Page 20 of Make Me Pretty

But answers won’t get me anywhere. I don’t even think they’d make it hurt any less.

Maybe not knowing is better.

The tent is pitched, and before I know it, darkness has fallen around us. Bugs buzz and hum within the depth of the green trees; wings flap and flutter. Almost like my heart, tepid and panicked.

I follow the noises, ears strained desperately as I stare through the unzipped, screened window to my left.

Moist breath smelling faintly of spearmint wafts across my face. The smell has become one of… odd reckoning.

The scent marks the start.

And his hushed whisper signals the end.

All I have to do is make it through.

He never talks much, which I’ve come to appreciate. It lets me immerse myself in everything elsearoundme. And now, it’s nature.

Bugs buzzing, rodents scurrying, leaves rustling. The hushed whisper of the breeze as it slides over the polyester shelter. Some of it cascades in through the netted screen, and the prick of it in my eyes forces me to squeeze them shut so they don’t water.

In the beginning, I couldn’t shut up. Always begging, asking questions. Pleading.

I quickly learned that it didn’t get me anywhere except deeper in my own pits of despair.

Now, it’s more mechanical. I lie here and wait, finding anything to pass the time inside my own mind. Wishing I could be like the other kids my age, worried about the newest games and how high school is just over a year away.

My vision blanks, neck arching back with a silent scream as he rips me open. I’m not even fully healed since last time, but he doesn’t care.

He’s got me alone, right where he wants me. For the next week.

The thought makes me want to give up. To escape into these woods until I find a ravine I can throw myself over. Feel the solid earth beneath my feet disappear. Nothing below me as I sail through the air, green flashing by so fast I’d blink and miss it.

But I won’t give him the satisfaction. And I refuse to hurt my mom. She just… she doesn’t know.

I don’t realize I’m panting until the sensation of dizziness engulfs me. My palms are slick against my ribs where I keep my arms crossed, pinned.

The more between us, the better.

The scratch of nylon against polyester makes me wince, the sound like nails on a chalkboard in my ear canals, scraping at my eardrums.

My hips cramp and throb, locking into the position he holds me in—pinned to the hard, covered ground. Lumps of dirt and grass press into me, making the ache worse.

I center everything on that—on the sounds of animals, of the elements.

I suck in a forceful breath.

Fucking spearmint.

I gag.

There’s a grunt, followed by a deep groan.

My stomach convulses, the bile sluicing its way up, singeing every muscle.

Just say it. Fucking say it and be done.

Let me be.

I don’t realize I’m sobbing, hyperventilating silently, dryly, until he croons right in my ear, “Shh, buddy. You know Daddy loves you. This is okay. It’s okay. Here.” The weight is gone, butthen, I’m being hauled into his arms. Arms I once thought were meant to drive the nightmares away—not dredge me in them.