Daddy's Little Girl

(Note: There is a song that accompanies this piece. I feel that it is too distracting to be played alongside the piece but is very effective if played before reading. The words in italics in my piece are lyrics from the song, and I feel that the song itself is very appropriate for my piece. You can find it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pNpcfTVogVI ) 

Do you realise that one moment you could be getting on perfectly well with your life and the next you could be in an asylum? Does it bother you? Do you care that the people who are supposed to love you the most can never be trusted? Can you be trusted? Are you happy? Do you ever feel like your happiness is fragile? Are you in control of your own emotions? Should you be? Have you ever lay in the foetal position and cried? Do you believe in God? Are you fully engaged with the act of sex or do you do it because you feel you have to? Do you have any sexual fantasies that you can never tell anyone? Do you have a good relationship with your parents? Is your father handsome? Do you get jealous easily? Do you smoke because it is glamorous? Do you bite your nails? Do you tap your leg? Can I be trusted? Would you believe me if I told you that women are more likely to be treated for a mental illness than men? Do you know that depression affects 1 in 5, that 10% of children are mentally ill, that the UK has more self-harmers than anywhere in Europe? Have you ever self-harmed? Did you know that 9% of people suffer from anxiety or depression? Are you aware that more than 5700 people committed suicide in 2010?

Do you care?

*

I dress up for the doctor. I'm not allowed hair slides in case I use them to kill myself but I'm allowed a bit of lipstick so a bit of lipstick it is. At first I worry about what we're going to talk about but then I realise that he's a doctor and that is isn't my job to worry about things like that.

“You've got lipstick on,”

“Yes Doc,”

“You're covering up your lips.”

“Yes Doc,”

“You're covering up something you want to say.”

It's anger deep inside of me.

I winked.

“Maybe,”

He scribbles something down. Long fingers, like cigarettes. Cigarettes like the ones Daddy smokes.

Memories of you.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I'm thinking about the reason why I'm in here.”

More scribbles.

“Do you know what that reason is Lily?”

“Of course. I'm in here because of what my Daddy did to me.”

*

When they tell you to be the best, don't be fooled. When they tell you to study hard, to eat right, to turn up to every damn swim practise even though all your friends are out doing fun stuff with each other, don't be fooled. Don't think that doing all of these things will make you gain anything. Everybody listens to their parents when they're young. We're programmed to answer to authority. What we don't have is an inbuilt mechanism for how to cope when that authority asks for more and more. Don't be fooled. That A grade, that trophy will never be enough. They will always want more. You will never be good enough. Keep trying, do everything you can to please them and it won't be enough. Maybe if I just do this one thing Daddy will love me. Maybe if I just pushed myself a little bit harder. But no.

They always want more.

*

You know being in here would send anyone crazy. Sounds so glamorous, celebrities always going off to detox or rehabilitate or whatever it is they do but it's not. I don't know who they think they are but they won't give me my cigarettes, they won't give me my phone, it's like they actually believe I'm one of them, one of the actual crazies.

I even have to share my cell (I'm calling it a cell because it is a cell) with a full-on, window-licking retard. She doesn't even talk, she just sits and rocks and it's making me want to

CLIMB

THE

WALLS

See, nobody seems to get that I am not like these people. How is it so difficult to understand? Maybe I'll start shitting all over the walls to give them what they want. Is that what you want Daddy?

*

They came to see me today. Daddy and Sandy. We sit opposite each other in silence. They're holding hands. Sandy's wearing peach coloured nail polish. Peach, like a fucking salmon. Daddy's thumb gently strokes her hand in that absent-minded way that people do when they're in love. I bristle. They ask me something, I don't know what. Some stupid question about how I've been, or what I've been up to. These empty words don't mean a thing.

How do you expect I've been Daddy?

They look at each other. Sandy does this thing with her mouth, a cross between a sympathetic smile and a grimace. Daddy shrugs. It's as if they're disappointed that I'm not having the time of my life in here, that I'm not raving about finger painting or any of the other retarded shit they make people do in here. I didn't ask to be in here Daddy. Perhaps you should have thought about that before.

