[Croissant]

Synopsis: A girl, Caroline, is tortured by her father, who is encouraged by his three boys. Her brother, Drake, secretly despises his father and wants Caroline to escape. After their father's death, Drake helps Caroline escape into the real world, an awakening that turns her world upside down as her father's indoctrination combats reality. She is separated from Drake and the story is an account of her struggle to cope with the outside world and to find Drake, the one person she feels that actually loves her.

CHAPTER 1

Disclaimer: adult themes, violence


Incessant flagellation tore into my flesh, igniting my drowsy senses, which were often hypnotized by the still darkness of the basement. My eyes opened in anguish as Daddy stripped the skin off my back with his whip. My back burned, submitting to Daddy’s tempestuous fervor. Daddy said, “This is how all girls are raised,” but I had to take his word for it because I hadn’t been out of the basement since I was five, except for Christmas.

My screams were often drowned out by the laughter of my brothers, who occasionally came down to witness my suffering. I thought they were looking out for me.

When I protested to Daddy’s whips, he responded, “Why, you little bitch! Martha…” and then his eyes darkened, his pupils wildly moving around, uncontrolled. His muscles vibrated rapidly and his face turned a bright red, like the inside of a grapefruit. He clenched his teeth, biting down hard on his burning cigarette.

“Daddy, it’s Caroline. Caroline.” I said, softly.

“Martha, you fucking slut! I gave you my life!”

The whip ripped more skin off my back and I screamed in agony. I thrashed from side to side on my little cot and screamed until I lost my voice.

“Boys, go upstairs.”

They gave Daddy an agitated look and then obeyed, running up the stairs giggling.

“Daddy, stop! Please, I’m Caroline!” His breathing only increased in speed and his face was pure fury. With a final slash, he threw the whip onto the ground. He grasped the burning cigarette in his mouth and pressed the lit end to my flesh, burning my soul to ash. No longer able to scream, I continued to thrash from side to side as my skin erupted, as if lava were flowing down my thigh.

A few minutes later, the pain subsided as the cigarette lost its burn. Daddy stood there, sweating and panting, but still furious for a reason I could not comprehend. “Bitch…” he muttered under his breath. His face changed, transporting him back to some heart-breaking event. “You are going to like this. You will love me.” I pleaded Daddy not to do it, but the only voice he heard was his own mind. With my strength gone, I was unable to prevent Daddy from ripping my pants off. He shoved his hand under my underwear and ripped that off as well.

“Daddy, please. No!” I gasped, fear engulfing my emotions. Daddy reached for my shirt and pulled it over my head violently, pulling my hair in the process.

“I chose you over my parents. You still fucking left me!”

I remember feeling the cold air pass over my naked body, and Daddy’s warm hands violently rub my skin. He suddenly took his hands off my body and yelled, “Damned doorbell!” He gave me a look that clearly meant, “I’m not done with you,” and ran up the basement steps.

I heard him open the front door and greet another man in surprise, “Hello, Officer Wayne.”

“Hey, Eric… what? Oh, I was just cruisin’ around the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by and ask you for a little fav-oh busy are you? Well, maybe another time!” And with that I heard the door close.

The basement door opened and Daddy walked down slowly, his anger building with each step. He whispered dangerously, “Bitch, you called the cops. I am going to-

“Daddy, there is no phone down here,” I said quickly to dispel his false accusation, but as usual, he didn’t hear me.

“You do not speak unless spoken to. Understand?”

I didn’t respond, but just stared at him. I looked into his dark brown eyes until he was forced to look away.

“Why, Martha? Why?”

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he clenched his fists with rage. He dropped to his knees, folding his hands together into one big fist in front of my breasts. “Where did I fail?” He asked softly, crying even more. Gaining in volume, and enraged, he yelled again, “Where did I fail? Answer me!” His eyes lit on fire as he smacked me across the face. Streaks of blood adorned my cheeks, blood rushing onto my bare chest.

