Living With Evil by Cynthia Owen Page A

so. His jagged fingernails dug into the tops of my arms and I gasped in pain.
     
    It was very black in the room, and I stared into the darkness in silence, waiting to see what would happen next.
     
    I felt sick as Daddy started rubbing me with his body again, like he had done before.
     
    He seemed to be brimming with rage. He was moving his bare body very quickly up and down in front of me. Instead of slamming my eyes shut like I normally did, I stared out desperately into the blackness, looking for clues.
     
    His face was right in front of mine, but he seemed to look straight through me. I couldn’t work out what part of his body was in front of me now.
     
    Daddy’s breathing was somewhere above my head, and some strange part of him was touching my cheek. It smelled horrible, and I snapped my face away in horror. I didn’t want him that close to me, but he was pushing right into my face.
     
    I wanted to shout out and beg him to stop, but I was petrified of making a noise and angering him more. I was afraid of opening my mouth, but it was no use. Daddy was forcing it open, and somehow he was pushing part of himself inside.
     
    I turned my head desperately, trying to avoid him, but Daddy was very strong and I couldn’t get away. I felt something spill on the sides of my mouth. It freaked me out completely. My stomach somersaulted and I retched.
     
    This felt all wrong, but Daddy seemed to be very calm now. He had already pushed himself away and was breathing deeply, like he was in a nice sleep. I was shaking with fright, but I also felt very relieved that Daddy had settled down and left me alone.
     
    Was he supposed to do that to me? I really wasn’t sure, and I lay there for a very long time thinking about it, wishing I didn’t have that horrible taste in my mouth.
     
    And so it continued. Again and again I was forced to sleep next to Daddy. As night after night ended in the same routine, I wondered why he was doing it, and whether Mammy knew anything about it.
     
    Now I knew all too well that a sleep in the big bed meant more bad things, so whenever Mammy said: ‘Cynthia - you’re to sleep in the double bed tonight,’ my stomach knotted up tightly. I knew I was in for a night of terror, a night of Daddy doing things I didn’t like and didn’t understand.
     
    I would lie there afraid, trying to pretend to be asleep. My mind started to race. I really hoped Daddy wouldn’t touch my mouth again. It made me feel so sick and scared, and I felt dirty and horrible afterwards.
     
    I hoped he wouldn’t do anything to me. It was all terrifying. My mind would flick around, remembering everything he had done, all at once, and all my memories would tumble into one big pot of wet sludge that milled about inside my skull.
     
    Mammy had started giving me some of her cider. I wondered why, because she loved her cider so much. ‘Here you go, Cynthia, take a big long drink of this before you get in the double bed tonight.’ I didn’t like the strong appley taste, but I didn’t want to upset Mammy and waste any. ‘Drink it all up!’ she ordered, so I did.
     
    It felt as though the liquid was slopping about inside my skull, and my brain was swimming, lots of scary memories colliding inside.
     
    He had started to do so many new things that hurt and frightened me. Every night, I went to bed and prayed for sleep to come and rescue me from the horror that was in store. But it never did.
     
    Instead, I listened out for his footsteps on the stairs, the sound that signalled the beginning of another night of fear and confusion. It was the darkness that really did it. In the pitch black of the room, the things he did to me burned into my brain.
     
    I am not sure exactly how long it was after he’d done that thing to my mouth, but Daddy had started to make me touch his body. I remembered him pushing my hand down in between his legs. It felt so disgusting I started to cry.
     
    He tried to wrap my fingers around him, but