[IN PROGRESS]
Martha and James are soulmates trapped together in a never-ending reincarnation loop. Not a bad way to spend eternity, but they wanted more. They wanted a child. Serafina is born and Martha and James are elated to love and raise her a...
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Trigger warning: Drug use, child abuse.
Halfway across the country, a mile west of the Mississippi, Roddy Grant was waking up in his trailer home. He didn't remember going to sleep, but his splitting headache might explain why. Though his vision blurred, he could tell that he was sitting in the living room on his lazy boy recliner. He tried to sit up, but something held him down. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them wide and his vision stabilized. He looked down and saw packing tape – reams of it – wrapped around most of his body and the recliner as if he were a fly wrapped in silk, waiting to be devoured. For whatever reason, his right arm was exposed from shoulder to wrist. The tape was secure enough, however, to keep him from freeing the arm altogether, no matter how hard he tried.
"The fffffuckis this shit?" he slurred.
"Is that you, Daddy?" his six year old daughter called from the back of the trailer. She skipped into the living room with a smile on her face. "Oh good, you're awake. I was starting to get impatient."
"Wha... Who did this?"
"I did," she said, smiling even wider. There had always been something a little off about his daughter, but the way her blue eyes locked on his made his spine shiver. But that was ridiculous. She was only a little girl.
"The fuck you did."
"No, really. You should never let someone else make your drink, Daddy." She twirled her golden blonde hair in her fingers and smacked her gum while she talked. "That would have been a useful lesson for me, the first time around. But you're not much for useful lessons. Anyhoo, I slipped some pills in your morning beer. The bottle said not to mix with alcohol so I was tempting fate a tiny bit. But... OD then, OD now... Potayto, potahto. But I'm so glad you didn't die. This little talk of ours makes the last year almost worth it."
Roddy didn't know what he was hearing. It didn't feel like a dream. It felt real. But it couldn't be. "Goddamnit! Get me outta this, right now. You hear me?" He struggled to free himself though it was pointless.
"Sorry. You getting outta this is not in the cards," she said cheerfully. "Unless you're referring to your mortal toil, then yes, I can definitely help with that."
"Now listen, you stupid little bitch. You get me loose or..."
Then she took something out of her pocket and held up a tiny plastic bag for him to see. "Look familiar? I bet it does. I bet you're also asking 'How does a six year old girl get her hands on a sizable amount of heroin?' Well, it just so happens that my daddy's a junky who ignores me, so skimming off the top of his stash for the last year has been a breeze."
"You lyin' bitch! You're just like your momma!"
"No, no, no. Uh uh." She waved her arms dramatically. "Nope. I'm nothing like her. Well... I am a lying bitch. You got me there." She gave her father a playful punch on the shoulder as if they were old pals then knelt by the coffee table where a spoon, lighter, and syringe waited. "But I'm not a junky or a whore or in prison. So no, I'm not just like her." She untied the bag and emptied most of it into the extra large spoon, added water, then used the lighter to cook it.
"Holy shit!" Roddy said in disbelief.
"I know what you're thinking – how useful would it be to have a daughter to cook your drugs for you? You might also be thinking – wow, that's a lot of fucking heroin for one injection. I ballpark it at around 600 milligrams which is around three times as much as I need to stop your heart. But if you're gonna do something, do it right. Right, Daddy?"
"Wha- Why're you doing this?"
"Well..." she said as she filled the syringe. "The police won't investigate foul play because... look at me. So your – quote unquote – accidental overdose will effectively make me an orphan which is gonna eventually do wonders for my Q Score."
"Q Score? The hell?"
She stood and walked to him with the syringe in hand. The smile had left her face. "But that's not the only reason."
He squirmed frantically, trying in vain to escape. "I'm sorry! I- I- I'm sorry I didn't pay enough attention to you. You- you wanna go to Chucky Cheese? Untie me and we'll go to Chucky Cheese right now. Okay, sugar?"
She shuddered. "Ugh, don't ever fucking call me that."
Roddy began to cry. "But- But what'd I do?! I don't deserve this!"
She crawled onto his lap so she could look him in the eye. "You're right. You don't deserve this. You deserve so much more. You deserve pain and fear. You deserve to be penetrated and humiliated and betrayed."
"I don't understand... What are you talking about 'penetrated'?"
"Of course you don't. But for the record, I much prefer being ignored to the attention you start paying me in fifth grade. 'If there's grass on the field, play ball' is how you always put it."
"No, no I would never!"
"Yes, you would. And you do. Every goddamn time. No matter how much I plead. No matter how much I cry." She sat back and regarded him for a moment. "Oh, the things I could do to you in this compromised state... It's so tempting. But that would put a damper on my plausible deniability. Now, do me a favor and try to escape."
"Wha-"
"I said try to escape, motherfucker!" She held the needle an inch from one of his eyes. He flinched and struggled to get loose. "That's it. There we go," she said, slithering down next to his free arm. "There's a nice fat one." She stuck the needle into a bulging vein, injected the full syringe, and emancipated herself once again.