Daddy’s face shook with anger, but his eyes screamed with ardor and lust. Without warning, he ferociously ravaged my body with his hands, exploding with previously subdued passion. “Why won't you love me, Martha?” he cried out sorrowfully. Violently, he kissed me, first on the mouth, then near my neck and on my chest. Years of abuse had taught me complete and utter subordination.

With pathetic effort, I attempted to push Daddy away with my hands, but he grabbed my arm and placed it around his back, growling with both ire and desire.

* * *

The musty basement air filled my nostrils as I held my body close to me. Daddy had taken my clothes upstairs. I looked at my legs, trying to estimate how tall I was but I had nothing to which I could compare my height.

The basement door opened and Daddy walked down, this time with no sign of anger. He held my hand and apologetically caressed my hair. “Caroline…” he whispered. He looked down at his shoes and began to cry.

I avoided his gaze, staring at my disgusting self. “Daddy. . . I’m sorry,” I apologized. I closed my eyes, forcing my tears to drip down my body to wash away my sins.

CHAPTER 2

His eyes sagged and his mouth relaxed, the blood red color of his face gone. A tear slid down his cheek as he stroked my hair with his hand. “Caroline… don’t leave me. Don’t leave me like Martha. . . .”

“Daddy, I will never leave you.” I was sitting up on my cot now, fully looking Daddy in the eye for proof of my conviction. He fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands but no audible trace of despair escaped his mouth.

“Promise… promise me Caroline. Promise me you will never leave me.”

His voice was desperate, and his eyes implored me to seal my fate with him.

Without hesitation I agreed. He bent down, analyzing my bad leg while I closed my eyes, relief coursing through my veins. Standing up, he gently placed my dirty, white shirt on my belly and began to walk up the basement stairs.

“Daddy?” I asked, hesitantly. He stopped walking on the stairs, refusing to look at me.

“Yes?” he replied, his voice once again extremely curt.

“Can I have my pants too?” Still evading my gaze, he threw my pants and underwear onto the floor and closed the basement door behind him as he walked out. I lifted myself off my cot and ran towards the clothes, eager to protect my skin from the eerie basement air. Just a few inches from my clothes a rope tugged back on my leg, tossing me onto my back. In pain and on the floor, I slowly extended my arm inch after inch, trying to grasp the clothing. Failing, I returned to my cot, pulling my shirt over my body. I deserve it, I thought, feeling sorry for Daddy. I make him miss Mommy. I began to pick at my skin, but I stopped, repulsed.

I resorted to staring at the ceiling, waiting for breakfast: it never came. For breakfast, Daddy made me porridge and occasionally, like on my birthday, he would serve me a muffin. Daddy must have forgotten, like always. Around noon he would give me an orange or an apple with water. Dinner was always soup. Sometimes it was tomato soup, but mostly it was broth with some spices. Thinking about food usually gave me hunger pangs so I mentally avoided the subject.

But, Daddy occasionally treated me like he treated Drake and the others on one special day: Christmas. Daddy never lost his temper on Christmas. He let me eat food that they brought back from the restaurant in the kitchen. I remember eating at a restaurant once, although I don’t remember it vividly.

I never received presents on Christmas. Daddy told me my present was the food, and I actually thanked him for it. Every year it was the same: fettuccine alfredo with spinach salad and orange juice. When Daddy placed the plate of food before me I would inhale with pleasure, the aroma of nutmeg and cheese infused together invading my senses. The pasta was always beautifully entangled and connected. I loved lifting the pasta to my mouth and then letting the cheese sauce drip onto my tongue, sliding down my throat. I didn’t like the salad much, but Daddy would beat me the next day if I didn’t eat it. I didn’t really like orange juice either, but I liked it enough to consume it without complaint.

