Page 17 of Daughter of a Monster

The officer lifts a second finger in warning.

My father’s hands inch across the table and I recoil. “If you’d agree to see him, he could explain.” My half-brother, even though in my eyes is just as guilty as my father, got a lighter sentence. He was convicted as merely an accomplice. He didn’t last long in prison and was soon sent to a mental institution. Unstable was an understatement. He is a fucking lunatic.

“Are you serious right now? Are you even listening to the words coming out of your mouth? You want me to go and see him? The man who shot me? The man who—”

“Your brother—”

Getting to my feet, I plant my hands on the table. “Stop calling him my brother!”

The prison warden pulls herself off the wall and walks over. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave.”

“I’m done anyway.” I push away tears with the back of my hand.

“I will be getting out soon.” My father’s voice is quiet. I don’t want to look at him again, but my gaze shoots to his, searching for truth in his words. “My name was out there in the media before my trial. It gave the prosecution an unfair advantage. My lawyer thinks it’s grounds for dismissal.”

“But you’re guilty. I saw it on the news. The evidence. The victim statements. There’s no way you’ll get out.” He’s delusional.

My father gets to his feet with a shrug. “Money and influence speak louder than evidence. You’d do well to remember that.”

Surely he can’t say that. Not here. Not ever. I turn to the officer but she’s not even listening, too busy giving some sort of hand signal to another officer.

As I go to walk away, my father’s fingers snake around my arm. “I’ll come find you when I’m out. And then we can be a true family.”

The anxiety returns. I want to crumple to the ground, assume the fetal position right then and there and cry until there are no tears left. Instead, I stumble forward, wrenching myself from his grasp. The officer notices what’s happening and lunges for my father, twisting his arm behind his back.

I run.

Again.

It seems like I’m always running.

Hands grip my hips as someone drives into me. I grunt with the movement. They moan in pleasure.

It’s only when I’m outside that the tightness in my chest subsides. People stare at me as I suck in gasps of air, whispering to each other, eyebrows raised in suspicion. They must know. They must know who I am. Who he is.

A groan of release. A body slumped over mine.

Closing my eyes, I visualize myself in first position, second, third, fourth and fifth. Ever so slowly, my heart rate comes down and my breathing calms.

The position as a dance tutor is sounding more and more like a dream. The perfect opportunity that arrived at the perfect time. A chance for me to start anew. A chance for me to be someone else.

Anyone but the person I am now.

The daughter of a monster under the weight of her father’s sins.

It’s no wonder I’m fucked up.

HOPE

Darkness surrounds me. There is a smooth wall at my back. Cold concrete beneath my feet. I’m wearing clothing, something flimsy and slippery but it’s still a small mercy which gives me some comfort.

I’m scared. My heart is pounding. It’s the only sound I hear. I’m wary of what’s lying in the darkness. I’ve faced many things in my life, but none of them are as frightful as the unknown. The waiting is killing me, but I don’t move. I stay still, unaware of anything other than my own existence.

I don’t know what I’m waiting for.

Or who I’m waiting for.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been here. It could be minutes. It could be hours. I was blindfolded when I arrived. Someone—a man, it’s always a man—carried me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and sat me here. Wherever here is.

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