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Old 11-Nov-18, 19:19
dirksneath dirksneath is offline
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Default A prisoner in his own home

I've finished my story A Prisoner In His Own Home and am currently proof reading it. It is 75 pages long and divided into eight chapters, and I expect to post the first chapter later today. It's different from my other stories, and from anything I've read on The Forum. It's a suspense thriller, which is nothing new for me, but this one has more of a story line than most, with an attempt on my part to develop the characters a little more, much like I tried to do in The Little Bully Destroys Her Victim's Father, only more so. It is a VERRRRRYYYYY slow burn, but I hope you will read at least enough of it to get an idea as to what the story is about rather than just skimming through until you get to the fight scenes. Of course, since I'm posting it in chapters, it may be a few days before you actually get to what many would consider “the good stuff.” Please be patient, there's fighting and dominance and all that. As for the fight scenes, they're much of what you've come to expect from me, for whatever that might mean to you. It's violent in places, but not as much as some of my stories. Well... I guess that's about it. As I said, I expect to post the first chapter later today, but it's mostly just introducing the characters with no fight scenes, and that's the way it will be for awhile, so please be patient with me and the story. Also, thanks for your positive response to the last Little Serial Killers story, the one I sent out to some of you.
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Old 11-Nov-18, 19:32
tigerk33 tigerk33 is offline
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Default Re: A prisoner in his own home

Looking forward to the upcoming chapters, I'm sure it'll be great!
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Old 11-Nov-18, 20:14
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Default Re: A prisoner in his own home

Thanks for the update, Dirk. Your writing is very good and I love the idea of a more character driven and suspenseful story. Sounds like it will be great.
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Old 11-Nov-18, 21:06
dirksneath dirksneath is offline
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Default Re: A prisoner in his own home

Here is the first chapter of my new story. As I mentioned before, it's kind of a slow burn, so please bear with it. Hope you enjoy it.

A PRISONER IN HIS OWN HOME


CHAPTER ONE



Buddy didn't really like Dr Phil very much, or really any of those daytime talk shows, but there just wasn't anything else much on TV these days. It was all reality shows and infomercials, and movies he'd either seen a hundred times or never wanted to see to begin with. At least Dr Phil was better than most of that other junk on daytime TV.

There were the news channels, but he hated those most of all. He didn't like what was going on in the world and he didn't like the people on those shows who talked about things he couldn't understand anyway. If they just reported the news, it would be okay, except that it always made him feel down, because it was never good news, always bad. But to make it worse, they talked about it, with people saying what they thought about this news story or some politician or other, and he thought they were all scum, Democrats and Republicans. So he didn't watch the news channels.

People sometimes told him to read a book instead, and he always just nodded his head, too embarrassed to tell them he couldn't read that good. His IQ was 75 and he had a learning disability and some other problems, but Dr Jones didn't call them problems, he called them “issues.” Buddy was forty-five-years old and had gotten on Disability a few years ago because he had trouble keeping a job. He tried, he really did, but most jobs required people who could think better, and Buddy just couldn't think that good.

People sometimes called him Forrest Gump, and it made him mad. He had seen the movie, and knew why they called him that. Maybe he was like Tom Hanks in that movie, but he didn't like it, either the movie or people calling him that. They were making fun of him, and it upset him. He did the best he could, but people were cruel. They called him worse things than Forrest Gump, they called him “retard” and “moron.” Buddy had just reached the point where he didn't like people. They were mean and cruel, so he just stayed home all day and watched TV, even though there wasn't much on.

Today's Dr Phil show was about parents on the dole who neglected their children. He felt sorry for the kids they talked about. One woman on the show said she had been taken away from her mom when she was thirteen-years-old, and that it was because her mom was poor. She did the best she could, but sometimes Susan – that was the woman's name – was hungry and had to ask for food from neighbors. Someone reported her mom to the welfare office and she got taken away and put in a foster home.

That was bad, Buddy thought, real bad. He had been in a couple of foster homes when he was a kid. The foster parents in the first home were nice and all, but it wasn't the same as being at home, but the people in the second home were mean to him. They didn't hit him, at least not much, but they called him retardo and stuff like that. His mom had mental health problems, or issues as everyone called them now. Nobody had problems these days, they all had issues. He thought that was dumb, but whatever.

Anyway, this woman said she had been molested in foster care, and Buddy thought that was a bad issue to deal with. I mean, they put you in a home like that because your parents can't take care of you, or because sometimes they abuse you, and then you have the people who are supposed to look after you do bad things. It was awful, and people who do things like that to kids ought to have their tallywackers cut off, he thought. There was nothing worse than a man who would mess with a little girl, or so Buddy thought, and he knew a lot of people agreed with him.

