One Look, One Kiss (lesbian story)

Chapter Eight: Flashbacks

Bren's POV

Age: 12

Rose and dad were laughing so loud that I couldn't sleep. Evan and Tyler were sound asleep. I don't know how they can sleep through this racket. Then again, they're on six and five. They're heavy sleepers. I was just sitting on my bed staring at the ceiling. Their laughter echoed harshly in my ears. "David, please," Rose begged. Yuck! Why does she have to be so loud when she begs to have sex with my dad? It was absolutely disgusting. I wanted to puke from the thing. That's when I heard Rose say something that really stabbed me directly in the heart. "David, you're daughter is just a foolish girl. She must take after her mother. Have you seen how she dresses lately? She looks like a little slut! She's going to be a whore when she gets older, David." I thought she loved me.

Tears stung my eyes. I whimpered softly as I silently began to cry. Dad didn't even respond to her. All I heard after those distasteful and hurtful words was more laughter, moaning out their names, and the slight rustling of furniture. Thanks dad, I love you too. "Rose I love you," dad moaned out loudly. I've gotten used to the fact that he says 'I love you' a lot to Rose, but it still creates a storm inside of me because he loved mom and then just married this woman a year after she died. I saw a problem there. Unless, dad was cheating without mom taking notice. Then again, how would I know? I was only 6 at the time of her death. I had it. I walked over to my bureau and opened the bottom drawer where I put my clean socks and underwear. I rummaged through the clothing until I found it. I smiled when I took the blade from under the socks and into my hand. Dad was so oblivious on what his daughter was like. He didn't even realize that she was depressed.

I sat on my bedroom floor next to the window where the moonlight can allow me to see what I was doing. I threw my flannel pants on my bed and sighed. I looked down at my thigh. There was already like ten scars there carved deeply into my skin. I looked at my blade and it gleamed with a sheen look when the moonlight shone upon it. A smile returned on my face. I held the blade firmly between my thumb, index, and middle fingers. I pressed the tip of the silver sliver into my leg, drawing blood within seconds of the cut being made. I pressed it harder and harder so I could go deeper. Tears slowly fell down my cheeks. I did this about three times. I just watched the blood fall in beads down the sides of my thigh. Sweet bliss cloaked me. I slowly stood up and grabbed a tissue from my nightstand. I applied it to my cuts and let it soak up the blood. Then I wiped up the drops of blood on my wood floor to hide the evidence and then my blade before I put it back in my drawer. I let out a soft and relaxing sigh. I laid on my bed once again, still holding the tissue on my thigh. It was almost soaked with blood on the portion upon my cuts. Oops, I guess I went deeper than I thought. Why should I care? No one else does. I'm just a depressed little girl and not even noticed by her own father and stepmother. I'm just that child that gets pushed off to the side and watches my parents tend to my brothers more than me. Like I understand that since they're still young, but can't I have some attention as well? I don't like feeling invisible to you. I want to mean something like I once did to you dad instead of being called names by Rose and just being a "thing" and not considered as your daughter.

"Oh god David, please continue. Oh please. Don't hold bac-," Rose begged and then stopped when she had her orgasm. I knew that's what happened. Don't ask how I know that. Dad soon moaned right afterwards. Yep, they finished. Thank god. I wouldn't be able to fall asleep at all if they kept at it. I could feel my stomach getting queezy. I threw my flannel pants back on and ran into the bathroom. I quickly shut the door but quietly so I wouldn't wake up my brothers and alert Rose and dad. I flipped the toilet seat lid up and knelt in front of the toilet. Then I purged what little food I ate at dinner. God, the vile taste coated my tongue and it made me throw up more. Not only did the food come up, I had stomach acid come up right after. Disgusting! I really hate throwing up. Am I sick or something? Oh wait, yeah I am. Mentally. Even my guidance councilor agrees with me. She's even tried telling my dad, but he won't listen.

