And as I closed my eyes, sleep claiming me, I felt her curl up in the dent of my waist.
I knew she was probably hungry. It was time for breakfast.
But she was my Gun. She knew me. She had my back.
She’d wait.
Chapter Two
The Cutest Boy in Town
A cold, dark night in the hills of Kentucky, twenty-eight years earlier, Sylvie is six…
I heard them yelling.
“Fuck you!”
“You wish, dirtbag! Fuck you! You piece of shit!”
“Don’t call me a piece of shit!”
“Don’t tell me what I can say!”
“You eat my food, live in my house, suck my dick for diamonds, I’ll do whatever the f**k I want!”
“I hope you have a good memory, ass**le, because the last blowjob you got was the last you’ll get from me! I. Am. GONE!”
Then I heard it, the thump and I jumped.
I knew what that meant.
I knew what it meant.
I knew. I knew. I knew.
She’d have bruises tomorrow and walk funny.
I didn’t like it when she had bruises and walked funny.
“Come on, Bootsie, come on,” I whispered and my doggie, a sweet, white, West Highland Terrier’s, head cocked as I waved to her on my way to the door. She didn’t want to come. She always tried to keep me in the room. She didn’t like the yelling either, I knew it. She was a dog, she couldn’t tell me but I still knew it. She also knew what would happen if we got caught. She was there and Daddy had even kicked her once when they found us.
But I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t listen anymore. We’d only been caught a few times but we’d gone walking loads. I didn’t like getting caught but I heard the words in my head over and over again. I never forgot them. I didn’t need any more of the words.
“NO!” I heard her screech.
“Last blowjob I’ll get?” Daddy roared back. “We’ll see about that, bitch!”
No more words.
We had to go.
“Come on,” I kept whispering and slid out the door, careful. I had to be careful. They couldn’t catch me.
That would be bad.
Bootsie followed.
I did what I always did, being careful. Before I put on my jeans, boots and coat, I took off Bootsie’s collar. You could hear it jingling.
They couldn’t hear it jingling.
I closed my door and we crept through my Daddy’s big house, quiet, so quiet. I’d learned not to make a noise, where to put my feet so they’d always hit carpet even in the dark.
We got to the backdoor and slid out, me and Bootsie.
Quickly, as quick as we could, we crossed the backyard. I could see the stables off to the side, Daddy’s horses shut tight against the cold. The pool was covered for the winter. Snow on the ground. I always worried Bootsie would fall in the pool under that cover and not be able to get out.
I hated winter.
I didn’t like summers much either.
Quiet, slow, I opened the back gate because it could creak if you didn’t do it careful-like. And I was always careful.
I’d learned.
I closed the gate behind us so they wouldn’t see it open. They might notice. They had before.
Or Daddy had.
That had been a bad night.
So I closed the gate. Always.
Bootsie and I moved through the snow and the trees. We did it fast. It felt good out there, the cold on my face, in my mouth, up my nose. I didn’t know why. It didn’t feel good normally, just nights like tonight.
I liked the quiet after all that noise too. I special-liked it after I’d hear the thump.
And I liked the cold up my nose.
Breathing it in.
And in.
And in.
Bootsie and I kept going through the woods and I wondered what would happen if we didn’t stop. Daddy hunted but he never took me. He said girls weren’t put on this earth to hunt. He said pretty little girls were put on this earth to do other things, like be pretty.
Daddy said I was very pretty but that wasn’t something you did. That was just something you were.
So I didn’t hunt with Daddy or fish with him or do any of the things he did with his buddies that sounded like all sorts of fun. I went to ballet classes which I hated. The teacher was mean and had a stick she’d bang against the wood floors and I didn’t like the sound and I had to wear stupid outfits.
Daddy didn’t listen when I said I’d rather go fishing.
Going fishing, he told me, wasn’t for pretty little girls either.
But I liked the lake. I liked water. I liked boats.
I liked all that a whole lot better than ballet.
Daddy didn’t care.
Maybe Bootsie and I could walk to the lake. Maybe we could even walk to the ocean. I’d been to the ocean once and I liked it. The sounds were good, the waves hitting the shore. I liked the sand under my feet, hard, tingly but still soft and fluffy. The sun felt better at the beach but that was because there was a breeze. It was hot and cool. I liked having both. Not hot and still. I didn’t like that.
Bootsie and me could walk to the beach. We could walk all the way to the ocean. Just go on and on and on. Maybe we’d find someone nice who’d give us food. If it took a long time, we’d find berries. I found wild strawberries all the time when summer was new, sometimes I could even find raspberries when it was old. We’d find nice people and berries and walk to the beach. Just keep going until all we could see was water forever and ever.
Bootsie would like the beach.
Then again, Bootsie liked anywhere just as long as it had me.
This was what I was thinking when my feet went out from under me. I heard and was terrified by the cry I let out and the sounds of Bootsie barking as I went down. I tried to stop, threw my arms out but I just rolled, my body banging against stuff, my coat catching on things, the sting of the snow hitting the skin of my face as I just kept going.
I landed and it hurt because I landed against a tree.
“Ouch,” I whispered, hearing Bootsie’s barking come toward me.
We were far away. We’d never walked this far. I’d never noticed that ridge.
We’d walked too far.
Still, I worried Daddy would hear my cry and Bootsie’s barking.
The tumble made my body feel funny. Tight but tingly. Still, I turned my head to see Bootsie jumping through the snow down the slope I’d fallen over, yapping the whole way.
She needed to be quiet.
Before I could say anything to her, tell her to be quiet, I felt something under my arms then I wasn’t lying in the snow anymore.