Daddy would let me roam around the house for a few hours after eating. Most of the time, I would go into Drake’s room, since he seemed to treat me the best out of my three brothers. Behind closed doors, he did away with the cruel masquerade Daddy believed he had engrained into his boys’ personas. He let me try on his clothes and lie on his bed, constantly making sure Daddy was not around. Mark and the others occasionally walked in and watched me as I hesitantly tried on clothes, but Drake forced them to swear they would not tell Daddy. Other than on Christmas, Drake acted like he hated me when around others, especially Mark.

Mark occasionally visited me down in the basement, mostly when he came down looking for something. He never went up without taunting me, usually through vulgar references. “Roses are red, and sometimes they’re black. But why is your chest as flat as your back?” he would laugh hysterically, running upstairs. Vulgar jokes always escaped my understanding, like that one.

The only brother I was not afraid of was Bobby. As far as I was concerned, he neither had a personality nor a life. He never came down to the basement unless Drake or Mark did and when he did, always tried to show off by spitting at me. They would occasionally laugh and Bobby would grin, pleased. One time, he came downstairs, late at night I assumed, since the house lights were off. He forgot I was even down there, since he took off his clothes and opened up a magazine.

“Bobby?” I asked shyly, curious.

“Oh, shit!” he whispered loudly, his hand immediately moving away from his crotch. “Don’t you dare tell anyone else I was down here, you understand?” he pleaded, no hint of aggressiveness in his voice. He sounded more desperate than anything. I nodded, not understanding at the time what he had been doing.

Ever since I was ten, after free time, Daddy would take me to his bedroom and close all the blinds. Sex lacked a romantic quality for me; it seemed like common interaction between father and daughter at the time. Daddy promised to treat me nicely as long as I didn’t talk about what we did in the bedroom.

Daddy then tucked me into bed in the basement, telling me I was beautiful and that he loved me very much. Together, we prayed to God in the cold, dark basement. He would then lecture me about the impurity of the female flesh. “Eradication is rectification,” he would rant. “When you’re up there with the Heavenly Father, you will thank me, Caroline. Thank me for purging you of your sins.” Then, he would kiss me on the forehead and walk up the basement stairs, closing the door behind him.

I sat up, distracted by a small rat which ran under the cot. Leaving it alone, I peered at the clock. I liked to look at the clock even though I didn’t know how to read it. Time was always a mystery to me. I did not know how long a year was, nor was I able to tell when it was daytime or nighttime on days that Daddy did not serve me food. I slept when I needed to and slept when I didn’t need to; I had nothing else to do.

I squatted on my cot to piss since my bladder was annoying me. My cot was filled with about 6 years of urine. I crapped on the floor with nothing to wipe with; Daddy would send one of my brothers to come clean it up. They detested cleaning up after me. As I pissed, my cot creaked as it gained more weight. When I finished, the basement door opened and Mark, one of my brothers, came running down the stairs with a bucket and a mini-scoop that people use to clean up dog poop.

“Eeewww, you smell like elephant shit, you slut.” He continued to degrade me while he reluctantly picked up my poop off the floor. I never responded to his taunts but laid back on the cot, trying to fall asleep. “Did you fuckin’ hear me?” he snarled, knowing very well that I heard his every word.

“Mark. . . .” I pleaded, my voice incredibly soft.

He grinned. “What’s that? Didn’t hear you.”

I felt my blood boiling but suppressed it. I continued looking at him until he got bored. He walked over to my cot and whispered into my ear, “How about you answer or I dump your shit on your face?” The basement was too dark for me to easily see his face. Again, I didn’t respond. “Are you fucking deaf?”

“No.”

He stared at me for a few seconds and then said, “Fuckin’ slut. Maybe you should wear some pants.” He turned around and with his bucket of my poop, he walked up the stairs, slamming the door behind him.

CHAPTER 3

I tried to bite, rip, and tear the rope off my leg but to no prevail. I returned to my cot in despair, chained to the bed: the ultimate bastion of Daddy’s oppression.

