She would never forget the day they made her sit in that office downtown to watch video after video of her masturbating. The videos had been taken by her father, they told her, who had secretly recorded her for several months. Obviously they had hoped that this betrayal of her privacy would make her so angry that she’d agree to testify against him, to say he had raped her. They had him on murder, cold. But they wanted him on child molestation too. But she didn’t take their bait.
Her father’s attorneys also wanted her cooperation. They wanted her to say that the victim, Dennis Milsing, had raped her, and that her dad had found out and gone berserk. They wanted to use this story, to use her, as some basis for an insanity plea. She had no interest in that deal though, either.
The prosecutors had managed to put together only pieces of the larger truth. They could prove that her dad had videotaped her masturbating with a dildo. They couldn’t prove he’d ever touched her. They could prove he’d killed Dennis Milsing. They couldn’t provide a convincing motive.
Only two people alive really knew the whole story: Amy, and her dad. And he wasn’t helping either side anymore than she was. His repeated explanation for killing his former boss was that the guy “was an asshole”. The tapes of his daughter masturbating? Responsible parenting. And so the circle of logic went.
Even without her cooperation, the prosecutors eventually convicted her father of murder in the first degree. Without Amy’s testimony, her father’s defense attorney’s claim of temporary insanity (brought on by the knowledge that his daughter had been raped) couldn’t fly. Amy wasn’t there to watch the verdict handed down though. She was too busy begging for water at the time.
That first foster family she’d gone to had been as bad as she'd always feared, back when she'd considered going to the police about her father's abuse. It was almost as though the District Attorney’s Office had made sure she’d end up in a rank shithole to punish her for not cooperating with their case. The house was a small, single story ranch in the most ghetto parts of the city, and Amy was just one of four foster kids the state had entrusted Charles and Sarah Farris to care for. Charles, the red-necked slob, had taken an immediate liking to her. The other children he and his wife had taken in were a lot younger: a black six-year-old and his littler sister, and a mentally retarded girl only a couple of years older than them.
Amy had had to share a room with the retarded girl, and that was difficult. But the real hell began when Charles started groping her thighs underneath the table during supper. Amy, coming from where she did, didn’t protest this, but she certainly didn’t encourage it. And then things got worse when he eventually, inevitably, forced her to shower with him one day.
Summer had only just started and she’d been living with these hicks for six weeks or so when he did that. She hadn’t been fucked since winter was still around, that great and horrible day Elissa and she had entertained those boys at the Cleveland Mall. She still remembered that part of the day fondly.
Amy had cried without pleasure when the old, scrawny man had forced her against the back of the shower stall and began to bite her neck. When he turned her around in the steaming hot shower and began pressing his dick against her adolescent butt she'd struggled wildly, but to no avail. He was scrawny but he was strong and it didn't take him long to press his cock inside her pussy from behind. Once he got in her she'd sobbed pathetically, like a little girl, even as he groped her tits and hissed in her ear that she must “love it”; that she must “love” the feeling of his dick.
She honestly hadn't, at first. His raping instrument hurt physically but the emotional pain was even worse. Memories of her dad, of what'd he'd done, of how she'd ended up here... it'd been awful. Traumatizing. So Amy had sobbed hysterically: she'd sobbed loud and hard as her foster-father brutally raped her pussy.
But the worst thing about that vile rape was that since Amy hadn't so much as masturbated in months her perpetually horny young body had actually given in to the stimulation right at the end of Farris' fucking. In order to cover up the orgasm that inevitably exploded between her legs Amy was forced to cry and sob so loud that she was practically screaming by the time he finally filled her 14-year-old cunt with his goo under that hot stream of water.
It became clear to the 14-year-old during the next couple of weeks that Sarah Farris was well aware of her husband’s actions. Charles groped her boldly wherever she went, after all, whether in front of the youngsters or even his own wife. In less than a week he was forcing Amy to share the married couple’s bed with them, making the 14-year-old watch as he fucked Sarah, a 40ish woman who was incredibly overweight, and eventually telling his wife to watch as he fucked her.
