CHAPTER ONE
Lucas
Fourteen Years Ago
I will not beg.
Every time I hear her footsteps, I tell myself: I will not beg.
Not when she opens the flap at the bottom of my door and reaches in to get my empty plate. Not when she reaches in again to lower a new plate onto the rug.
I will not beg because it will not work. Mother loves to hurt me. Begging would only confirm for her that leaving me in this room does just that. If I beg, she will never let me out.
It’s been sixty-seven days since she spoke to me. It’s been thirteen days since I stopped eating the food she brings.
There’s a sink in one corner of my room. It’s plastic, shaped like a trough, and has four legs and a wide drain. I wash the food down the sink, and when it’s too thick, I flush it down the toilet.
In between the times when I hear footsteps, I use the items in my desk. Pencils. Crayons. Chalk. I draw on the loose-leaf paper she left for me. I draw on my wall. I don’t have the energy for much else. That’s good. It’s really good.
Just sleeping.
I write things like: green. Long ago, it was my favorite color. I write things like: pussy. In my dreams, my tongue is always buried in a warm, slick pussy. I don’t know whose.
I do know whose.
I sketch pussy, and I trace three names.
It’s evil. I know that. That’s the other reason that I will not beg. Only fourteen-ish more days, and there will be no more evil.
No more dreams.
I can feel my wrist glowing as I drift in and out of sleep. The door stays closed. I go more and more away. In my cloud of silence, the only name I can remember is Leah.
*
My solitude is punctuated with three sharp raps. And then her voice: “Hansel. It’s Mother. I’m coming in.”
I don’t have time to care. The door swings open. The stale air around me riots, dancing over my skin.
By the time her eyes collide with mine, I’ve managed to push up on one of my elbows.
I tried to steel myself, but…no.
I’m not prepared for her. I never am.
The leather pants. Black leather boots. The curve of her thighs intrigues me. I know what’s between them. I can taste it, as I lie here, reeling.
The light clicks on.
I squint.
Her arms fold underneath her breasts. Her shirt is red: a sweater. Hair is…longer. Pretty face. It’s so ironic. What a pretty face my Mother has.
The eyes on it pop wide. Her mouth twists. “Hansel? What the fuck?”
Her boots click on the floor. She’s standing over me. My heart pounds, making the room spin.
She leans down and slaps my face.
Another slap.
Another slap.
“Geez…us.”
Dizziness.
Her hands are rough, holding my face. Her smell is in my nose.
“I’d like to know what the fuck is wrong with you, you stupid boy. I can see your ribs!” Her nails pinch my cool, bare skin. “Do you think this is your body? Do you think you owe me nothing?”
Slap.
The ceiling tumbles.
“I saved you! I saved your life, and this is how you treat me? By…maiming yourself? What a stupid boy!” Her fingernails push between my lips, and I can taste the bitter chalk of the blue pill that’s shoved into my mouth. “Swallow it!” She slaps the side of my head, and I choke on the pill. “Open your eyes and look at me!”
I can’t.
Her hand on my hip.
Jesus. I’m already getting hard.
I hear her laugh. Her hand around my dick, and… “Oh. Oh God.”
“Good!” She strokes me up and down, and I start panting. “God. Oh God.” I wonder dully what I’ll do if she loses her temper. My heart skitters like a rock over water. Head rush. Fuck—her hand works my dick, jerking up and down.
“There we go. You’re still my horny boy. Don’t pretend that you don’t want this!” Her hand swivels as she repositions herself, and I hear her pull her pants down. Then I feel her moving over me, lowering her warmth onto my face. Wetness on my mouth. She lays down atop me, her breasts pressing into the hollow of my belly.
“You better use your tongue! I want to come.”
My heart is beating so damn hard. I start to lap at her. Her mouth is a velvet glove around my cock. She sucks and strokes. I groan and groan. Despite my lack of strength, I push my feet against the mattress, push myself into her mouth. I’m close. So close. My heart races. I’m waiting. Wait for it…
And then she pops my head out of her mouth and squeezes it in her hand. She sucks my balls into her mouth and—
“FUCK!”
Her teeth.
She sucks harder on my balls, using her damn teeth. Sending spikes of pain through my belly.
I start getting softer. And then, like always, hard again. So much harder as she sucks my balls and makes me ache down to my toes. I come in her mouth, and she sucks it down, then chuckles. Then she moves off me and slaps my cheek.