The next time Daddy came down to see me he threw a bowl of porridge at me and barked, “Eat up, now. We don’t have much time. I’ll give you a shower. You look like a piece of shit.”

I was used to Daddy’s name-calling and attitude when he was stressed out, but I was naturally curious what the stressor was. “What’s going on, Daddy?”

“Shut up and eat the porridge.” He was nervous and pacing back and forth.

My mouth shut and I did as he told me, thankful that he gave me anything at all to eat. The porridge was disgusting, as usual. The mixed taste of rotten eggs and curdled milk brought bile to the back of my throat, but I dared not throw up in front of Daddy. When I finished, he grabbed my arm and dragged me upstairs.

We broke into the main floor of the house and I stopped. My eyes blinked swiftly, unable to cope. It had been years since I had been up here, and indeed, much began to come back to me. I remembered Christmas when I was four, when Mommy bought me a pendant, which Daddy stole and sold when I was six after he learned the pendant was made of pure gold. My lungs constricted as I tried to take in my surroundings. Immediately, my stomach turned, making me nauseous. I looked out through the house windows and saw a girl riding on a bicycle before Daddy grabbed my arm and rushed me to the second floor.

“Daddy, that girl was ri-"

“What the hell do you know, Caroline? That was no girl. You are as blind as a fucking bat.” I didn’t respond but I knew for sure that was no boy.

“Caroline, get in the fucking shower stall!”

“Daddy, I can’t breath.” I gasped, finding the open atmosphere overwhelming.

“Don’t worry, when you get in the fucking stall you can have all the room you want,” he said, grinning at the irony of his comment.

Obediently, I stepped in as hot water gushed over me. I savored the hot, smooth feeling of the water as it cleansed my pores and my hair. Daddy wasted about ten seconds worth of water on me when he dragged me out of the stall and began to dress me up in some fancy clothes. “How the fuck am I going to cover these bruises?” he yelled. He was referring to the numerous bruises I had accumulated over the years from incidents in the basement. Some spots had been hit so many times that the surface appearance of the bruise was permanent. In the end, Daddy made me wear a long, formal skirt, which covered more than half of my legs. “Alright, when we’re sitting at the table, you shut the fuck up and don’t say a goddamn thing, understood? One word is all it takes, Caroline. . . one word,” he breathed, emphasizing the importance of my silence. “Alright, go watch TV until I call you.”

“Watch what?” I asked, confused.

“TV. Television ,you dumb fuck.” He stormed out of the room, leaving me to try to remember what a television was. I remembered a box with a screen but nothing more. Instead of looking for the TV, I walked downstairs and sat on one of the couches, keeping to myself.

“What the fuck are you doing up here?” Drake yelled. Him, Bobby, and Mark had just walked into the room, staring at me.

“Who the fuck let you up up here?” Mark growled. He always looked at me in a derogatory manner and every reference towards me always included the word “skank.”

Drake was of medium height, with long, black hair and beautiful blue eyes. He had a muscular build, wearing what I presumed to be fashionable clothes. Mark was handsome but short and weak. His brown hair was always messy and his brown eyes were always moving, as if he were paranoid. Bobby was the shortest of them all, and the weakest. He had black hair as well, but it was combed to the side.

“I don’t know. Daddy forced me up here and dressed me up in these clothes. What’s going on?” I replied, my eyes barely open due to the surplus of sunlight shining through the winow.

“You liar. Get back in the basement you bitch!” Mark began to move towards me but Drake stopped him.

“Let’s ask Dad first,” Drake suggested. He yelled, “Hey, Dad, why is Caroline up here?”

He regretted the comment immediately.

Daddy came running down the stairs, dressed in a nice black suit with a white shirt and red tie. He walked straight up to Drake and smacked him right across the face.

“What did we talk about before, Drake? You know this meeting means a lot to me, so fucking behave and at least pretend she’s your goddamn sister.”

Drake stepped back in fear, a glare of contempt quickly flashing across his face, although it was immediately replaced with submission.