This was her lot in life, Amy's broken mind began to tell itself. She was always going to be a victim, she would always be at the mercy of stronger, merciless people. Just because some corrupt, inept justice system thought it had saved her didn't mean it actually had. Nothing would ever change the fact that she would always be raped, and hurt, and taken advantage of.
But then came the day when letting Charles fuck her no longer sufficed. He wanted her to do the fucking, now… while Sarah recorded it all for posterity. Her foster-parent explained it to her as though she was a little child, using simple, short words to argue his case.
“When we record it, it feels better,” he said. “For both of us. Ya'll most of all. And then we kin look back later and 'member how good we felt... wouldn’t ya like that?”
Amy was disgusted. She absolutely refused, though she knew she really had no choice. Her defiance incensed both him and his wife. And that’s how the 14-year-old ended up locked away in the cellar for almost five days, without food or water. She might have died had the retarded girl, who Amy had so thoughtlessly written off weeks before, hadn’t poured cups of water under the doorway for her to lap up greedily like a dog.
When her social worker made a surprise visit, Sarah, Charles’ wife, came down to the basement to wake up Amy. After getting slapped a few times Amy came-to and heard the fat woman make her threats: pain, torture, etc. She would suffer, the girl was told, unless she played along.
“Keep yer mouth shut 'n only tell'em you're happy, geddit?” Mrs. Farris demanded.
Amy had pretended to be scared. She wasn’t, though. She was starving and dehydrated, but she wasn’t scared of any threats. Not anymore. So after being hurriedly dressed in clean clothes and presented to the pudgy black woman assigned to her case, Amy didn’t say what Sarah and Charles had wanted her to. Nor did she speak the truth. All she did was run out of the house as fast as her weak body could take her, not trusting this ‘social worker’, not trusting anybody.
“She’s a trouble maker, see!” Amy heard Charles yell as she ran. Amy would never forget those words.
The girl tried her best to hide. She made it out of the crappy subdivision and into a lightly wooded area where she followed a creek for nearly fifteen minutes. The sounds of her pursuers disappeared and eventually she got to a busy road. After hiding out in the weeds for a while (mostly to catch her breath and make sure no one had followed her), the malnourished girl crept to the road and began walking east. She had no idea where she was going, only that she wanted to get as far away as possible from that awful foster home, that awful state-run foster-care system.
Despite her efforts Amy was found within three hours of her desperate escape. Thankfully, it was a Cleveland Police Department Officer who found her. The girl had decided to try and hitch a ride out of town and so she'd appeared at the side of the road, looking haggard and feeling miserable, when the unmarked car had pulled up.
She'd almost run. But the grizzled old cop had called her by name and asked her to join him inside. He'd seemed kind and the traumatized girl was too desperate to distrust anyone anymore.
She told the cop everything. Everything about Charles and Sarah, everything about what they’d made her do, everything about the entire situation.
Amy would never, ever forget what the cop did after she poured out these details through tear-soaked eyes.
He did such a little thing. He didn't become self-righteous. He didn't make empty promises. Instead he'd done such a simple little thing by asking, “What’s your favorite fast food, sweety?”
She hadn’t been able to answer. Amy hadn’t had the luxury of fast-food since before her dad had been arrested. More than that, the poor young girl hadn’t eaten in days. She tried to say something, but could only sob.
“You like Taco Bell?” the kindly old officer had asked.
She’d managed to nod as she sniffled and trembled.
His reassuring smile had confused her. Such kindness. How weird. “Me, too,” he said. “Everyone loves a taco.”
And then he got her Taco Bell on the way down to the hospital. She ordered a cheese burrito and three soft shell tacos, an order of nachos, a chicken quesedia, extra fire sauce—and a Mountain Dew to top it all off. And even though the policeman must have known there was no way the small, malnourished girl could possibly eat so much, he ordered it for her just the same, making sure to mention he was a cop through the sqwak-box in order to guarantee good service. All he ordered for himself was a Pepsi.
Amy only just managed to greedily gulp down the burrito and nachos before she was way too full to eat another bite. When they finally got to the hospital the kind and anonymous officer had to literally carry her inside, and she let him, feeling stuffed and sad but allowing herself to feel a little hopeful, for the first time since God knew when, too.
