Page 30 of Do It For Me
I’ll get her out of here.
Notes:
7. Buongiorno: Good morning.
NIGHTMARE
As soon as I pull back the shower curtain, my father is standing in the doorway, his eyes roaming over me from head to toe. I instinctively cover myself, but he shakes his head.
“Take them off. I want to see you.”
Tears well in my eyes, and a knot forms in my throat. But I obey. I’ve never had another choice. I don’t want him to hit me again; the bruises from the other day are still tender on my skin.
“Dante already had a taste of you?”
I shake my head, trembling as he steps closer. His knuckles brush against my skin, lingering briefly before moving to my damp hair. He twists a strand between his fingers.
“Daddy, I—”
“You look so much like your mother.”
I swallow hard, tears burning in my eyes. He has been drinking, and it looks like he’s been in a fight. Cuts and bruises mar his face—fresh marks.
He leans closer, his tongue dragging across my skin, and a shiver of disgust courses through me.
I don’t know what’s worse; this or the beatings. I can’t choose. Both hurt. One bruises my body; the other tears apart my soul.
The last time he was this drunk, I found him with Mum. She was unconscious and bleeding on the stairs while he humped her like a dog. I tried to stop him, but I ended up unconscious myself. I don’t even know if he did the same to me, and just the thought of it churns my stomach.
“Let’s go to bed,püppchen.”
“I have to dry m-my hair.”Please, leave me alone.
“I won’t repeat myself.”
If I piss him off, would he be capable of forcing me? Would that alert Mum? Could my own father rape me if I say no? Would he tell Dante how dirty I am? Would he call off the engagement?
I don’t want to know the answer to any of it. No matter what happens, I’ll be the one losing everything. He will remain, as always, the great Erik Müller.
He tucks me into bed, and, as every time he does this, I turn my back to him and close my eyes.
“Sleep, Lana.”
A shiver runs through my body. I hate this so much.
His hands glide over the bedclothes until they reach the hem. Slowly, he slips them underneath. His fingers brush my shoulder, then trail down my arm, and then…
“You grew up to be such a beautiful girl,” he whispers, the sound of his belt unbuckling echoing in the silence. “It’s a shame I couldn’t taste you properly.”
I squeeze my eyes shut as he moves behind me, his hands roaming over my body. I’ve never been able to sleep through this—not when I was younger, and not now. I can’t get used to it.
He once said he’s being gentle and considerate, that other daughters have had it worse. He told me some fathers rape them since they are young, no matter how much they cry. He said others are lent to strangers; their suffering far worse than mine, even when I was kidnapped. He insists I should be grateful because it’s only him, because he doesn’t force himself inside me.
But he said that while he got histhingout, touching me where he shouldn’t. He did that before they took me, and every time I thought he was going to cross that final line… but he didn’t. Instead, he used me, just like every man in my life has. My brothers are the only exceptions.
He’s made me thankful for his restraint, as twisted as that is. He reminds me it could be worse—that he could cave in, that he could take more. And though I know he’s manipulating me—hasalwaysmanipulated me—how can I fight back? How can I resist without making Mum pay the price? Or myself?
Does Dante know? Would he do the same to a daughter? Is this what I should expect if I have children?