There was a knock on the door, and Buddy got up to see who it was. Nobody ever came to see him, so he wasn't used to people knocking on his door except salesmen and religious people giving him stuff about their churches and wanting money, and of course, his rent lady, Ms McClendon, when the rent was due. He lived in a lower middle class section of town, one they used to call a “working class neighborhood,” but not any more. It was mostly what he called low lifes and a few older people, One of them, Mrs Stone, a little old widow lady, used to check on him a couple of times a week and bring him food, home cooked meals, and he really loved her, but she died from the cancer a couple of months ago. He really missed her, and that good food she used to bring him.

Buddy always got fully dressed every morning, even when it was hot, just in case someone came to the door, like the mailman with a package or someone, usually from Social Services, trying to find somebody else's house. He didn't like for people to see him without his pants or shirt, or even his shoes and socks, so he always at least put on his socks. He washed his clothes at least every two weeks so he'd always have clean clothes, since he could hardly ever afford new clothes. Today he was wearing jeans and a gray tee shirt, which was the type of stuff he wore every day.

He opened the door and there was a little girl standing there, one he'd seen around the neighborhood several times in the last couple of months. Actually, she wasn't that little, really, just a long way from being grown. She looked like she might be about twelve, but he found out later she was thirteen. He was close at least, but Buddy, being superstitious, thought thirteen was an unlucky number. He didn't know how unlucky it was, but he would find out over the next few weeks.

“Hi,” she said, looking and sounding kind of sad. “My mom has the door locked and won't wake up to let me in the house,” she said, “and I'm kind of thirsty. Do you have something to drink? Just water would be fine.”

She was wearing clothes that looked a little dirty, but not filthy. She had that smell of what he called “girl sweat,” not really bad, kind of sweet, actually, but like she was hot and hadn't had a bath in a couple of days, maybe longer. She wore a faded pink tee shirt and blue jeans that were faded, too, and she was barefooted. He had seen her around the neighborhood, and come to think of it, she was always barefooted. Of course it was May, and it was already hot in the panhandle of Florida, as they called it. The panhandle was just below Georgia and Alabama, the part of the state where Tallahassee, the capital, was located.

“Sure,” he said. “Or if you like, I can give you a Coke. I got plenty of Cokes. They don't cost much at Walmart.”

The girl nodded her head and looked at her feet. She seemed kind of shy. He didn't ask her to come in, because he knew most people didn't want their kids going into a stranger's house, and he was afraid her mom might think he was one of those pervets like they were talking about on Dr Phil. Most kids didn't come trick or treating at his house on Halloween, so he hardly ever even bought candy anymore. He knew most people thought there was something wrong with him because he couldn't think good like most other people.

Buddy shuffled off to the kitchen, feeling kind of sorry for the girl. She was a cute little girl, with long blonde hair that was kind of stringy. He wondered if she had head lice. Some kids like her did, but he hoped she didn't, not just because he didn't want to get lice from her, but because she seemed like such a sweet little girl, and it would be a shame. He got a canned Coke from the fridge and took it to her.

“Here you go,” he said, opening it for her. She took it and started drinking it immediately.

“Thank you,” she said, then turned to walk away.

“You're welcome,” he said, then watched her for a few seconds, hoping she'd be okay. He couldn't help but notice that the bottoms of her feet were kinda dirty, like she hardly ever wore shoes or washed her feet. She was such a cute, sweet little girl, it was a shame her mom locked her out like that. He knew that most people would probably call Social Services, but he was afraid they'd put her in a foster home, and he didn't know if things were that bad. He sure hoped they weren't.

The next day the girl came over again, wearing the same clothes. He noticed a sweet smell that he hadn't noticed the day before and wondered if she'd gotten into her mom's perfume or something. Once again she was barefooted, and he noticed a little blood on her toes.

“Hi,” she said when he opened the door. She hesitated, looking down before saying, “Could I have another Coke? That one yesterday was so good. My mom hardly ever buys anything but beer, and I hardly ever get to drink Cokes or anything.”

“Sure,” he said, then got another Coke from the fridge. He only had two left and made a note to buy more when he went to Walmart tomorrow, then put the note on the refrigerator door. It was one of them sticky notes.