*****
“I have a couple who would love to take you in,” the thin, caramel-skinned woman said.
Amy barely registered the sound of her new social worker’s voice. She sounded so pleased, so full of herself. The tone of her voice was one of self-congratulations. She had done so well, apparently. She had accomplished the impossible.
Hey, I found you, a sick fucking slut, a pair of humans who would actually be willing to take you in! the 20-something-year-old was saying in her large, eager young eyes. Aren’t you glad? Aren’t you happy that I could accomplish this miracle? Aren’t I the absolute best social worker ever!?
“Whatever,” Amy finally responded, sullenly. “I'm just tired of group home.”
The social worker kept her smile glowing from ear to ear despite Amy's less than enthusiastic response. She was a young one, a rookie. She was probably in her internship, not even getting paid. She probably thought she could save the world, starting with Amy. The girl had known people like this before, people who supposedly wanted to make her life better.
People like these had placed her with the Farris’.
“They live near Cleveland,” the young woman explained after an awkward silence. “Actually, right near the city. You want to live near Cleveland, right?”
Amy looked up into her eyes, finally. “Cleveland?” she asked, thinking of Lessy.
“Cleveland,” the woman smiled. “They’re just outside the city. You’d be going to one of the best schools in the metro area! And Amy, I swear, these are good people. I told them about you myself and they so want to help you out, you know?”
Amy bit her lower lip. Cleveland. To go back home, or get back close to home at least. To get back close to her best friend. That would be awesome!
Then memories of the Farris' flooded Amy's mind. They had actually lived within the city. But that scrawny man and fat-ass woman hadn't ever even entertained the notion of letting Amy visiting her friend. They were too busy abusing her.
“I dunno,” the depressed girl said as she subconsciously played with her long red hair.
The young social worker pressed on. “Amy, if you want to get out of group home you have to start trusting me,” she said. “It's understandable that you'd be nervous after what happened with your last foster-family. But I assure you, that was a fluke.”
Amy rolled her eyes.
“I'm serious,” the young woman said. “And this couple, I assure you, they're exceptional. They're loving, and caring, and they know your story and they just want to help!”
It sounded pretty good. Still, Amy was cautious. The orphanage-- or “group home” as they were called nowadays-- she'd been living in since leaving the Farris wasn't great. In fact, it sucked ass! But at least she didn't have to worry about her ass. Or her pussy. She was a prisoner, sure, but at least she was protected. Going off to live with some strangers again terrified the girl.
“I dunno,” Amy sighed, finally.
“You can meet them, first,” the social worker suggested. “At their home. One is a lawyer and the other is a doctor, Amy, and I'm sure you'd be impressed with the house they have. It's practically a mansion!”
This perked Amy's curiosity. A foster family that didn't live in the ghetto? Could such a thing exist?
“Well...,” the girl finally said. “I guess. Meet them, I mean.”
“Excellent!” the social worker beamed.
Amy was about to get up when the young woman motioned that she stay. “Before I make the arrangements, there's something you should know, Amy.”
Here it comes, the girl thought.
“It's really not a big deal,” the woman said. “But you should know. This couple... well, they’re a female couple.”
Amy looked up quickly at this.
“Yeah,” the social worker explained, sighing. “Not legally married, of course, since that’s impossible. But they are so, so good. They already have two adopted children, brothers, whom they’ve had almost nine years! They’re good people and, frankly… you won’t find any better. They're amazing.”
“Women only?” Amy asked breathlessly.
“…and the boys.”
“But… the only adults are women?”
“Yes,” the social worker said, obviously not understanding. “Again, though, I hope you give them a chance because they are a wonderful...”
Amy didn't hear the rest of her social worker's words. The poor teenager was practically crying.
No men, she thought. No men at all! She could be living near home with women only. That could be her new reality very soon. All of a sudden Amy felt all her doubts and fears and hesitations melt away from her body. For the first time in forever Amy Torch felt truly hopeful.
“When can I meet them?” she asked almost laughing and practically sobbing. “Can I meet them... today?”
Chapter Twenty: Epilogue
(M/f)
Amy refused to cooperate with the prosecutors.