I was up on my feet and being turned.
I knew she was probably hungry. It was time for breakfast.
But she was my Gun. She knew me. She had my back.
She’d wait.
Chapter Two
The Cutest Boy in Town
A cold, dark night in the hills of Kentucky, twenty-eight years earlier, Sylvie is six…
I heard them yelling.
“Fuck you!”
“You wish, dirtbag! Fuck you! You piece of shit!”
“Don’t call me a piece of shit!”
“Don’t tell me what I can say!”
“You eat my food, live in my house, suck my dick for diamonds, I’ll do whatever the f**k I want!”
“I hope you have a good memory, ass**le, because the last blowjob you got was the last you’ll get from me! I. Am. GONE!”
Then I heard it, the thump and I jumped.
I knew what that meant.
I knew what it meant.
I knew. I knew. I knew.
She’d have bruises tomorrow and walk funny.
I didn’t like it when she had bruises and walked funny.
“Come on, Bootsie, come on,” I whispered and my doggie, a sweet, white, West Highland Terrier’s, head cocked as I waved to her on my way to the door. She didn’t want to come. She always tried to keep me in the room. She didn’t like the yelling either, I knew it. She was a dog, she couldn’t tell me but I still knew it. She also knew what would happen if we got caught. She was there and Daddy had even kicked her once when they found us.
But I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t listen anymore. We’d only been caught a few times but we’d gone walking loads. I didn’t like getting caught but I heard the words in my head over and over again. I never forgot them. I didn’t need any more of the words.
“NO!” I heard her screech.
“Last blowjob I’ll get?” Daddy roared back. “We’ll see about that, bitch!”
No more words.
We had to go.
“Come on,” I kept whispering and slid out the door, careful. I had to be careful. They couldn’t catch me.
That would be bad.
Bootsie followed.
I did what I always did, being careful. Before I put on my jeans, boots and coat, I took off Bootsie’s collar. You could hear it jingling.
They couldn’t hear it jingling.
I closed my door and we crept through my Daddy’s big house, quiet, so quiet. I’d learned not to make a noise, where to put my feet so they’d always hit carpet even in the dark.
We got to the backdoor and slid out, me and Bootsie.
Quickly, as quick as we could, we crossed the backyard. I could see the stables off to the side, Daddy’s horses shut tight against the cold. The pool was covered for the winter. Snow on the ground. I always worried Bootsie would fall in the pool under that cover and not be able to get out.
I hated winter.
I didn’t like summers much either.
Quiet, slow, I opened the back gate because it could creak if you didn’t do it careful-like. And I was always careful.
I’d learned.
I closed the gate behind us so they wouldn’t see it open. They might notice. They had before.
Or Daddy had.
That had been a bad night.
So I closed the gate. Always.
Bootsie and I moved through the snow and the trees. We did it fast. It felt good out there, the cold on my face, in my mouth, up my nose. I didn’t know why. It didn’t feel good normally, just nights like tonight.
I liked the quiet after all that noise too. I special-liked it after I’d hear the thump.
And I liked the cold up my nose.
Breathing it in.
And in.
And in.
Bootsie and I kept going through the woods and I wondered what would happen if we didn’t stop. Daddy hunted but he never took me. He said girls weren’t put on this earth to hunt. He said pretty little girls were put on this earth to do other things, like be pretty.
Daddy said I was very pretty but that wasn’t something you did. That was just something you were.
So I didn’t hunt with Daddy or fish with him or do any of the things he did with his buddies that sounded like all sorts of fun. I went to ballet classes which I hated. The teacher was mean and had a stick she’d bang against the wood floors and I didn’t like the sound and I had to wear stupid outfits.
Daddy didn’t listen when I said I’d rather go fishing.
Going fishing, he told me, wasn’t for pretty little girls either.
But I liked the lake. I liked water. I liked boats.
I liked all that a whole lot better than ballet.
Daddy didn’t care.
Maybe Bootsie and I could walk to the lake. Maybe we could even walk to the ocean. I’d been to the ocean once and I liked it. The sounds were good, the waves hitting the shore. I liked the sand under my feet, hard, tingly but still soft and fluffy. The sun felt better at the beach but that was because there was a breeze. It was hot and cool. I liked having both. Not hot and still. I didn’t like that.
Bootsie and me could walk to the beach. We could walk all the way to the ocean. Just go on and on and on. Maybe we’d find someone nice who’d give us food. If it took a long time, we’d find berries. I found wild strawberries all the time when summer was new, sometimes I could even find raspberries when it was old. We’d find nice people and berries and walk to the beach. Just keep going until all we could see was water forever and ever.
Bootsie would like the beach.
Then again, Bootsie liked anywhere just as long as it had me.
This was what I was thinking when my feet went out from under me. I heard and was terrified by the cry I let out and the sounds of Bootsie barking as I went down. I tried to stop, threw my arms out but I just rolled, my body banging against stuff, my coat catching on things, the sting of the snow hitting the skin of my face as I just kept going.
I landed and it hurt because I landed against a tree.
“Ouch,” I whispered, hearing Bootsie’s barking come toward me.
We were far away. We’d never walked this far. I’d never noticed that ridge.
We’d walked too far.
Still, I worried Daddy would hear my cry and Bootsie’s barking.
The tumble made my body feel funny. Tight but tingly. Still, I turned my head to see Bootsie jumping through the snow down the slope I’d fallen over, yapping the whole way.
She needed to be quiet.
Before I could say anything to her, tell her to be quiet, I felt something under my arms then I wasn’t lying in the snow anymore.
I was up on my feet and being turned.