When he took it back to her, he said, “I couldn't but notice you got some blood on your toes. I mean, it's, you know, none of my business and all, but...”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, looking down at her toes. “I stepped on some broken glass. My mom got mad at somebody yesterday when they knocked on her door about...” she hesitated, then continued, “...they were reminding her about some money she owed 'em, and she got mad and threw half a bottle of Coors on the porch. She told me to clean it up, but I forgot, and now she's gonna be mad, especially if she finds out I stepped on it.”

Buddy started to tell her she ought not to be mad about that, and that since she's the one who threw the bottle down, she ought to have cleaned it up herself, but he didn't want to upset the little girl by saying bad things about her mom. Most people didn't like it when you did that, and she didn't need people putting her mom down.

“You need to wash it and put some Neosporin on it, then you can put a band-aid or somethin' on it,” he said.

The girl said, “I don't think we have any band-aids or Neo...Neo...”

“Neosporin,” Buddy said. “It's for cuts. You put in on a cut so you won't get infections and stuff.” He hesitated, then said, “I got some band-aids and I can give you a tube of Neosporin. It's the Walmart brand, and I gotta go shopping tomorrow, so I can get another tube then.”

“Thank you,” the girl said.

“Be right back,” he said, and went to the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet and got a band-aid and a tube of Neosporin, the Walmart brand, and took it to her.

He had never used it, as he hardly ever got cuts or other injuries. Also, he never went outside without his shoes, partly because he didn't want to step on nails or broken glass or anything like that, but also because he did not like for people to see him without his shoes. He was funny about that. Didn't want people seeing him without his shirt or shoes, and especially pants. Buddy was kind of shy that way.

“Be sure and wash it first,” he reminded her. “I mean, it's not that your feet are dirty or nothin',” he said, although they were kind of dirty, but not too bad. “It's just that you need to wash the place where it got cut to get any dirt and stuff off of it, especially any beer that might of still been on the glass. I mean, there probably wasn't any, but you never know.”

She took the band-aid and the tube of Walmart Neosporin and said, “Thank you,” then turned around like she was walking away, but turned around just as he was shutting the door.

“My mom's asleep again and got the door locked, so could I come in and... I mean, if it's not any trouble...Maybe I can use your bathroom to wash it? I gotta go to the bathroom anyway.”

Buddy didn't know what to say at first, then said, “Well...I wouldn't want your mom to be mad. I mean, with me being a, you know...a stranger and all. You might get in trouble.”

Buddy did not want some little girl's mama thinking he was a pervert or something for letting her in his house, no matter what the reason was. Plus, he didn't want the the neighbors spreading gossip and stuff about him, and if they saw a young girl like her going in or out of his house, there was no telling what they might say. People didn't think it was right for a man who lived by himself to let kids in no matter what the reason was, and he knew that for him it might be worse than if it was a normal man, one who didn't have an “issue” like he did, meaning his disability.

He was especially concerned about old Ms Newberry, the worst gossip in the neighborhood. He had seen her outside her house close to midnight once, sweeping off the porch. What kind of crazy old lady sweeps her porch at that time of night? Nosy ones, that's what kind. There was a woman who lived just down from her who supposedly had a boy friend visit her when her husband was out of town on business. She was probably looking to see if the boyfriend's Honda Civic was there, as she had figured out what kind of car he drove.

But he felt sorry for the little girl and didn't want her cut foot to get infected and stuff, so he said, “Well...okay. Come in, I'll show you where the bathroom is. Please don't pay no attention to my house, 'cause I ain't much of a housekeeper or nothing'.”

“That's okay,” the girl said, “My mom don't keep a good house. Yours looks a lot better than ours.”

Buddy made sure to go in the bathroom first and check things out. Sometimes he left his dirty boxers on the floor, although usually not for long, as he didn't like to leave dirty clothes around. He was actually a pretty good housekeeper, especially since he didn't work and had no reason not to keep a pretty clean house, although he was bad about not always flushing the toilet after using it, unless it was after a number two.

Sure enough, the toilet needed flushing, so he flushed it, then turned to the girl and said, “I don't always flush it if all I... I mean, you know...”

“Yeah,” she said, “I don't either, if all I gotta do is pee.” Then she smiled. It was the first time he had seen her smile, and he realized for the first time that she was really kinda pretty.

“Well,” he said, blushing. “I'll be watching TV if you need anything.”