She would never forget the day they made her sit in that office downtown to watch video after video of her masturbating. The videos had been taken by her father, they told her, who had secretly recorded her for several months. Obviously they had hoped that this betrayal of her privacy would make her so angry that she’d agree to testify against him, to say he had raped her. They had him on murder, cold. But they wanted him on child molestation too. But she didn’t take their bait.
Her father’s attorneys also wanted her cooperation. They wanted her to say that the victim, Dennis Milsing, had raped her, and that her dad had found out and gone berserk. They wanted to use this story, to use her, as some basis for an insanity plea. She had no interest in that deal though, either.
The prosecutors had managed to put together only pieces of the larger truth. They could prove that her dad had videotaped her masturbating with a dildo. They couldn’t prove he’d ever touched her. They could prove he’d killed Dennis Milsing. They couldn’t provide a convincing motive.
Only two people alive really knew the whole story: Amy, and her dad. And he wasn’t helping either side anymore than she was. His repeated explanation for killing his former boss was that the guy “was an asshole”. The tapes of his daughter masturbating? Responsible parenting. And so the circle of logic went.
Even without her cooperation, the prosecutors eventually convicted her father of murder in the first degree. Without Amy’s testimony, her father’s defense attorney’s claim of temporary insanity (brought on by the knowledge that his daughter had been raped) couldn’t fly. Amy wasn’t there to watch the verdict handed down though. She was too busy begging for water at the time.
That first foster family she’d gone to had been as bad as she'd always feared, back when she'd considered going to the police about her father's abuse. It was almost as though the District Attorney’s Office had made sure she’d end up in a rank shithole to punish her for not cooperating with their case. The house was a small, single story ranch in the most ghetto parts of the city, and Amy was just one of four foster kids the state had entrusted Charles and Sarah Farris to care for. Charles, the red-necked slob, had taken an immediate liking to her. The other children he and his wife had taken in were a lot younger: a black six-year-old and his littler sister, and a mentally retarded girl only a couple of years older than them.
Amy had had to share a room with the retarded girl, and that was difficult. But the real hell began when Charles started groping her thighs underneath the table during supper. Amy, coming from where she did, didn’t protest this, but she certainly didn’t encourage it. And then things got worse when he eventually, inevitably, forced her to shower with him one day.
Summer had only just started and she’d been living with these hicks for six weeks or so when he did that. She hadn’t been fucked since winter was still around, that great and horrible day Elissa and she had entertained those boys at the Cleveland Mall. She still remembered that part of the day fondly.
Amy had cried without pleasure when the old, scrawny man had forced her against the back of the shower stall and began to bite her neck. When he turned her around in the steaming hot shower and began pressing his dick against her adolescent butt she'd struggled wildly, but to no avail. He was scrawny but he was strong and it didn't take him long to press his cock inside her pussy from behind. Once he got in her she'd sobbed pathetically, like a little girl, even as he groped her tits and hissed in her ear that she must “love it”; that she must “love” the feeling of his dick.
She honestly hadn't, at first. His raping instrument hurt physically but the emotional pain was even worse. Memories of her dad, of what'd he'd done, of how she'd ended up here... it'd been awful. Traumatizing. So Amy had sobbed hysterically: she'd sobbed loud and hard as her foster-father brutally raped her pussy.
But the worst thing about that vile rape was that since Amy hadn't so much as masturbated in months her perpetually horny young body had actually given in to the stimulation right at the end of Farris' fucking. In order to cover up the orgasm that inevitably exploded between her legs Amy was forced to cry and sob so loud that she was practically screaming by the time he finally filled her 14-year-old cunt with his goo under that hot stream of water.
It became clear to the 14-year-old during the next couple of weeks that Sarah Farris was well aware of her husband’s actions. Charles groped her boldly wherever she went, after all, whether in front of the youngsters or even his own wife. In less than a week he was forcing Amy to share the married couple’s bed with them, making the 14-year-old watch as he fucked Sarah, a 40ish woman who was incredibly overweight, and eventually telling his wife to watch as he fucked her.
