One bottle of beer, pour a shot of scotch and grind a perc in my teeth.
There was a girl at the putney school, her father was a writer, "a big deal."
The writing teacher on campus, frustrated, drunken, would burst into her dorm room late at night and berate her for making him look bad in front of her father by not taking herself seriously. "you keep making the wrong choices and I pay the penalty."
If this is what you really want, she told herself, then make that you choice, be active. But if you are allowing this to happen because this will make dad love, you are just giving this guy permission to rape you. Could it be he needed her hell, that this was how he was fighting his monsters? She wanted to believe the pain and humiliation was love. The path to her redemption.
when the monster would come out and finally spend itself, I would put it back inside me the darkest corner of the deepest basement. There was nothing left to do but try to sink those memories. I would banish the victims feom my life, not for their sakes, but because of the shame I felt.
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