you, I'd be nothing but broken pieces. Completely useless."

Never useless, Kaeleigh. And you're stronger than you know.

455.

I Try to Keep That in Mind As I arrive home. With Mom gone, the house wears its usual aura of hushed nonwelcome. I focus on Ian as I tread quietly to my room.

Daddy is home, his bedroom door open a crack, and through it leaks his voice, thick already with his usual escapes.

C-c'mon, Hannah. Y-you don't mean it. She's gone and might not ever come back to me.

I n-need to see you. N-need you.

Wow. Things went deeper than I thought. I almost feel sorry for Daddy. Almost.

Not like he deserves anyone.

P-please. Hannah. D-don't leave me, just like everyone else. Please!

Several silent seconds pass before a solid **

clunk tells me the phone has fallen against the floor. And, sequestered in his dark, lonely cell, Daddy is sobbing.

456.

I Close My Door Turn on my music, slip headphones over my ears. I don't want to hear him cry.

He's a sad, sick man, who deserves every tear, at least that's what I want to think.

I'm shredded, wrecked.

Completely confused because as much as I hate him most **

of the time, every now and then, a sliver of love for Daddy embeds itself in my heart.

Hard to tell who's more messed up. Daddy? Or me? And, much as it's the end result **

that affects me every day, I really have to wonder who or what made Daddy become this way.

Babies aren't born cruel or filled with sick desire. Evil is not intrinsic. It's fashioned.

457.

Soundless as a Shadow I stay in my room all evening.

Drawing any sort of attention to myself would be an enormous mistake. Shh! Turn off the music.

Every now and again, Daddy leaves his own room, on a Turkey hunt. Staccato footsteps accompany his muttered threats and pleas.

You can't leave me. I won't let you. I'm not a little boy anymore. I'll go after you.

Please. Don't leave me!

I keep the bedside lamp very low. It sheds a pale, wheat-colored light, barely enough to read by. Not **

that I can concentrate on the words. Mostly what I'm doing is praying Daddy slips into substance-fed slumber.

458.

Back and Forth He goes, bedroom to bar. Why doesn't he just take the bottle **

with him? It comes to me with sudden clarity that his pacing **

carries him by my room twice every round-trip. I extinguish **

my light, hunker down in my bed, as if hiding there might **

somehow influence him to keep on going. Going. Please go on by.

This trip is to the Turkey, and it seems to take a very long time.

Maybe he fell asleep in the living room. I start to relax, just a little.

And then I hear him, unsteady in the hall. One, two. Three, four...

He pauses outside my door.

This time, the knob turns.

And I know why he's here. I'm the only one who doesn't dare run.

459.

I Want to Shout Leave me alone!

What's wrong with you?

Don't you remember who I am? Who you are?

This is not a father's love!

I want to scream, Can't you see what you are doing to me?

What you've done to me?

What you've made of me?

I want to cry out, I am your little girl.

I am not your girlfriend.

I am not your whore.

I am not my fucking mother!

But he is on top of me and my shout is silenced.

He is inside of me and my scream stays there too. He is finished.

And I don't cry out, but I do cry a bucket of silent tears. He slithers away and at last, I quietly sob no no.

460.

He Says Not a Word Except a whispered I love you.

And as he exits, an almost-silent something half-sounding like I'm sorry.

Is he? How can he do this despicable thing to me, expect me to believe he's the slightest bit sorry?

Once, after an extended "visit," he pushed himself up above me, dared to slur, Forgive me. Not my fault.

Whose fault, then? Mine? All I ever did was try and make him feel forgiven. Healed. Accepted. Loved.

Mom's fault? Maybe. But why, then, does he still want her? Still want to love her, with or without sex?

Hannah's fault? Someone else's? What unidentified ghost, wearing Daddy's face, might come to me?

Most of me doesn't care, just wants him to leave me the hell alone. A tiny part of me demands to know.

461.

Are exhausted. Too little sleep.

Much too much unsolicited attention.

It is unsolicited, isn't it? I don't ask for it (maybe subconsciously), do I?

Stop it! Can't think like that, even for a instant, or go completely insane.

My body aches. My brain aches more.

But I have to get up and go to work.

At least I won't have to share a table, share a couch, a room, a house, pretending last night didn't happen.

I've done a lot of pretending.

I pry myself from between the covers, limp off to the shower, hoping fifteen minutes of hot steam and fragranced vapors can wash away the scum. Scrub away the disgust.