*

This love that never lasts. Love that fools so easily.

*

Doctor Spock, I'm calling him that from now on, is tapping his pen, pushing that little button that makes the nib go in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out

I CAN'T HANDLE IT

I wanna grab it off him and snap the thing in half but of course that'd be a crazy thing to do wouldn't it? That'd land me another 6 months in here, easy.

*

Someone has scratched the door. I don't know who did it but they must have crept in without my knowledge because I've not left this place in, oh, a while. I haven't slept so whoever did it must have been very sly but they are sly in this place. Anything to make you think you're losing your mind.

Long white scratches, eight of them for eight fingers. My own fingers are long, brittle like thin cigarettes. Cigarettes like...

No.

Choking on your fear.

I have long hair as well. Long fingers and long hair. I was a beauty queen once. There's blood underneath my fingernails. I don't know how it got there. The blood or the scratches. That's worrying to me as I am quite aware of everything that goes on in this room. I have counted the nicks in the floorboards, 72, and the cobwebs, 7, but I just can't account for those scratches on the door.

I am trying not to worry too much. I will soon find out, I'm sure. I find everything out, don't I Daddy?

Memories of you.

*

Everybody stays away from me in here. It's as if they know how superior I am. They won't make eye contact with me, and so they shouldn't. I wouldn't talk to them anyway. Spazzes, the lot of them. Everybody except Billy. Billy's the janitor. He's young and chubby and has one of those friendly faces, the kind of face that you just know has never lied to anyone, has never hurt anybody. He never swears and he believes in God. It wasn't difficult getting him to notice me. I made him play chess with me. I like chess. Despite what you may think, I am actually a very clever girl. I've won prizes. So we played chess and I talked to him and made him laugh, and kept catching him looking up at me from underneath his eyelashes when he thought I couldn't see.

We fucked in the disabled toilet. I was on top, reverse cowgirl. I don't like looking at people when I have sex with them. He lasted about 5 seconds but that was a good thing. It's nice being adored.

*

ROGERSON HOSPITAL

NO. 22 201 NAME: JONES, LILY

2011

SEP 9

PROGRESS NOTE

LILY SUFFERED AN EPISODE OF DEPERSONALISATION YESTERDAY WHERE SHE EXPERIENCED AN EXTREME BOUT OF ANGER AT TWO MEMBERS OF STAFF THAT RESULTED IN HER BEING LOCKED IN HER ROOM DURING REC TIME. WHEN THE STAFF MADE THEIR 30 MINUTE CHECKS, THEY FOUND LONG SCRATCHES ON THE DOOR AND BLOOD UNDERNEATH LILY'S FINGERNAILS. SHE WAS UNRESPONSIVE AT FIRST BUT WHEN STAFF EVENTUALLY MANAGED TO GET HER TO TALK SHE DENIED ANY KNOWLEDGE OF THE SCRATCHES. THE ANGER SEEMED TO RESULT FROM ANOTHER PATIENT TELLING HER THAT HER FATHER DOESN'T LOVE HER. TODAY LILY SEEMS MUCH BETTER. SHE HAS BRUSHED HER HAIR AND PLAYED A GAME OF CHESS WITH MR SMITH THE JANITOR, DURING WHICH SHE LAUGHED AND JOKED WITH HIM.

*

I wake up in cold sweats, my eyes wide open, struggling to breathe. I see a shadow on the wall. A man. Wait. I sit up, rubbing my eyes, making the transition from sleep to wakefulness. What just happened? I rub my temples. Was that a nightmare? But it felt so real. A memory? I see his face, the sadness in his eyes as he waves before driving away. Regret. Why did you have to do this to me Daddy? Why could you not love me in the way you should have done, in the way I needed you to?

*

“You've styled your hair,” Spock said.

I didn't answer.

