Page 3 of Hunted Temptation
My father’s voice roars somewhere in the house. I can’t make out his words, but I can feel his rage from just a few feet away. No amount of walls or barriers could keep that from filling the atmosphere.
The back door slides open before I hear it slam shut. The glass in the door rattles, and I wait for it to break into a million little shards, but it doesn’t. He’s coming for me. Pushing myself up to sitting, I look over at him. Watching him storm my way. I don’t bother trying to run. Instead, I brace myself. He walks around the pool, then stops in front of me.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he demands.
I don’t bother acting like a smart-ass, even though it would be really easy, because it’s more than obvious what I’m doing. Instead, my eyes lower, and I focus on his shoes.
“I thought I would try and tan a little,” I murmur.
Speaking softly is the only way whatsoever that my father allows me to talk. Women shouldn’t say a word unless spokento, and when they respond, it should always be gentle. Feminine and soft—always.
Sometimes, I just want to scream.
I never do.
“You look like a whore.”
I’m not surprised he said this. He likes to tell me that I look like a whore, that I act like a slut, that I’m the daughter of a dirty fucking whore. He can and has called me every insult possible. I’ve been a whore, a slut, a cunt, a piece of shit. I’ve been lazy and no good, useless, just to name a few.
The ironic part is that people pay him to use me. So, I am all those things. The whore and slut ones, at least, but all by his doing. He’s made me this, molded and curated. But right now, he’s acting as if it’s something I’m doing. And I know I’m not in the wrong.
What has never been said to me isI love you.You’re beautiful, oryou look pretty. And physical affection, that doesn’t exist, at least not in the way that is natural for a daughter and father.
My swimsuit isn’t overly sexy. It’s not a string bikini or anything. The top is a strapless bandeau bikini top, but I wouldn’t ever wear it anywhere other than my backyard. The bottoms ride a little low on my hips, but are full coverage for the back. It doesn’t matter what I say or how I explain myself. I will be wrong, and he will be right, so I don’t even bother trying.
“Get your ass up. You have work to do.”
I don’t want to do hiswork. I don’t want anything to do with him. In two months, I’m gone. I’m going to pack a bag and never look back. College waits for me. Deciding that a moment of defiance is worth his wrath, I dare to tell him no.
“Take a shower and put on the dress I’ve laid out. It’s going to be a busy night for you.”
“I don’t want to. I’m leaving for college in a few weeks, and I would like to have some peace before I go.”
It’s absolutely the wrong thing to say, and I know it the moment the words leave my mouth. I don’t apologize, though. If I do now, it’ll piss him off. He will want tomakeme apologize, and he will delight in it.
I try very hard to never mouth off, but I just wanted one afternoon of peace. I wanted to try to tan and relax, but I can’t even get that.
“Stand,” he demands, his voice low and grave.
I do as he orders, knowing that if I don’t, I’m going to have an even bigger punishment coming my way. I’ve already earned myself one. I don’t need it to get into any deeper shit than I’m already wading through.
“Go to your room. Wait for me.”
Dipping my chin, I look down at my feet. I know what he wants, and I know how my punishment is going to go. He’s in a mood, and I shouldn’t have said a word. Tears prick the backs of my eyes, but I don’t allow them to fall. I’ll never allow them to fall, at least not in front of him.
Slowly, I stand, then move toward the house. My legs feel like I’m walking through molasses. I’m not sure how long it takes me to reach my bedroom, but climbing the two sets of stairs feels like an eternity.
Once I’m inside, I wince at the sight of the dress on my bed. I guess I should be glad that he’s no longer picking out little girl baby doll dresses for me, at least at the moment... tomorrow might be another story.
But if he thought I looked like a whore in this bikini, I can’t imagine what he thinks I’m going to look like in a sheer tube dress, with only a pair of thong panties.
Wrinkling my nose, I wish I could burn the damn thing. I wish I could box all the dresses up, from the first one to the last,and have a bonfire, but I already know that after tonight, I won’t ever see it again. I don’t know what he does with them. I’ve never asked. But I can’t imagine it’s anything good.
I try to push that thought out of my head. In fact, I try to push all thoughts out of my head. When my bedroom door opens, I pinch my eyes closed and let out a long exhale as I feel my father approach me from behind.
“You like it when you piss me off, don’t you?” he asks, his voice full of faux saccharine.
“No, sir,” I whisper as I feel his hand press against the small of my back.
