
“You represent our family when you go to school, Richie. Your father would want you to look smart.”
I should keep walking, go to Mrs. Pinkerman’s like Mama told me to, but curiosity gets the better of me and I decide to sneak around the back of the house. There’s no sign of the boys or Mr. Hopewell, and as I creep up toward the back door, I hear a choke come from one of the windows.
“Take it, you fucking slut.” The voice I hear belongs to my father. I move quietly toward the window to get a better look and my eyes widen when I see what it is that he’s trying to give her. Mrs. Hopewell is on the kitchen counter, with my father between her legs. He’s rubbing his body against hers and pinning her to the kitchen cabinet behind her by her neck.
“You're hurting me, stop,” she begs, but he keeps on moving his body against hers.
“I’m gonna fuck the life out of you, whore,” he grunts cruelly,
“Please stop. I won’t te—” Father silences her, and shocks me when he presses a knife against her cheek. “You’ve been asking for this for months. I see the way you look at me when I come in the store. You’ve been begging me to fuck you with those eyes of yours.”
“Pl…” she chokes as his fingers press harder into her skin, he’s squeezing the life out of her body. I should help her, I should run and get someone, but I can’t stop watching him. I may not listen all that much at Bible class but even I know that what I’m witnessing is sin. My father is giving himself to another woman and worse, he’s making her suffer.
I should stop him. But that would make him angry. He’ll beat me in front of Mama again and that’ll make her sad.
I look at Todd and Kaleb’s Mom. She looks so scared, and Father is absorbing it, pulling strength from her weakness the same way he does from Mama. But Mama is safe, she’s back at home, ironing his shirts and making sure the creases in his pants are perfect.
The Hopewell’s house is filthy, Mrs. Hopewell doesn’t keep herself as clean as Mama does. Maybe that’s why he’s punishing her.
I can’t watch anymore. I hate him for doing this to Mama. I hate him for hurting Mrs. Hopewell, but I hate myself more for being grateful that Mrs. Hopewell is the one suffering instead of her.
Maybe he’ll come home in a better mood. Maybe he will be nice to Mama like he was last Thursday night when he come home from work and took us all out for dinner.
I leave, and go to Mrs. Pinkerman’s like Mama told me to. I’ll let my father keep his filthy secret, and next time I sneak out at night to catch fireflies I won’t feel like such a sinner.
Father never showed up at Mrs. Pinkerman’s that afternoon, but neither of us discuss that when I get home later in the evening.
Instead, he just stares at me across the table waiting for me to slip up and forget my manners. He seems happier than usual though, he even places a kiss on Mama’s cheek when he gets up from the table to move into the living room. It makes her happy, I can tell by the way she touches her hand to the spot and smiles to herself before she cleans up the plates.
Squealer knows exactly what I’m looking for before I’ve even opened my mouth. He slides me a baggy of white powder across from where he’s sitting and I chop it out on the bar, my hands shaking, but still making sure the line is even in width and dead straight before I take it.
Swiping my thumb under my nose to catch any residue, I head toward the back of the room, tapping one of the new club bitches on her shoulder as I pass her on the way.