“You've styled your hair for me. You're trying to impress me. You want me to like you.”

I felt my eyebrow twitch. Cheeky, but on the ball.

I winked.

“Maybe,”

“Why do you want me to like you?” His head was tilted. “Is it because you need approval? The authority. It is because of what your father did to you?”

I didn't need to answer. He was already nodding.

“What is it, exactly, that you think my daddy did to me, Doc?”

“Now Lily,”

“No, I'm interested. See, I don't know what he's supposed to have done,”

Spock looked sad.

“There's no need to pretend, Lily. You're safe here.”

“But what did he do?”

I knew what he was implying. I wanted to hear him say it.

“Lily, sometimes parents don't show their children love in the way that they should do. Sometimes they...”

“I know. They fuck their children.”

Spock didn't say anything.

“You think my daddy fucked me.”

Nothing.

He was going to stay silent until I said it so I figured I may as well.

Revenge is running through my body.

“Okay. You're right. My daddy fucked me.”

And then the world went dark.

*

When I opened my eyes I was back on the chair with a wet flannel on my head. Doctor Spock was holding it. Holding me.

So fast racing against my heartbeat.

“Well, hello there,” I joked, trying to sound sultry. He was knelt on the floor in front of me, looking up at me in concern. Our faces were inches away. I looked at his lips. Felt my head moving in, closer. Before I had time to process what I was thinking he'd shot across his office quicker than it took Billy to orgasm.

“I think it's time you left. The nurses will take care of you,” he gestured towards the door and turned to his computer. It was over.

*

They're discharging me. In the weeks since I told Spock about Daddy they've stepped up their game, booking me in for extra therapy lessons and giving me a room of my own. Old Virginia would be proud. After all, it was her that said an artist should have a room of one's own. It's as if they enjoy my admission. It makes them feel important, as if they can now somehow justify what a little bitch I've been and use it as an excuse to wrap me up in cotton wool before going home and gossiping to their neighbours about what a tragic little life I've had, dunking their biscuits into their tea, savouring the absolute dreadfulness of it all. I'm the most excitement they've had in years. I almost feel duty bound to do what I'm going to do next.

After all, I've never been one to disappoint.

*

I'm in prison, sat across a table from him. It's my first and only visit and we have precisely twenty-seven minutes left. I've styled my hair and I'm wearing tiny denim shorts and expensive scent. I can feel the prison guards watching me, but then I didn't expect any less.

He's not actually a real prisoner yet but Mr Badel says it's only a matter of time. Mr Badel is my lawyer. He wears a grey suit and a ring on his little finger. He has five children and probably eats a lot of curry. He certainly smells as if he does. No matter. Daddy will be sent down. The fact that he's being held here until trial is almost proof enough, Mr Badel says.

I can't work out the look in Daddy's eyes as he sits across from me. It's resentment but it's also sadness, a little love and a lot of confusion. He doesn't understand. That makes me even more sure that what I'm doing is the right thing. My anger is almost turning into amusement at the irony of it all. Daddy sends me to this god forsaken place where they pretty much beg me to remember some incident that never happened until I crack and tell everybody my Daddy raped me, and then boom, it opens a huge fucking can of worms and before I know what's happening, he's being sent down for statutory rape.

I smirk at the thought and that's when he speaks.

“Lily, why? Do you know how serious this is? Why would you do something like this?”

I'll slice you open.

His pleading, bewildered look makes me want to puke. What does he want? Sympathy? Even if I felt something close to that, surely he understands that this is the only way, that there's no going back now.

So you feel the pain from you.

I glance to my left and see the youngest prison guard watching us. Watching me. I give him a wink, making him blush and turn around. See, men are under my control. All men. And if they somehow resist then they pay. I make sure of it.

Steal back my love from you.

He's still going on. I almost roll my eyes.

Steal back my love.

“You can still tell the truth Lily, there's still time! We can fix this. Come on honey, you know I haven't done anything, you know it.”

For the first time, I smile.

“Exactly.”