Fiddle ... fiddle ... fiddle. She pulled her hand away, again tracing her finger along the edge of her blouse, pulling it up and away.She opened her e...es again. “Let me know when we get near the corner,” she asked quietly, referring to the point far ahead around which we should sight the island we were heading for our lunch break.I nodded, not questioning why she was almost whispering. I knew that Dad would turn around and announce the island as soon as he saw it and might find it odd that Mom. And then my face is pressed up against the wall, the torn wallpaper scratching my face. And his hand is fumbling at the front of my shorts, tugging them open, pressing hard against my bruised stomach. I try to focus my eyes, shaking my head.I feel a spike of panic and he f0rces my shorts down, cold air hitting my legs. I jerk my elbow back, feeling it sink deep into something soft and fleshy and he grunts. I push back off the wall and try to run, wondering why the fuck I had to keep picking. More

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