Escape! She must escape this familiar terror, this awful knowledge of what comes next. She knew where her big brother`s hand went first. Silent cries for help arose from her lips as she gasped for breath. And his hand still came. It advanced slowly, steadily, up under the covers and across the sheet, touching her trembling ankles. His hand always, always crept up her legs to her thighs, across her hips, then over her heaving stomach, and finally rested between her breasts. His hand dug down between her ribs, then drew back holding, straining, pushing aloft his victory.
She could barely see. The room was dark--nightfall, no moon. She knew, felt, lived what was in his hand. That substance, that thing of blood and pain and tears, fragments of sought-after, horribly-needed affection--pieces of her heart, held high in triumph. Read more »