Today’s genre: Fantasy/Horror
Word count: 472
Trigger warning: Contains (non-graphic) implications of sexual abuse
I, like many people, was adopted.
I, unlike many people, was adopted by a fairy.
It sounds ideal, right? A cheery little Tinkerbell-like person who carried a trail of fairy dust wherever they went. A flawless, superior being who everyone adored...
This fairy looked beautiful on the outside (long blonde hair, sparkling eyes, slim little waist, you know), but possessed a very ugly inside; a secret side. He thrived on others’ misfortune to appear superior, he’d sprinkle black fairy dust on people for no justifiable reason, and he made it an almost daily occurrence to beat me. It became a routine, an inevitable activity that I would have to endure lest I be chained up in the attic until my bones became part of the furniture. Eventually the beatings evolved into something worse.
The first night that it happened, I was asleep in my bed after a particularly energetic day at primary school; we had had our annual Sports Day and I had tired myself out so much that I almost fainted during the long distance run. All that kept me going was the thought of my soft mattress, big warm duvet, and the unconscious state that I would be in, away from the world, away from him. I had never been woken up to be abused before, it always occurred just before dinner or when I had done something to annoy him, like when I forgot to buy the right brand of cereal.
At first I thought it was a realistic nightmare, I’d get those a lot – the kind of dreams where I could hear myself mumbling out loud and my body would spasm violently, creating new bruises on top of old ones. I could feel those bony fingers trail up my side and tried to push them away, but my body wouldn’t move. There’s a condition called sleep paralysis which I’d experienced a few times, but never like that. Usually it would pass after a few seconds, but that night it felt like it lasted for hours. A multitude of voices whispered over each other in my head but I was forced into silence. My body was useless...my eyes, my mouth, too; I was like an inanimate sex doll that wasn’t required to speak or move, just to lay there and take it, but dolls didn’t cry.
Just when I thought it was over, I felt him again as his hair brushed against my face and his chapped lips grazed my cheek. I think my mouth got away with a few whimpers that may not have been audible, but inside I was screeching, begging for something, anything to happen that would make him stop, just stop, please stop already, Daddy!
He closed in on me and then I was his; his baby doll to play with whenever he got bored.
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