The doorbell rang and Bobby ran to open it.

“Come in, come in sir,” he said in a very nice, formal voice.

“Thank you, sir,” the man said. He wore a black tuxedo with a red bowtie near his neck. His face was kind and slightly aged, and his hair was partly gray. He handed his coat to Bobby and looked around the foyer, examining it as if he were testing for poison.

“Good morning, good morning, Mr. Forrest!” Daddy exclaimed with fake enthusiasm, running towards him to shake his hand. “Please, come sit in the dining room.”

We all moved to sit in the dining room and the men engaged in fancy business talk that I didn’t comprehend.

Finally, Mr. Forrest said, “Well, you certainly have raised three fine boys and a beautiful young lady here by yourself, Eric.”

Daddy blushed and thanked Mr. Forrest. Daddy asked us to introduce ourselves.

“I’m Drake.”

“I’m Mark.”

“I’m Bobby.”

“I’m Ca-

“She’s Caroline,” Daddy interrupted me quickly. “So, what were you saying about Microsoft stock ,John?”

Mr. Forrest eyed Daddy with disdain and said in a deadly tone, “I think she can introduce herself to me, Eric.”

Daddy closed his mouth and nodded for me to respond. “My name is Caroline,” I replied, speaking softly. I couldn’t look Mr. Forrest in the eye so I stared at my skirt.

“What grade in school are you in missy?” He gave me a kind look, letting me know I could trust him.

“I’m sorry? School?” I laughed. “Sir, I’m a girl. I don’t go to school.” My response perplexed Mr. Forrest as he stared at Daddy, confused.

“Dear God, Eric. You don’t send her to school?”

“I have no clue what she is talking about, sir. She must be tired or sleepy. Yes, that’s what it is.” Daddy gave me a death stare, which I knew meant to keep quiet and let Daddy do all the talking. Unfortunately for Daddy, things got much worse.

“Alright, John. . . about th-

“Do you like your Daddy?” He asked me, interrupting Daddy as if he didn’t exist. Daddy’s jaw dropped at this question, but made no gesture so that Mr. Forrest would not get suspicious.

“Yes, very much!” I replied, obediently. I heard Daddy sigh with relief in his chair.

Mr. Forrest gave me a sweet smile and complimented me, saying, “Well, aren’t you a sweet girl. What about him do you like the most?”

“He let’s me out at Christmas,” I answered, gleaming with pride. Daddy’s face turned red as he hid a hiss with a violent cough, indicating to me to change my answer. I didn’t understand the message.

“I’m sorry? What?” He looked confused.

“I said he lets me out at Christmas.”

“Let’s you out of what, exactly?” He started to give Daddy negative, loathing looks every once in a while as I spoke. Drake smiled as if he were waiting for this moment for a long time.

“You know, out of the basement. On Christmas.”

Mr. Forrest gagged on his food, launching some out of his mouth, a bit of sauce falling onto my shoe. Mr. Forrest bent down to wipe the sauce off my shoe with a napkin when he saw the bruises on my leg. “Dear God, what the bloody hell is this?” He lifted my skirt up and discovered the numerous bruises, which covered my body. “What kind of father do you have?” Mr. Forrest sounded angry.

“Daddy is one of the best! He doesn’t beat me as hard as other Daddy’s beat their girls!” I said this quickly to try to defend Daddy, but my comment provoked a deep silence around the table. I realized I had said something wrong, since Mr. Forrest stood up, his face red with anger. Daddy’s face was in pure shock, and Bobby and Mark periodically looked at each other and then at Daddy, trying to figure out what to do. Drake’s smile was wider than ever.

“Eric, I am going to call Social Services, and then I am going to call nine-one-one. You can’t get away with this. Caroline, we have got to get you of here.” He looked at me kindly and nodded. I struggled to breathe as the room closed in on me. He jumped up quickly from his seat, walking towards the front door.