He went back to his chair and sat down to watch Dr Phil. In a few seconds, he heard the sound of tinkling in the toilet, and realized the girl hadn't closed the door, at least not all the way. He could have turned around to see if she just left it open a little bit. He could have done that from where he was sitting without actually seeing her doing her business, but still, it didn't seem right. Even if that's all it was, even if she just didn't close it all the way, he thought that was kind of weird, what with her being in the house of a man who lived alone, and especially with her being so shy and all.

A few minutes later, he heard the sound of water running in the tub, and realized she was washing her foot. He had forgotten to give her a towel, and even though she could have used the towel he used when he took a shower, that didn't seem right, so he turned around to call out to her that there were clean towels in the closet in the bathroom. That's when he noticed the door was wide open, that she hadn't closed it even a little bit.

When he heard the water stop, he called out, “They's clean towels in the closet in the bathroom.” The girl didn't say anything back, but he had called out pretty loud, so he figured she must have heard him.

The girl came out a couple of minutes later with what he knew was the towel he used after his shower, as it was an ugly green color that was different from any other towels he had, but he didn't say anything. He didn't want to embarrass her or anything. She sat down on the sofa next to his chair and finished wiping her foot off. She had the Coke in one hand, but he didn't see the band-aid or the Walmart Neosporin. She took a swallow of the Coke, and from the way it looked, she was finished with it, as she turned the can all the way up when she did.

“You need some help with the band-aid and Neosporin?” he asked, then wished he hadn't. He had meant it as a hint, since it looked like she had forgotten and left the stuff in the bathroom. He blushed again, not wanting her to think he was some weirdo who was looking for an excuse to put his hands on her feet, which he sure didn't mean it that way, but to her it might sound like it.

“Oh,” she said, “Yeah, thanks,” then got up and ran back to the bathroom to get the stuff. She left the empty Coke can on the end table next to the sofa.

When she came back, she didn't return to the sofa, she stood in front of him, gave him the band-aid and Neosporin, and then placed her bare foot on his knee. That really shocked him. I mean, it's not like feet are private parts or anything, but still, if it had been her hand or her arm, that might have been a little different. Still weird, but not as much as with her foot.

Not knowing what else to say or do, he said, “Okay...Um...where is the, you know, the cut?” Since she had washed the blood off, he couldn't tell.

“Oh,” she said, then put her foot down and put the other foot on his knee. “Wrong foot,” she said, then smiled again, kind of shy like, but he still couldn't help but think how pretty she was...for a young girl, that is.

She used her fingers to pull her big toe up so he could see a very thin, slight cut on the bottom. He opened the tube of Neosporin and put a little on her finger, then put the tube down and held her foot with the other hand as he applied the ointment with his finger. Buddy then wondered why he held her foot with the other hand. It wasn't like he needed to hold it still or anything like that, so why did he do it? He didn't know, or if he did, he didn't want to think about it, and immediately removed his hand.

Buddy noticed she was looking at him with what he called a puppy dog look, her eyes all big and kinda sad and stuff. He pulled the paper strips off the band-aid and wrapped it around her big toe and said, “All done,” then patted her foot with his hand, once again wondering why.

The little girl smiled and said, “Thank you,” then did something that shocked him more than leaving the door open while she peed and putting her bare foot on his knee. She put her foot on the floor, leaned forward and gave him a hug. Not a big hug, just arms loosely around his neck as she kind of snuggled for a couple of seconds.

“Y-you're welcome,” he said, blushing.

She looked at him for a few seconds, biting her lower lip, then looked down and said, “I hope you don't mind me asking, but...” She looked up at him and asked, “Could I have another Coke?” She then did something he didn't remember any girl or woman ever doing before, at least not to him. She batted her eyelashes, kinda flirty like.

“Well...I mean, sure,” he said, getting up and heading to the kitchen.

She surprised him by following him. When he opened the door to the fridge and handed her another Coke, she looked inside and said, “Oh, you only have one left. I'm sorry.”

“That's okay,” he said, “I gotta go to Walmart tomorrow. I'll get some more.” He wondered if he should have said it that way, as he didn't want to imply that it was okay for her to come over every day for a Coke, but then he got kind of a warm feeling thinking it would be okay if she did. He still didn't want to get in any trouble or anything, but it was the first time he had had any real company, other than Mrs Stone, and she didn't usually stay when she came over, she just gave him the food she cooked and stood at the door and talked about the weather and stuff.

“Well... Okay,” the girl said, taking a drink of her Coke. “At least you won't have to buy any more Neo... Neo... that Neo stuff,” she said with a giggle.

Buddy not only smiled, he laughed, and wondered when was the last time he had laughed while talking to anyone. Hell, when was the last time he laughed at all. Nothing on TV made him laugh, that's for sure. He also decided she was even prettier when she laughed than when she just smiled.

