I didn’t know, not in the beginning, what was happening. Things were rough on us all when mom suddenly dropped out of our life. It left a gaping void and we both took it very differently. Dad started drinking. Not a lot, but every day, and a bit too much. He got angry and rough when he drank. As for myself, I retreated from the world. I escaped into my books, my fantasies. TV, movies, anything that wasn’t real, I dove into it. Of course, my grades suffered but no one really complained. Not at first.

Then, a couple months later, I remember the first time my dad slapped me. He got home and I was already there, half-baked, watching Netflix. He screamed about my grades and I told him I didn’t fucking care about them. Then wham, my head snapped as I fell back on my ass. Looking up at him, I think that was the first time he thought about me. Like that. Seriously, at least. Maybe all dads think about fucking their daughters. I was just in a big tee and panties as he leered at me. He stormed out with my bong, threw it away, and told me to fucking study. Shaking, I did just that.

Not long after that, he apologized out of the blue, one morning. I remember it because I had cramps, aching, and sleepy from the night before. I struggled to focus at all that entire day and felt sluggish. I always had bad periods and that one had just started, but it felt worse. I’d even bled some in my sleep. I crashed the next night and the following day, I felt better. No longer foggy.

But that fogginess started persisting. Aches, pains, and struggling to wake up in the morning. Dad would yell at me to get my lazy ass up, but it was a challenge on those mornings. The entire day would be fuzzy. The following days? Almost always clear. I went to the doctor and he said I might have a bug, but said I was otherwise healthy. I felt good most of the time, except for the murky days. I worked at it though, and at school, bringing up my grades. Things were mostly going well and we were moving on from mom. Dad drank too much, but it could have been worse.

And then, of course, it was.

As bad as my periods were, they were regular. When I missed, I didn’t freak out too much, but after two weeks, I knew there was an issue. I stole a pregnancy test from the grocery store and when I used it, it confirmed my worst fears. I was pregnant. And I’d never even gone all the way with a guy. I’d had a few boyfriends. We’d made out yes. I’d given them handjobs at the movies or sucked their cocks, but none had been in me. Not once. And yet, I was pregnant. I was distraught and careless as I left the bathroom, going to bed and crying myself to sleep.

I woke later, my dad shaking and screaming at me. Who have I been fucking, he demanded to know. Who have I been whoring about with? I’d left the wrapper in the trash, and he knew the truth. I told him I didn’t know, but he didn’t believe me. He was drunk, furious, calling me a slut, a whore, as he slapped me back and forth. I was just in my sweater and panties as he hit me and there came a moment, a pause. I looked up at him as he stared down at me. My panties were shifted, my pussy on display, and my sweater ruffled. At that moment, I started to understand. In that moment, he was on me.