Chapter 4: The Morning After

When Amy woke up it was to the sound of her alarm clock blaring away next to her. She glanced at it: 6:30am. The sad and tired teenager groggily hit the snooze button. When it went off again, she took the time to make sure the alarm was off, and fell back asleep. No way she was going to school today, she thought. It wasn't until noon that she finally woke up.

When she did she realized she was naked from the waist down. What had happened? Had her dad carried her to her bed, or had she stumbled there? Probably stumbled there, she thought: Daddy probably left me on the floor after raping me, went downstairs and passed out in the recliner. I probably passed out too, on his floor. Then I stumbled here and was too tired and drunk to remember to grab my pants.

Without looking down, Amy reached her hand to her pussy and felt it. She winced with pain. He had really gone to town on it, she thought. When she shifted on the edge of the bed she winced again: her butt was bruised, she realized.

The 13-year-old girl remained in a daze during her long, deep shower, even while she dressed; even while she went downstairs, where she realized her dad wasn't home. Good, she thought: he's gone, he went to work, it's spring and he'll be working until late. Good. Good. God!

The shell-shocked teenager grabbed a Mountain Dew from the fridge and then went back up to her room. She sat on her mattress again, gasping at the pain, and didn't know what the hell she should do.

Call the cops? Call Mary? Maybe Mary would let her come and stay with her and her new boyfriend. But no, that was ridiculous, because her step-mom hadn't just left her dad the day before, she'd left her, too. Calling the cops was the only easy thing she could think of, the best thing to do. But there had to be something else she could try. Calling the cops had to be a last resort.

Amy went to her computer and did a google search. At first her fingers remained poised over her keyboard. They were trembling. She took a swig from her soft drink before finally typing in one simple word: "incest". Please help me, the girl thought when she clicked the "search" button. Please!

There were a ton of hits. But rather than scan through them all, Amy clicked on the first link without even thinking. The website that instantly appeared on her monitor was for some group called "The American Sexual Abuse Network".

The 'net savvy girl scanned the page quickly, and nearly froze when she saw the first prominent link on the site. It was titled: "What should I do?"

What should I do? the girl wondered with tears welling up in her eyes. She took another swig from her soda and clicked the link. Tears trickled down her young cheeks as she ingested the caffeine ridden soda.

Please, Google, don't let me down, the dazed girl hoped.

Amy had no idea, she really had no clue, about what she was supposed to do now. The first time her dad had raped her, it had been so easy to chalk it up to his drunkenness. Her own drunkenness, even. He'd thought she was passed out, and if she'd been sober enough to let him know that she wasn't, he'd have left her alone. The days following that assault had been hard for her, but not impossible, because she'd sort of had the upper hand. She'd known what he'd done; he didn't know she knew. And eventually everything had become okay. She'd even blocked away the memory of what had happened. It had been easy.

But last night. Geeze, last night! He'd raped her, and screamed at her, and spanked her and pulled her hair and acted like this big, mean, violent man who wanted to hurt her and rape her and who just so happened to be her dad. It had been painful and humiliating. Humiliating! Trembling, the girl gulped at her Mountain Dew. He had hurt her and humiliated her. She, his own daughter!