Byker Books

It's dark, I'm cold, and my stomach rumbles from hunger. All we have left to eat is a can of mustard sardines and a couple of Mentos, and we don't even have a can opener for the sardines. There's been no electricity for over a week and I can't remember the last time we had gas. Even the stubby wax candles the neighbours gave us have burnt down to nothing.

I hear the sound of heavy footsteps outside on the balcony. They seem to reverberate in my chest. They are accompanied by the click, click, scrape, of stiletto heels. Voices are raised, an argument in full swing.  The steps get closer. I hold my breath in trepidation. They pass my front door and carry on down the walkway until they become nothing more than a faint sound in the distance.

I sigh, a mixture of relief and regret. Relief because I have a reprieve, regret for the prolonged agony of waiting for them to return from the pub. You never know what mood they will be in. They could fight and curse until they wear themselves out, or they could slobber all over each other practically having sex in front of us. The only guarantee will be lots of screaming.

My mother sleeps all day, while my stepfather labours on building sites. It's the good old Seventies and work is plentiful. The site foreman pays cash in hand with no questions asked, so we should be well off. He receives his wages on a Friday afternoon, by Sunday night the money is gone. Everyone in The Goose loves him. Such a generous man, buying rounds of drinks for all and sundry. Slipping pound notes into the grubby fists of other people's kids, while his own go without.

All responsibility for my younger brothers and sisters falls on my shoulders. At thirteen-years-old, I can cook, clean, and make a tin of sardines feed four hungry mouths- well, if I had a can opener that is. With my well developed figure, and grown-up mind, he sees me as woman. I try to tell myself it's not incest as he isn't my natural father. It doesn't lessen the shame and I still hurt like a child.

Mum knows what goes on. She's jealous of me, can you believe that? She calls me a slut and accuses me of stealing her man. She took the scissors to my hair once, and hacked it off in big clumps. It didn't stop him; he still came after me for sex, just like he will be coming to me later.

Tonight will be different though. If things go according to plan, I will never have to endure his disgusting sweaty body pounding away on top of me again. Snaking my hand underneath the covers, I feel for the sharp blade. It's still there. I should know that really, I checked it less than ten minutes ago. I need to keep reassuring myself. Each time my fingers encounter the smooth stainless steel blade, it fuels my confidence.

More footsteps sound along the concrete walkway. More laughter and drunken shouts. Holding my breath, I strain my ears to listen. Is it them, or one of the many dysfunctional families in our block? The turn of the key in the lock confirms they are home. My mother is crying. Nothing unusual there! He shouts and tells her she is fat and ugly. I'm fat and ugly too, but it never seems to deter him. I touch the blade one more time for self-assurance.

"Carissa!"

Here we go. Ever predictable he will be calling me to get up and make him a sandwich. He's out of luck we got no can opener and I gave the last of the bread to the kids yesterday. There's plenty of beer in the fridge though. He'll drink a few cans, burp and fart-in that order, and then stumble in to my room. This time I'm ready for him.

"Carissa," he yells. "Where are you?"

"In bed," I call back. Come on daddy, come to me. Come to me one last time and let me show you what it's really like to bleed inside and out.

I feel a small surge of excitement as I hear the heavy shuffle of his feet on bare floorboards as he makes his way to my room. Opening the buttons of my nightdress, I part the material. He likes to ogle my breasts. It turns him on and I want him to be fully aroused. I need him to be focused on fulfilling his sexual deviancies.

"Why didn't you come when I called?" he slurs.

"I wanted you to come to me," I say huskily.

Leaning against the doorframe, he watches my chest rise and fall in the glow of the street lamp. Small animal like grunts escape from his lips as he sways towards me. I arch my back offering myself up to him. The sooner I can encourage him to climb on top of me the quicker it will be over.

Unzipping his fly, his trousers drop to his ankles as he positions himself above me. I guide him in and wait. I am not disappointed. His agonising screams bring my mother running.

He nurses his swollen member. Only the blood pumps from outside now instead of in.

"Oh my god, what have you done to him?" mum cries.

"I couldn't stop him. I was pleasuring myself with the butt of a Stanley knife. He came along and forced himself into me. Shall I call 999?" I ask fearfully.

Mum hiccups loudly. "Nah, he'll be alright.  At least he's all mine now!"