Her
She giggles, taking me by the hand and leading me back towards her room.
"Your parents," I murmur, casting quick glances down the hall.
One of her hands entangles itself in my long, dark hair. The other is trailing down the small of my back, occasionally pausing just below the waist of my skirt. "They won't be home for hours."
She nudges me down onto her bed, a twin sized she's had since she was in middle school. Her lips are at my ear, and I tilt my head back, my lips parting of their own accord. "God, I love you," she whispers, in a voice so soft yet fiery electricity runs down my spine.
Her hands are everywhere, touching me, making me feel as I never have before. I make a trail with my lips down, down down. The room blurs together. Her loose blonde hair, her sly grins, making the world disappear. Afterwards, we just lie there, hands intertwined, sprawled across her floral bedspread. There's no need for talk. The finality of our act fills the space far better than words could.
I don't notice the sound of the front door crashing open at first, I'm in such a daze. Then it all registers. Her father's come home. Before I can scramble about in search of my blouse and skirt, his voice calls down the hall.
"Ginny? Where the hell are you!?" His voice is loud and bellowing. I can tell he's been drinking again.
"One second dad!" she calls. "Don't come... in yet." She trails off as the door flies open. Her father stands, a hulking figure in the door frame, bottle in hand.
His eyes go wide, more with anger than surprise. "Ginny, get out of the house."
Her hand touches my shoulder. "No, daddy, you don't understand."
"I understand well enough," his words slur together, and the bottle shatters against the wall as he swings his fist at nothing in particular. "You commit this abomination in my house and have the nerve to tell me I don't understand? Get out. Get out before I throw you out."
She stands, her fist clenched and shaking at her side, and for a moment I think she'll defend me, but she bows her head. "Yes, daddy."
I watch her leave, knowing all hope of reasoning with this man is gone. I glance toward the window, waiting for an opening to make an escape. Her father walks up to me and places an arm around my shoulder. I jerk back at the sudden contact.
"We're going to take a little drive, you and me."
"That's very kind of you, sir, really, but I ought to be heading home. My mother's just coming home from work and..."
The arm tightens, so it's almost squeezed around my neck. "I wasn't asking a question."
I gasp for breath as he drags me out towards his old rusted pick up. Ginny is no where to be seen as we pass through the living room and outside. She knows how to make herself scarce.
I don't notice the drive, only that it took hours and that the scenery blurred. I'm tempted to leap out of the moving vehicle, but up until we reach the lake, I don't think he'll actually do it. He pulls out a handgun and points it at me.
"Get out of the truck." His voice is low and growling.
My eyes go wide. "Let's think this through here. We didn't mean anything by it."
"She didn't. I know my little girl didn't. Now get out of the damn car!"
I open the door slowly and step out onto the bank. I realize for once, there's no one at the lake. I've never been here in the dark. He's trembling now, from the rage or from the alcohol, I don't know.
"You did this. You made her like this!" his shouts echo through the empty forest.
"She's always been like this. You just didn't notice."
"Shut up! Shut up!" He waves his gun around wildly, but I have to say my piece. For her.
"Pull yourself together and leave her alone! Let her make her own choices!"
He walks toward me and presses the cold metal against my forehead. "I told you to shut your damn trap."
"Maybe she fell in love with me because no one else in her life would love her," I whisper, my voice shaking in fear.
The sound is what gets me, not the pain, not the bullet tearing through my brain, not the dirt shoveled over me six feet under, not the years of enclosure in a thin wooden coffin.