This was her lot in life, Amy's broken mind began to tell itself. She was always going to be a victim, she would always be at the mercy of stronger, merciless people. Just because some corrupt, inept justice system thought it had saved her didn't mean it actually had. Nothing would ever change the fact that she would always be raped, and hurt, and taken advantage of.
But then came the day when letting Charles fuck her no longer sufficed. He wanted her to do the fucking, now… while Sarah recorded it all for posterity. Her foster-parent explained it to her as though she was a little child, using simple, short words to argue his case.
“When we record it, it feels better,” he said. “For both of us. Ya'll most of all. And then we kin look back later and 'member how good we felt... wouldn’t ya like that?”
Amy was disgusted. She absolutely refused, though she knew she really had no choice. Her defiance incensed both him and his wife. And that’s how the 14-year-old ended up locked away in the cellar for almost five days, without food or water. She might have died had the retarded girl, who Amy had so thoughtlessly written off weeks before, hadn’t poured cups of water under the doorway for her to lap up greedily like a dog.
When her social worker made a surprise visit, Sarah, Charles’ wife, came down to the basement to wake up Amy. After getting slapped a few times Amy came-to and heard the fat woman make her threats: pain, torture, etc. She would suffer, the girl was told, unless she played along.
“Keep yer mouth shut 'n only tell'em you're happy, geddit?” Mrs. Farris demanded.
Amy had pretended to be scared. She wasn’t, though. She was starving and dehydrated, but she wasn’t scared of any threats. Not anymore. So after being hurriedly dressed in clean clothes and presented to the pudgy black woman assigned to her case, Amy didn’t say what Sarah and Charles had wanted her to. Nor did she speak the truth. All she did was run out of the house as fast as her weak body could take her, not trusting this ‘social worker’, not trusting anybody.
“She’s a trouble maker, see!” Amy heard Charles yell as she ran. Amy would never forget those words.
The girl tried her best to hide. She made it out of the crappy subdivision and into a lightly wooded area where she followed a creek for nearly fifteen minutes. The sounds of her pursuers disappeared and eventually she got to a busy road. After hiding out in the weeds for a while (mostly to catch her breath and make sure no one had followed her), the malnourished girl crept to the road and began walking east. She had no idea where she was going, only that she wanted to get as far away as possible from that awful foster home, that awful state-run foster-care system.
Despite her efforts Amy was found within three hours of her desperate escape. Thankfully, it was a Cleveland Police Department Officer who found her. The girl had decided to try and hitch a ride out of town and so she'd appeared at the side of the road, looking haggard and feeling miserable, when the unmarked car had pulled up.
She'd almost run. But the grizzled old cop had called her by name and asked her to join him inside. He'd seemed kind and the traumatized girl was too desperate to distrust anyone anymore.
She told the cop everything. Everything about Charles and Sarah, everything about what they’d made her do, everything about the entire situation.
Amy would never, ever forget what the cop did after she poured out these details through tear-soaked eyes.
He did such a little thing. He didn't become self-righteous. He didn't make empty promises. Instead he'd done such a simple little thing by asking, “What’s your favorite fast food, sweety?”
She hadn’t been able to answer. Amy hadn’t had the luxury of fast-food since before her dad had been arrested. More than that, the poor young girl hadn’t eaten in days. She tried to say something, but could only sob.
“You like Taco Bell?” the kindly old officer had asked.
She’d managed to nod as she sniffled and trembled.
His reassuring smile had confused her. Such kindness. How weird. “Me, too,” he said. “Everyone loves a taco.”
And then he got her Taco Bell on the way down to the hospital. She ordered a cheese burrito and three soft shell tacos, an order of nachos, a chicken quesedia, extra fire sauce—and a Mountain Dew to top it all off. And even though the policeman must have known there was no way the small, malnourished girl could possibly eat so much, he ordered it for her just the same, making sure to mention he was a cop through the sqwak-box in order to guarantee good service. All he ordered for himself was a Pepsi.
Amy only just managed to greedily gulp down the burrito and nachos before she was way too full to eat another bite. When they finally got to the hospital the kind and anonymous officer had to literally carry her inside, and she let him, feeling stuffed and sad but allowing herself to feel a little hopeful, for the first time since God knew when, too.
