Self Made
by Prophecy Girl

Rough trade saint, demands in blood
Well, hey, am I worthy yet?
Hold my head.. This trade is rough!
Rough trade girl, mace in hand.
- Extra Fancy, "Self Made"

The mistake was in going home, that's what I'm sure of.

No. Scratch that. The mistake was in leaving Buffy without telling her the truth, without telling her what had been burning in my mind for four years and refused to reduce itself to cinder and ash still. That was the first mistake.

The second mistake was in going home, in thinking that I would be welcomed back with open arms and instead here I am with open legs, fighting the same battle and losing again but it's different this time because this time I let him. This time I can fight back and I don't. I don't.

It makes things easier to keep my mouth shut, to not cry out, to have a roof over my head at this small price. The price of a room still decorated with Kurt Cobain posters with the scent of sex hanging heavy in the air. My sex. My scent. My wetness all over the sheets because if you can't beat them join them and it's less like he's doing it to me and more like he's doing it with me.

But the six year old in my head is throwing a temper tantrum and crying and begging for mercy and I'm willingly thrusting my hips up towards his, the stench of alcohol no longer a bother but a staple, the norm, what's required for me to be engaging in this act. I pretend he is a stranger, he is a boyfriend, he is anything but a father doing this wrong wrong thing. Not really a father, but good enough for government work as my grandfather used to say.

Good enough.

What I want, what I'll never be, what he whispers when he goes down on me, his tongue flicking against me and making me pop faster than a toddler's balloon. He is my god for a split second and then he is my devil once again, thrusting into me faster and faster and now there's no pleasure at all for me.

This is the man I grew up with, the man that I called Daddy. The man that raped me until I learned to enjoy it, to come with him pumping into me. The man who got me pregnant at fourteen and laughed when I came home still bleeding and infected from the hanger that was shoved up into me and held there until I could feel that second life draining from me, and now I'll never have another chance.

I never told Buffy all of this; my home, my life, my empty and scarred womb.

I was a Daddy's girl from the start: never took a bottle from my crackwhore mother. I cried when he wouldn't hold me. I always wanted him to be touching me and be careful what you wish for little girl, you just might get it. I was five when he started rubbing me through my bathing suit and telling me what a pretty girl I was.

But why think about it now? I'm a big girl now, an independent woman who still needs her fucking "daddy" just so she has a roof over her head. Oh, Buffy would have let me tag along but at least now I'm earning my own living and not depending on anyone to help me. I'm paying the price--that's the way life is.

So now I'm on my knees with his dick in my mouth and I want to spit but the taste is so familiar it hurts and I remember all those nights when he'd come crawling through my bedroom door drunk and put his heavy weight on top of me. It's just like before. It's just like the good old days. You know what they say, don't you?

There's no place like home.. There's no place like home..

Click my heels three times and get me the fuck out of here. I wish I'd told B how I felt about her, that she was the only one I ever wanted to try it with. The only person I thought I could love. But she would have spat in my face. I'm always honest and honestly speaking, she'd never have gone for it, never have taken me on even if she'd taken me in. I was just Little Sis, Slayer Junior, the dopey serial killer who played XBox with Dawnie on rainy days and liked mini marshmellows in her Cheerios.

She'd never see me as a lover. She'd never see me the way Daddy does, like the fucking whore that I am. She'd never take a chance, never get a little sweaty after a good night's slay. I wanted to shout after her when we said goodbye, tell her no no I really don't have any place to go please take me in please take care of me even if you'll never love me.

Too much pride. And now where am I? On my knees for Daddy again only this time I'm his willing slut, not his victim. If I wasn't so hard headed, so headstrong, so set in doing things my way or no way, maybe I wouldn't be here in this ramshackle dump, blowing my mother's husband for a leaky roof and an occasional meal.

Take this job and shove it. I'd do almost anything to get out of here. Anything except asking for help. Anything except starting over, starting fresh, waking up to a new day somewhere far from here where things are new and strange.

No. No, I could never start over. Could never leave this. I'll always come back because this is old hat to me. No big deal, nothing new or strange here.

Better the devil you know.


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