The girl took another swallow of her Coke, then said, “Well... I guess I better go,” then headed for the door.

He walked behind her, noting that Dr Phil was almost over. The... what do you call 'em, the titles and stuff they show at the end were rolling across the screen. Credits, that was it. The girl looked at the TV and said, “You like Dr Phil?”

“Not really,” Buddy said. “It's just that... well, you know, there ain't that much else on TV.”

“Yeah,” she said, watching the commercial that started playing after the credits had stopped. It was the one where this man was talking about how many great catheters there were out there. Buddy wondered if she even knew what a catheter was. He hoped not, as it would be kind of embarrassing to him, but probably not to her, a little girl who wasn't even shy about leaving the door open while she peed or putting her bare foot on his knee.

When they got to the door, she turned around and said, “Thank you again for the Coke and for helping me out with my foot and everything.” She leaned forward, stood on her tiptoes, put her hands lightly on his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek, then turned and walked away. That innocent kiss, and the hug she had given him before that, gave him the first warm and fuzzy feeling he had gotten since...well, since he couldn't remember when.

Buddy watched her go, knowing very well the kind of trouble she could cause by coming over again, what with all the nosy neighbors, like that Ms Newberry, who didn't have anything better to do than start rumors about stuff like nice people helping out a young girl who needed help. He should have been hoping she wouldn't come back, but instead he was hoping she would.
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Old 11-Nov-18, 23:27
dirksneath dirksneath is offline
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Default Re: A prisoner in his own home

Here is chapter two of the story. I am trying to post chapters a little more frequently since the story is so slow in getting to the scenes I know most people are interested in so as not to keep people waiting too long.




CHAPTER TWO


The next morning, he left for Walmart early. He liked to get there before the crowds. It wasn't that he didn't like to wait in line a long time, although that was part of it, but he just didn't like being around a lot of people, and with Walmart, that meant you had to get there early. He usually bought one twelve pack of canned Cokes, but today he bought two. He also bought some extra snacks, like potato chips, crackers, stuff he liked anyway, but he also bought some Snickers bars, even though he didn't care much for candy. It was all too sweet, and he ate too much and sometimes felt a little sick when he did, but he thought she might like something sweet.

Buddy got there before any of the registers were open, which meant he had to use the self-checkouts. That's the only thing he hated about getting there early, 'cause he had trouble with them sometimes. He never could understand why the thing always said, “unexpected item in the bagging area,” when there was nothing there, or when he just finished filling one bag and put it aside while he started putting the rest of his stuff in another bag. He often had to ask for help, and some people who worked for Walmart were very nice and didn't mind helping, while others acted like he was bothering them.

As he was leaving the store, he realized he didn't even know the girl's name. He would have to remember to ask her when she came over again. He got caught up in all the traffic, what with people going to work and school. He hated that, wishing he had gotten out a little earlier before all that, but that would have meant having to leave home around 6:00 am, and that was just a little too early for him. Buddy was thinking about the girl and how she put her foot, her bare foot, on his knee for him to doctor it, and how funny it felt to him, but then he got a hug and when she left she kissed him on the cheek, and that was nice.

He was so busy thinking about it that he almost ran a red light and had to slam on brakes, and when he did they squealed. His 2005 Kia Spectra must have needed some brake work, but he couldn't afford it. That was the thing about living on Disability. You sometimes couldn't afford the things you needed, much less the things you really wanted.

When he got home, he saw kids getting on the bus. He didn't know anything about the schools the kids went to where he lived, and didn't know which bus she rode or anything, but he looked for her anyway, and wondered if he should wave at her, or if it might embarrass her. He didn't see her, and was kind of disappointed, but at least he didn't have to worry about whether he should wave or not. He guessed that was what people called mixed feelings.

Today's topic on Dr Phil was women who stay with abusive men. Buddy couldn't really get into it, his mind kept drifting off, partly because it was kind of boring, and he didn't care to listen to those silly women talk about how good their husbands and boyfriends were to them except when they were screwing around or abusing them and even their kids, which seemed to be like, always. Mostly, however, he was wondering when the girl would show up. She usually came over when Dr Phil was on, but it was still early.

He wanted to look out the window for her, but was afraid she'd be walking up to the door and see him, and know he was looking for her, and he'd be embarrassed. It was early, she'd be here. Dr Phil just started, she'd come over probably before it was over. But she didn't.

