Erica Spindler - Shocking Pink

He tightened his hands over hers and she had to fight not to flinch from the pressure. “Family is everything,” he said fiercely. “Loyalty counts above all.” He moved his gaze over her face. “No one will come between us. I won’t allow it. Do you understand?”

“Of course.” She forced an adoring smile. “Family is everything.”

He smiled and brought his hands to her hair, hanging loosely down the sides of her face. He tucked it behind her ears. “Why do you wear your hair this way? You know I like it pulled back.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I guess I forgot. Tomorrow, I’ll wear those new barrettes you bought me.”

“That’s my girl.” He bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then dropped his hands. “Run along to bed. It’s late.”

Just then the kettle screamed. Raven jumped, nearly leaping out of her skin. “I’ll get it,” she said, swinging toward the stove. She reached for the kettle. “You just sit—”

He caught her hand. “You’re nervous as a cat tonight.”

“Just tired.”

“I’ll take care of the tea. You go on to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“All right.” She stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Good night, Daddy.”

As she turned and walked away, Raven smiled to herself. One morning, he wouldn’t see her. One morning, when the time was right, he would never be allowed to see her again.

Julie awakened with a start, a silent scream on her lips. Terrified, she moved her gaze over her dark bedroom, looking for the beast in every shadow, the monster who had come to take what was left of her soul.

After a moment, the outlines of her furniture began to take shape; the silhouette of the tree in her window, the pile of discarded clothes in the corner. Her breathing slowed, her heart with it.

Only a bad dream. Nothing to be really frightened of.

But she was frightened. Julie pressed her lips together, realizing they were trembling. Realizing, too, how close to tears she was. The nightmare had been so real and vivid. So awful.

Her reaction had been worse.

She had been turned on. Sexually aroused, even in her sleep.

Julie rolled onto her side, curling into a ball of misery and self-disgust. The dream had been a reenactment of the scene she, Andie and Raven had witnessed that night. Only she had been the woman, blindfolded and performing for the man. She had been the one who stood before him naked and completely vulnerable, the one who had knelt before him and taken his penis into her mouth.

She should have been ashamed, terrified or repulsed. She should have been desperate to escape.

She had loved it, instead. She had reveled in it.

What was wrong with her?

Just remembering, her body began to throb again. Julie squeezed her thighs together, wanting to stop the sensations but knowing she couldn’t. Knowing that once again, she had lost control and her body wasn’t her own.

Julie turned her face to the pillow and moaned, the tingling sensation building between her legs. She rocked slightly, and the folds of flesh at the apex of her thighs rubbed together, a trick she had learned years ago. She had used it in church, at the dinner table, during Scriptures.

Even as she told herself to stop, she rocked harder, squeezed tighter. The tingling ignited, becoming fire. Her mind emptied of everything but the heat, the need for that moment of complete oblivion and electric nothingness.

The moment where Julie Cooper, her life, her body itself, ceased to exist.

It arrived. She brought her fist to her mouth to hold back the sound that rushed to escape. One of pleasure and pain. The pleasure of the moment. The painful truth that in the experience, it was already over.

Back to life. Her life.

Julie Cooper lived.

Pleasure and pain. As the throbbing eased, she thought of Andie and Raven. Julie’s eyes welled with tears. What would they think if they knew the truth about her? If they knew what she did, how she touched herself? Would they still want to be her best friends?

They wouldn’t; she knew they wouldn’t.

Earlier that night, as she had peered in that window with her friends, she had been afraid, so afraid, that Andie and Raven would see how excited she was, that they would know what she was thinking, what she was feeling.

She had been so ashamed, she had wanted to die.

Her thoughts returned to the dream. In it, she had been that woman; she had crossed to the man and had eagerly taken his penis into her mouth.

Remembering, her stomach rose to her throat. Unlike the real scene she had viewed, it hadn’t ended there. Suddenly, her blindfold had been stripped away. She’d lifted her eyes.

And seen the hideous, red face of her lover.

She’d had the devil inside her mouth, his penis, his sperm bubbling up, gagging her.

She had clawed at him then, trying to free herself. He had tipped back his massive horned head and laughed. She couldn’t escape him. They were joined forever.

You have the devil inside you, girl. You always have.

Julie drew her knees tighter to her chest, her father’s voice ringing in her head, the devil’s laughter with it. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could blot them out. Wishing she could crawl out of herself, become someone else, someone new and clean and good.

Clean and good. The way she hadn’t felt in a long time, not since the terrible Easter morning so many years ago. She drew in a shuddering breath, the memory unfolding in her head. She had been seven years old, standing in front of her bedroom mirror, gazing admiringly at herself. In her new Easter dress, bonnet and white patent-leather shoes, shoes so shiny and bright she could see herself in them, she had felt like a princess. A beautiful princess.

She had giggled and whirled around, her long blond curls swinging with the movement. From downstairs, Julie had heard her two brothers playing, laughing and tussling with each other, from the bathroom down the hall her mother humming “Amazing Grace.” The new baby had been asleep in the nursery; her father had been running through his sermon one last time. This was her father’s first big sermon for his new congregation here in Thistledown, and Easter Sunday was the most important day on the religious calendar. His new congregation expected something especially rousing today. Julie had heard him tell her mother that he didn’t want anything to go wrong. Not this time.

Julie ran her hands over the dress’s tissue-like fabric, liking the way it rustled against her legs. Something had gone wrong at their last church, the one in Mobile. Julie didn’t know what, she only knew that some men from the congregation had come to see her dad one night, and after they left she had heard her mom crying.

Not long after, they had moved here, to Thistledown and Temple Baptist Church.

Julie pirouetted again, delighted, wishing she could dress like this every day. When she grew up she would, she decided, tilting her head this way and that and smiling at herself in the mirror. She fluffed her hair and pursed her lips, imitating the way she had seen an actress do it on a shampoo commercial. Would the other girls think she was pretty? she wondered. Would they like her?

Maybe today, she thought hopefully, beaming into the mirror, at the egg hunt and picnic after the last service, she would make a friend.

“What are you doing?”

At the sound of her father’s angry voice, Julie froze. She dropped her hands and turned slowly to face him, her heart thundering. “Nothing, Daddy,” she whispered.

He took a step toward her, his expression thunderous. “I’ll ask you once more, daughter. What were you doing?”

She swallowed hard, past the sudden knot of tears and fear that choked her. She hated when her father got this way; it scared her. She never knew what answer he was looking for, never knew what she had done to anger him.