*****
“I have a couple who would love to take you in,” the thin, caramel-skinned woman said.
Amy barely registered the sound of her new social worker’s voice. She sounded so pleased, so full of herself. The tone of her voice was one of self-congratulations. She had done so well, apparently. She had accomplished the impossible.
Hey, I found you, a sick fucking slut, a pair of humans who would actually be willing to take you in! the 20-something-year-old was saying in her large, eager young eyes. Aren’t you glad? Aren’t you happy that I could accomplish this miracle? Aren’t I the absolute best social worker ever!?
“Whatever,” Amy finally responded, sullenly. “I'm just tired of group home.”
The social worker kept her smile glowing from ear to ear despite Amy's less than enthusiastic response. She was a young one, a rookie. She was probably in her internship, not even getting paid. She probably thought she could save the world, starting with Amy. The girl had known people like this before, people who supposedly wanted to make her life better.
People like these had placed her with the Farris’.
“They live near Cleveland,” the young woman explained after an awkward silence. “Actually, right near the city. You want to live near Cleveland, right?”
Amy looked up into her eyes, finally. “Cleveland?” she asked, thinking of Lessy.
“Cleveland,” the woman smiled. “They’re just outside the city. You’d be going to one of the best schools in the metro area! And Amy, I swear, these are good people. I told them about you myself and they so want to help you out, you know?”
Amy bit her lower lip. Cleveland. To go back home, or get back close to home at least. To get back close to her best friend. That would be awesome!
Then memories of the Farris' flooded Amy's mind. They had actually lived within the city. But that scrawny man and fat-ass woman hadn't ever even entertained the notion of letting Amy visiting her friend. They were too busy abusing her.
“I dunno,” the depressed girl said as she subconsciously played with her long red hair.
The young social worker pressed on. “Amy, if you want to get out of group home you have to start trusting me,” she said. “It's understandable that you'd be nervous after what happened with your last foster-family. But I assure you, that was a fluke.”
Amy rolled her eyes.
“I'm serious,” the young woman said. “And this couple, I assure you, they're exceptional. They're loving, and caring, and they know your story and they just want to help!”
It sounded pretty good. Still, Amy was cautious. The orphanage-- or “group home” as they were called nowadays-- she'd been living in since leaving the Farris wasn't great. In fact, it sucked ass! But at least she didn't have to worry about her ass. Or her pussy. She was a prisoner, sure, but at least she was protected. Going off to live with some strangers again terrified the girl.
“I dunno,” Amy sighed, finally.
“You can meet them, first,” the social worker suggested. “At their home. One is a lawyer and the other is a doctor, Amy, and I'm sure you'd be impressed with the house they have. It's practically a mansion!”
This perked Amy's curiosity. A foster family that didn't live in the ghetto? Could such a thing exist?
“Well...,” the girl finally said. “I guess. Meet them, I mean.”
“Excellent!” the social worker beamed.
Amy was about to get up when the young woman motioned that she stay. “Before I make the arrangements, there's something you should know, Amy.”
Here it comes, the girl thought.
“It's really not a big deal,” the woman said. “But you should know. This couple... well, they’re a female couple.”
Amy looked up quickly at this.
“Yeah,” the social worker explained, sighing. “Not legally married, of course, since that’s impossible. But they are so, so good. They already have two adopted children, brothers, whom they’ve had almost nine years! They’re good people and, frankly… you won’t find any better. They're amazing.”
“Women only?” Amy asked breathlessly.
“…and the boys.”
“But… the only adults are women?”
“Yes,” the social worker said, obviously not understanding. “Again, though, I hope you give them a chance because they are a wonderful...”
Amy didn't hear the rest of her social worker's words. The poor teenager was practically crying.
No men, she thought. No men at all! She could be living near home with women only. That could be her new reality very soon. All of a sudden Amy felt all her doubts and fears and hesitations melt away from her body. For the first time in forever Amy Torch felt truly hopeful.
“When can I meet them?” she asked almost laughing and practically sobbing. “Can I meet them... today?”
---The End---
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