I’m already feeling a little light-headed. It shouldn’t be long now. Just need to close my eyes and try to sleep.

I can feel him laying beside me. He always takes up so much of my bed. He’s much too heavy for me to move. But at least it’ll be the last time I have to deal with it. I won’t have to feel him on me or in me or smell him or hear him or see him ever again. I won’t ever have to get him out of my bed before Mom wakes up. I’m still not sure how she hasn’t figured it out. I guess it’s true that we only see what we want to see.

I know I sure tried to fool myself for the past few months but that’s impossible now. My breasts are sore and growing much faster than they should be and my belly is growing, too. I’m twelve years old! How can I be pregnant? How could he have been so stupid? He promised he’d always protect me and always love me and that this was his way of teaching me, of showing me his love. I feel so stupid but even I know that a little kid of five can’t understand what sex is or how a freaking pervert can also be your dad.

There’s no way I could have his baby. I can’t even imagine how that would go over. Everyone would find out about me and Dad. Mom already complains that she feels like an outcast, the black sheep of the family. Having a knocked up 12 year-old daughter and a sick pervert for a husband would make things so much worse. No, she’d never let that happen.

I think he’ll sleep for a few more hours. I’m glad he came to my room later than usual. It should leave enough time for me to be gone and for Mom to find us – and the note pinned to my nightgown – before he wakes up. Let him explain it. I only wish I could see that. I’d love to see how he tries to convince her that nothing was going on between us. Oh, I hope she gets the note before he does.

I sort of wonder what my baby would be like – what I would be like – but I just can’t do it. I’m sure he would deny everything if I told Mom what’s been happening under her nose for the past several years and deny that it’s his baby. He’d try to make me out to be some sort of slut. I couldn’t live on my own and there’s nowhere else for me to go.

It’s getting so hard to breathe. I’ve got to calm down. Relax… It’s nearly over. I won’t fail this time. I won’t rip the bag off of my head or tear the plastic covering my mouth. I was weak before. I wasn’t pregnant before. I can’t… fail this time. I… can’t… fail…

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4 Replies to “”

  1. Thank you for your comments. It feels good to know that this little story struck some nerves. It’s hard to know that children suffer alone with things like this. It’s terrible that anyone should have to deal with it, but particularly horrible for children.

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