Chapter 11

“Maree! I have to tell you all about what happened –” She pressed her ear against the door.

Her body began to shake as she heard muffled screams from her sister’s bedroom.

She ran towards her mother’s room, knocking frantically on the door.

Nothing.

She banged on the door this time, pleading for a response.

Still nothing.

She snatched a knife from the kitchen and barged into her sister’s room, doing her best to appear as threatening as a ten-year-old could, two hands at the base of the knife.

There was not a hint of guilt, shame, regret or shock in their father’s eyes when the door swung wide open; only the curl of a lip as he turned his attention from Delilah back to Maree and continued pounding her, faster, harder until her screams were no more.

Delilah stood at the door, still with two hands clutching the base of the knife, unable to move, unable to look away, trembling, as tears of helplessness streamed down her face.

When her dad had finished and fastened the belt around his shorts, he smirked at Delilah, “Was that enjoyable to watch, Delilah?”

He crouched down and tucked a strand of Delilah's hair behind her ear.

“Don’t worry, it’s your turn soon.”

Those words jolted her out of paralysis.

She ditched the knife, sprinted down the corridor and threw her body against her mother's door to no avail. She screamed, she punched, she hurled her body once again, only for him to catch up to her. His shadow loomed over her small, fragile soul as he sported a menacing smile while unlocking the door. Her hands shook, but she barged into the room no less the second it opened. She shook every limb of her mother’s body with vigour; she jumped on her, squeezed her, begging, imploring for a response.

Nothing.

“There’s no point, Delilah. Your mum’s drunk herself to a deep, deep sleep.” He strolled in from behind, picking up the empty bottle of whisky next to her mother.

“Why are you doing this?” she yelled with fury, masking the feelings of fear, horror and confusion plaguing her heart as best as she could.

“Because,” he began, before placing his hand on her mother’s right buttock and squeezing it firmly, “I can, Delilah.”