No More Nights, No More Pain

I sat at the edge of my bed, thinking. I spent the last five years of my life trying to find my family, the family I was taken from. I have small blurry memories of them and that's all. I hear a crash downstairs. Damn he's home.
“Jennie!!!” I hear him call. He's calling his wife, the woman I'm supposed to call mother. I can hear their mumbled conversation. Another crash. A scream. A door slamming. He's drunk again.
“Stella!” my name's shouted. “You little whore what have I said about making a mess of the house?!?” he shouts as he bursts into my room. I can't tell him he made the mess, or I'll get hit. I can't say that I had done nothing wrong, or I'll get slapped. I can't stick up for myself in anyway, or I'll get beat. I can't talk back or I'll get raped. This is how it's been for the past thirteen years of my life.
“I'll clean it up” I say softly as I stand up, pain shooting through my legs. I ignored it as much as I could.
“When you're done I want you in my office” he said glaring at me as I walked past him. He slapped my ass as I walked out of my room and into the hall. It took everything not to let him have the satisfaction in seeing my reactions. I had to act as emotionless as possible.
Once I finished cleaning up the vase he broke, I walked to his office. To say I was scared was an understatement. I knew what he wanted. Now that I was alone with him he didn't care about how much pain he gave me. As long as we were the only ones who knew about the pleasure he took in raping me.
Two hours later I limped back to my room. It always was longer when Jennie was out and he was drunk. I closed my door and limped to my bed. I sat on my bed for half an hour until I had to force myself to make him dinner. When I was done I walked slowly to his office and told him dinner was ready through the door.
“Open the door Stella” he called after me smugly. I opened the door with out looking at him.
“Look at me Stella” he ordered. I lifted my gaze to him. His pants were still off. His boxers were around his ankles. His hand was running up and down his hard shaft. I felt like throwing up.
“Come closer Stella” I advanced, against my will until I was in front of his desk. “What did you make for dinner?” he asked in a sickly sweet tone.
“Chicken Parmesan “ I said plainly. I knew it was what he wanted. He told me to make it this morning when he woke me up.
“And if I don't want the food you cooked?” he asked staring at my chest. I closed my eyes and swallowed the lump in my throat.
“The I will make you whatever you want” I said. We went through this every night Jennie wasn't home.
“Then be glad that I want the food you cooked. Now You are to get me a plate then come back here and give me all the pleasure I ask for” he said shooing me. This was the man that Morgan was. A sick bastard who took pleasure in his daughter being sexually intimate with him. Only a week to my birthday, then I could be free.
Such is the life of me, Stella E. Baker-Reed.