Panicking, Daddy quickly picked up his knife and jumped at Mr. Forrest. Within five seconds, Mr. Forrest was on the floor, his body severed from his head, as blood spilled onto the floor, forming a pool of crimson upon which his silent body rested. I screamed, and screamed, and screamed, until I blacked out.

[Jimbalaya]

I don't know what to say, Croissant. This was...disturbing, to say the least. While I could find no fault in the writing, the material was, well, sickening. I have to comend you on taking the road less traveled. That's really about all I've got.

[in_absentia]

I have to agree with Jimbalaya... this is a very sickening piece and definitely deserving of the warnings you've given it. Just a little bit of reference... I made it through Naked Lunch while only having to stop a few times. With this story, I barely made it through the first chapter and a half before calling it quits and skimming the rest for main plot points.

You have everything set up well and the story is told from an interesting point of view (it almost reminds me of Terry Gilliam's Tideland and the girls position in that movie... although it wasn't nearly as disturbing as this lol)

I can't really complain because you're really taking a no-holds-barred approach and I commend that. I just don't think this is for me

[Venomous Vixen]

There is no doubt this story was disturbing, even haunting but none the less I think tales of this nature are ones that need to be told. This is the taboo side of life, the side we all know occurs but no one wants to see or hear about. Out of sight, out of mind. Unfortunately, that is not the way in which things like this surface or become fixed. There are plenty of psychopaths who bear children, plenty of parents who beat and/or molest children and though this is a severe case, it is not in any way unbelievable.

Beyond subject I enjoyed your writing. Your initial paragraph drew me in with some interesting structure, word selection and instant action. In my opinion the first paragrpah is key to grabbing the reader's attention and you have done that very well. Also, I did not find a lot of holes in your plot. As questions arose in my mind you did a pretty good job of answering them throughout the story.

As hard as this is to swallow, I look forward to more. It will be interesting to see where a girl who has been through all of that, yet is as innocent in other ways as a 5 year old, will adapt to the outside world, but first what will happen with the father and the murdered man.

[RENA HANDS]

Well your first paragraph really catches the readers’ attention that’s for sure!

What about saying…When I protested to Daddy’s lashings, (you can hold only one whip in hand?)

Possibly…The whip ripped more skin off my back (as) I screamed in agony. ?

Possibly…I pleaded (with) Daddy not to do it, ?

Possibly…and Daddy’s warm hands violently (rubbing) my skin. ?

I think you should separate and post each Chapter as an individual post. It, this will allow for time of absorption for the read.

Chapter 1, I will rate 3/5! The imagery is strong, emotions too!

Are you developing your characters and setting as you write more?

CHAPTER 2 EVALUTION…

Perhaps try and use other words other than ‘cot.’

What about…He never came down to the basement unless Drake or Mark insisted or ordered and then he only followed behind like some lap dog. He tried to show backbone by spitting on me. ? (Or something similar.)

I would like to see more of these ‘brothers.’

How is sex between father and daughter to be ‘romantic?’ It is incest? Unnatural and illegal between an adult and minor?

Which one is Mark? The eldest, middle or youngest brother? I ask so you could possibly change the following…the basement door opened and Mark, my___brother came rushing down the stairs…

You use ‘running,’ much perhaps other words relating to action scaling up the stairs then down, over and over again.

Again, I think your actions and emotions are a bit lacking for the content of this story you are telling.

I’ll return to Chapter 3. I will rate Chapter 2 as 3/5!

[Ferris]

Hi there, gritty - brave for tackling this subject.

The dialogue I think is what moved me the most for this piece. The little girl, obviously mislead by her father into thinking he was the best, actually might have saved herself. It is a disgusting twist on 'daddies little girl' we see in everyday life.

I was hoping that she would be saved... Mr forrest seemed like such a hero, and why? I think the contrast between him and 'daddy' makes him seem altogether more of a champion! Such a shame...

Still, a very moving piece, if a little hard to swallow.

Well done on moving your readers,

Ferris