Triggering (Sexual Abuse) - Sin. *fictional story*
Martina Legree sat quietly in her room, back pressed close to the cold wall, head tipped slightly upwards, blowing smoke, silent as a secret into the vent above her. Music thumped in her ears, provided a theatrical back drop to her thoughts. A floor below her the doorbell rang; muffled to her ears by the headphones attached to them.
A young woman who moved with the bowing limbs and shuffling steps of one much her senior moved to open the door, pasting a smile on a face which once upon a time must have been beautiful. Gravelling tones and a familiar face greeted her, and she stood submissively aside to allow her husband entrance to the room. With a groan of relief he sank into a sumptuous armchair, reached for a cigarette and lit it, breathing in deeply and appreciatively. The faded beauty hovered anxiously, waiting for instruction.
‘Whisky Lara, for God’s sake,’ he scolded and she jumped to fetch the order. Arriving again with a tumbler of amber liquid she hesitantly sat on the sofa nearest to him, leaning forward, providing her full and undivided attention. Sip by sip the simmering tension that seemed to hold the man seeped away, leaving a pleasant relaxed smile and a jovial expression. ‘Where’s madam then?’ he asked jokingly, ‘still in the royal bed chamber?’ Lara nodded with a tired smile.
‘Suppose it’s just as well, teenagers should be seen and not heard and all that,’ he laughed, taking a long satisfying gulp of whisky, his smile widening as the liquid trickled down his throat to burn in his chest and belly. Lara laughed and reached for his glass to refill it. ‘I thought I might take you two out for a meal tonight,’ he went on, with the air of Father Christmas pulling a particularly large present out of his sack. ‘Treat both my girls.’ Lara’s eyes brightened and she gazed at her husband with as much love as if he had presented her with the rarest of jewels.
‘I’ll just go fetch Martina,’ she said, rising up, ‘Tell her to get herself straightened up.’ The man nodded his consent and Lara left the room, padding quietly up the stairs until she reached her daughter’s room. Knocking gently she called out ‘Martina? Martina can I come in?’ Deaf to the world Martina did not respond. Sighing Lara gradually pushed open the door, and upon seeing her daughter, cigarette in hand, let out a low, slow sigh. Pulling out her daughter’s head phones she looked upon her with disappointment glistening in her eyes. ‘Martina, we’ve talked about this. What have I said about you smoking? I don’t like it and you know what Jack says about women smoking.’
Martina cloaked her features in disdain to hide the pain it caused her to hurt her mother. ‘Fine,’ she conceded, slowly stubbing out her cigarette before wandering to the window and throwing the butt out. Lara forced a smile, determined to bring the conversation back to a happy topic. ‘Jack’s offered to take us out for a meal tonight, isn’t that nice?’ she said brightly, smoothing the covers of her daughter’s bed. Martina looked blankly back. ‘Is it?’ Lara’s patience snapped.
‘Yes it is,’ bit out Lara ‘And I would have thought you could have been a little more grateful, given what he’s done for us. Who pays for this house, the food on the table,’ she paused, curling her lip in disgust ‘Your filthy cigarettes.’
‘He smokes.’
‘Enough! Now get yourself ready, I expect you presentable and in a darn sight better mood in twenty minutes, you hear?’
Martina nodded; a mutinous look on her face that made her smooth features suddenly quite ugly.
‘Good,’ snapped Lara, exiting the room with a slam of the door. The moment her mother had left her room, Martina crumpled. Feeling the corners of her mouth drag down into a grimace she pinched herself sharply, bringing herself back to reality. Leaving her bed she rummaged through her wardrobe, running her fingers through fabrics, finally selecting a simple black skirt and a silk white shirt that draped nearly long enough to cover the skirt. Dressing quickly she pasted makeup on her face and drew a brush through her poker straight hair.
Once ready she looked herself carefully in the eye, staring at the girl sneering at her from behind the glass in the mirror. With a look of disgust she turned away, and with a deep breath turned and made her way downstairs.
Last edited by Buttons. : 12-08-2010 at 02:51 PM.
'Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you.'
['There is only one thing we say to death. Not today'.']
'We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.’ – Oscar Wilde
‘It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back.’ Sydney Carter
I really like this :) Like Zed said, much different from your usual type of writing. Plus, with this being fictional, there'll be a guarantee that we won't know what's coming next after every update ;D
By the way, third to bottom paragraph, last word, you put 'here' instead of 'hear', which is what I assume you meant to have put.
Here's some love :D <3
I'm gonna tap him like a maple tree. I'm gonna search him for some syrups. I'm gonna be having sex with him.
^ Thankyou gorgeous, I did indeed mean hear ;-p *is dozy*
I'm pleased you like. Plus there are going to be a fair amount of twists and turns in this one so you definitely won't know what's coming ;-p
It actually interests me that you all like this style because (Zed might remember this) years ago I used to write far more in this style and then sort of moved away from it. I did complete a story when I was little (13/14) in that style if you want it sent to you Nic.
'Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you.'
['There is only one thing we say to death. Not today'.']
'We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.’ – Oscar Wilde
‘It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back.’ Sydney Carter
Now nicely turned out, the family entered a local pub restaurant, smiling at familiar waiters, Jack sharing jokes confidently with the manager as they waited to be seated. Finally led to a table in a prime position each slid into their seat, Martina sitting in the seat furthest away from Jack, eyeing him with undisguised disgust as he scratched at his thick beard and perused the menu. Looking down at her own menu she felt a sudden sickness root itself deep in her belly. She moaned inwardly. Finally deciding upon a light salad which she felt able to force down her throat, she laid the menu down and waited for her mother and step father to finish deciding upon their own dishes.
Eventually, all were ready, and when wines had been selected the three ordered. Settling back in his chair Jack viewed the women before him in a self satisfied manner. ‘So Marty,’ he said, addressing Martina. She glowered into his rotund face. ‘How’s school going at the moment?’
‘College,’ she corrected pedantically, ‘And it’s fine.’
‘Good, good,’ said Jack, either not hearing or choosing not hear the underlying hostility in his step daughter’s tone. ‘And how are those friends of yours?’ He continued. ‘Holly and Marie right?’
‘They’re fine,’ replied Martina, her voice icy. ‘That’s great, they really are cracking girls those two, aren’t they Lara?’ Jack proclaimed, turning to his wife for confirmation. She nodded with a rather strained smile ‘Yes dear, they are, very nice girls.’
Conversation continued thus for another few minutes before the food arrived. Both Jack and Lara immediately dug in, while Martina played with her food, pushing pieces of lettuces around and around her plate with her fork, occasionally nibbling at a morsel. Eventually giving in to her sickening stomach Martina excused herself from the table and tedious small talk and disappeared into the bathroom. There she slammed into a cubicle and fell to her knees, dry heaving until she felt her stomach would force it’s way up through her throat.
Finally establishing that despite her feelings, the contents of her stomach were staying put she opened the cubicle door, bumping into someone as she walked distractedly out into the main bathroom. ‘Oh I’m sorry,’ she said absentmindedly, attempting to move around the figure. It stepped in front her, blocking her escape. ‘No, I am,’ murmured Jack, before bending down to kiss her.
'Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you.'
['There is only one thing we say to death. Not today'.']
'We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.’ – Oscar Wilde
‘It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back.’ Sydney Carter
Minutes later Martina was picking herself up from the cold, unforgiving bathroom floor, wiping her face clear of smeared mascara, swilling her mouth to rid her tongue of the tang of him. Shaking she returned to the table and poured herself a large glass of wine from the blood red bottle in the centre, taking a heartening swig of the crimson liquid. She ate the rest of her salad in silence, a hardened look on her face, resolve stiffening with every warning glance that Jack shot at her over the place settings, past her mother’s ignorant eyes.
By the time they arrived home, her family high on the evening air with spirits rowdy from drink, Martina’s mind was made up. Never again. After all this time. Never, ever again. Her hands no longer shaking, mind stilled, she walked as though to death row, up to her room. There, methodically, mechanically she packed a bag, filling it with roughened items of clothing, musty and faded with age, anything that she could lay claim to as hers, and not his. Lastly she collected her lighter and a packet of cigarettes, pocketing them. Carefully she ran her fingers over the outline of the packet, feeling for her security. Delicately she crept towards her mother’s room. Winging a prayer to a god she had long since given up on, she checked the drawers.
As she searched she ran her hands over cloth, picking up one jumper and bringing it to her face, breathing her mother in. She found Lara’s makeup and perfumes and scented each wrist, as a reminder.
At last she found what she was looking for. For the second time that evening the girl muttered the word ‘Sorry,’ as she pocketed coin after coin, note after crisp note. Stuffing the money into various pockets she made her way downstairs, breathing hard, avoiding every creaking step.
In the living room her mother and step father sat watching the television, him gripping a whisky like a life raft, her mother nursing a glass of elegant white wine. Without so much as a goodbye, Martina closed the front door with a gasp and the snap of a lock and picked her way carefully down the gravel driveway. Once free of the property she turned to face the house. For a moment she stared, the bright beaming eyes of the building seeming to glare disapprovingly down at her. The brick walls were cold, unfeeling; she would find no sympathy there.
Turning she continued to walk, down one road, then another, then another, mile after mile unravelling behind her like a ribbon. After some time, when the only company Martina found were owls with their painful, piercing screeches, she reached the bus station. Settling her self in a seat with a sigh she waited for her future to unfold.
'Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you.'
['There is only one thing we say to death. Not today'.']
'We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.’ – Oscar Wilde
‘It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back.’ Sydney Carter
but, i need to know what happens?
