The Preachers Daughter

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Same shit, different day. Of course I couldn’t have been hidden from the war my father started in a place in this world with more to offer.

Starting my morning, I brew some coffee. American coffee is the fucking worst. It’s better than nothing, but still shit in a cup. Make myself something to eat, cereal. Fucking children’s cereal. Venturing out onto the shoreline for my morning run I take off. This shit hole of a town in the middle of no where doesn’t have a gym. I have to walk everywhere so venturing to a bigger city is out of the question. Besides, the nearest town is some 40 miles away.

Running these days is my release. I never see anyone on the shoreline so it gives me time to clear my head. My mood has been nothing short of angry. I’m beyond sick of hiding. I am the heir of the Netti Family Organization for fucks sake. My nightly escape, Desiree, made it abundantly clear that she only wanted my money when she refused to give me her day time contact information.

Desiree, fucking Desiree, her sweet melodious voice. She brought me from the hell I was living in my mind and gave me something to look forward to. Thinking about her voice grows an itch in my jogging shorts that I’m afraid only a cold shower will remedy. Fuck I need to get laid. Too bad I haven’t seen any potential conquests in the forsaken town. Not even a young bank teller or grocery clerk. It’s as if this is a retirement town and not even a granddaughter to these old hags comes to visit them.

I’m losing my mind. One minute at a time. I have got to get out of this cottage for more than shopping for groceries or attending the bank to make sure that my fathers soldiers are doing the proper bank transfers to make sure I’m not broke. Tomorrow is Sunday. I will go to the service tomorrow and try my hand at slight human interaction. It’s going to be different for me though. I’ve grown up under our family Catholic Church. This church is non denominational. A Bible church. I wonder if this cottage has a Bible I can bring with me to sit in the back corner?

•Luna P.O.V.•

Weeks have passed and I am getting into my new regular routine. Being more active within the church and helping dad seems to really lighten his load. Mom and Dad are so adorable. They’ve been attached to each other’s hips as of lately. I even catch them sharing glances as well as a few hugs and kisses here and there. They never have shown affection in front of me before, I wonder what’s changed?

Once a week I take calls on my computer from horny lonely men. I haven’t taken a call from any of my premium callers. It just isn’t the same. I’m afraid I really screwed myself with how I responded to Johnny. I find myself missing his voice. His conversation. I often find myself needing to shake my head to rid the thoughts of him. Shaking my head to clear my imagination of what he looks like. Get a grip girl!

Being that tomorrow is Sunday, I have to run through my mental check list before laying my head down for a rest. Shower, lay out my Sunday dress, pick a pair of heels, set my hair in loose sponge curlers, check my nail polish, apply my nightly facial creams, and fall quickly to sleep.

“Daddy! Daddy!” I scream while cowering in the corner of our living room while wearing my Barbie pajamas and pink princess fuzzy slippers. Dad was shouting at a man in some language I had never heard before, while his face had blood spattered on him and the front of his collared buttoned shirt.

I noticed a gun in the waistband of his pants that he kept reaching for. Why does Daddy have a gun? Why is Daddy yelling? Why does Daddy have blood on him? Who is that man that Daddy is yelling at in that strange language?

I am full on crying, screaming for Daddy and the man he is arguing with sees me. A glint in his eye causes Daddy to take notice of me cowering in the corner behind the end table. Nothing but silence encases the room aside from my uncontrollable sobs.

The man quickly says something to Daddy in that unknown language while staring at my shaking body, steps backwards towards the front door and leaves. Daddy comes close to me and the look of anger and fury leaves his eyes when he says “up to bed my moon. You have school in the morning.”

I quickly nod and rush up the stairs to my room. Placing my slippers at the foot of my bed, I crawl into bed, wipe the falling tears on my fluffy pillow and close my eyes.
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