After minutes of losing everything in my stomach, I flushed the toilet and rinsed my mouth out with water and then my mouth wash to get rid of that sickening taste. I then looked at myself in the mirror. My inner voice was calling me names yet again. I could feel my eyes tearing up again. That's when I took my shirt and pants off. I stepped onto the scale, reluctantly, and watched the digital numbers appear. Typically I weigh 110 lbs, which I found odd that I weighed that. Now the scale read the numbers to me. 85 lbs. Now you can say it. I'm anorexic, depressed, and always anxious. Yep, I'm messed up for sure. Hm, I wonder why that is. Oh, that's right, because of Rose.

Rebecca's POV

Age: 13

Glass bottles shattered on the kitchen floor. Mom and dad were having a disagreement again, as dad calls it. "Linda, will you try to be quiet? Rebecca is trying sleep and what about the baby? Are you trying to mess this one up as well? Linda, you need to stop drinking when you're pregnant and even afterwards. For the sake of our kids. Linda, are you even listening to me," dad asked in a calm yet angry tone, keeping his voice low so he wouldn't wake me. Although, that was too late. Once mom started slurring her words loudly, I woke up. I knew what the outcome was going to turn out to be once that started. I let out a soft groan, low enough for my parents not to hear me. I don't want them knowing that I'm awake. I rolled over on my side and squished a pillow against my ear, trying to block out the sound so I could sleep. Sadly, it didn't work out as I'd hope. I still could her mom's loud and slurring words. Dad's now starting to raise his voice. Great, just what I needed at 1:30 in the morning. They always wonder why I'm tired. Hm, lets think here. You guys never shut up during the night so I can't get some sleep.

"Linda, for Christ's sake woman, will you just fucking listen to me for once?! You need to stop drinking! It's not good for anyone when you're god damn drunk! Think of someone else besides yourself for a fucking change," dad shouted. Here we go again. This was so not a "disagreement". This was another one of their pathetic arguments. Why at this time in the night? Why? So much for trying to sleep tonight.

Next Day

"How'd you sleep Rebecca?" The three of us were sitting at the kitchen table, having breakfast. I took another spoonful of Cheerios, not exactly making eye contact. Dad continued to look at me as he waited patiently for an answer. I sighed and then pushed my bowl of cereal away from me. I couldn't eat. I felt sick to my stomach. Nerves I guess. Like, I have a big history test today, so that could be it. History is one of my weakest subjects.

"Rebecca, answer your father," mom snapped at me. She was drunk, again. She's alway drinking a beer or some kind of liquor at all hours of the day. I seriously hope that my new baby brother or sister doesn't turn out as fucked up as I am. I looked at my parents with exhausted and glassy eyes. I probably looked like a raccoon by now. I haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in months because of my parents arguing at like 1:00 in the morning. Honestly, why are they even up and about at that hour?

"Um, okay I guess. I had a nightmare. So that threw me off," I answered warily. All I'm hoping for is that they don't ask me about what it was.

"Oh, really? Do you want to tell us, sweetie," dad asked as he gently placed his hand on mine. I shook my head. I lied about having a nightmare. I'm living in one. "Okay, honey." Then my parents went back to being silent with each other.

"Frank, take her to school will you," mom slurred out. I rolled my eyes. Why would I even want my mother driving me to school when she's drunk? She would most likely get us killed or in an accident.

"Yeah sure. I'd enjoy the company for a bit," dad said with enthusiasm and a friendly smile. Was that actually genuine or just a fake like all the rest of the times he's done that reaction in response to my mother? Then I immediately felt sick. I pushed my chair back and bolted for the bathroom. I slammed the door shut.

I quickly lifted the lid and then threw up what I ate with some stomach acid. I hate this. Why does this have to happen every day? Mom could care less. Dad's hardly home in the afternoon when I get sick. I cleaned out my mouth from the vile taste. Then I saw myself in the mirror. I'm a twig, a legit twig. I used to look a bit healthier than this a few months back. I can't help it. I have trouble keeping food down. I looked at the scale hidden in the corner. I sighed heavily. I stripped my shirt and jeans off with my socks, just letting myself stand in my underwear. I cringed at my reflection. I took a deep breath and then stepped onto the scale. I wanted to cry when I saw the number. 82 lbs.