She didn't come over the next day, either, or the day after that. He didn't want to admit to himself that he was disappointed. She was just a little girl, not like somebody old enough to like him the way he always wanted to be liked. He hoped she was all right, and that her mom hadn't locked her out again. That was probably why she hadn't been over, because her mom didn't have the door locked anymore. She probably realized she had been locking her little girl outside and that it wasn't right, so she wouldn't do it anymore, and that was good.

But that might mean the girl wouldn't come see him anymore, either. She wouldn't need him if she wasn't locked out. He wanted her to be okay, not locked out of her house, but he wanted her to come back over, too. She would, he kept telling himself. Sooner or later, she'd want another Coke, and her mom didn't keep Cokes, just beer. Or maybe her mom felt bad about having locked her out and went to the store and bought some Cokes. Buddy missed her, and felt worse than he had felt since his cat, McKinley, died a few months ago, but somehow this was worse. He missed McKinley, but he missed the girl even more.

Then the next day she came back, a few minutes before the start of Dr Phil. She was wearing a different shirt, but the same jeans, or maybe different but they looked the same. She was barefooted again, and didn't have the band-aid on her toe. He hoped that meant it was all better.

“Hey,” he said to her, trying not to sound too happy to see her, as he didn't want her to think he was so lonely that he looked forward to little girls coming over. People thinking he was a pervert was one of his worst fears.

“Hey,” she said. He thought she might ask for a Coke or something, but she didn't.

After an awkward moment of silence, he asked, “How's your toe?”

“Oh, it's better,” she said, then lifted her foot so he could clearly see there was no band-aid on it. “See?”

Buddy held the heel of her foot and looked closely to see if there was any sign of the cut, then felt kind of weird for doing it. After holding her foot the other day when putting the Walmart Neosporin on it, he had wondered if she thought that was... what was the word? Inappropriate. Yeah, that was the word. But it didn't seem to bother her much, so he figured just holding the heel wouldn't be a problem, or rather an issue, or at least he hoped it wouldn't be.

He could see a scar that was only visible if you looked real close. “Yeah, that does look better.” He released the heel and she put her foot down and stood there, not saying anything, and he didn't either. Things started getting kind of awkward again.

“You want a Coke or something?” he asked. “I got some more at Walmart the other day.”

“Yeah,” she said. “That'd be nice.”

“Okay,” he said, feeling relieved. She was back, she finally came back. He started for the kitchen and said, “You can come in if you want to. I mean, you don't have to, I just...” He couldn't think of anything else to say.

She smiled and said, “Okay. Thanks.”

As he was going to the kitchen, she spotted her stereo and said, “Oh, wow! You got a nice stereo.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I like music. I mean, probably not the kind of music you like, but... There's hardly anything on TV, so I listen to music sometimes.”

Buddy's stereo was not state of the art, but it was pretty nice. He had a Marantz amplifier and a Sony CD/DVD player. He wanted one of those Blu-ray players, but didn't have enough money to buy something like that right now. He needed to get those brakes fixed. He had some old vinyl record albums and a Pioneer turntable that was pretty good, and didn't cost a lot. Buddy was very proud of his stereo and thought it was nice of her to notice it.

“Where's your records and CDs?” she asked.

Buddy brought her a Coke, and one for himself, then said, “I got them in my bedroom. I mean, it's supposed to be a bedroom, but I mostly use it like for storage and stuff, and for my records and CDs. I sleep on the couch a lot of the time.” He had a pretty good collection, especially vinyl, but didn't think she'd like his music. Like a lot of people his age, he liked what they now called classic rock. A lot of it was popular before he was born, or when he was too little to have known about it: The Beatles, Rolling Stones, Allman Brothers Band, Pink Floyd, and Grateful Dead.

“Can I see them?” she asked.

He hesitated, since it was his bedroom, even though he didn't actually sleep there much. He needed a new mattress, as the old one was worn out. He fell asleep on the couch watching TV or listening to music so much that he sometimes didn't sleep in his bed, since the couch was more comfortable than that old mattress. Still, he wasn't sure it was appro...appropriate to take a young girl to his bedroom, but since she had asked, he guessed it was okay.

“Wow!” she said, as they walked into the room. “You got a lot of vinyl. That is so cool.”

Buddy thought she was just being nice, but he liked it. “I guess people don't listen to records and stuff anymore,” he said. “I mean, what with CDs and... I guess most kids today listen to it on their phones and iPods, stuff like that.”

“Are you kidding?” she said, looking over his old record albums. “Vinyl is cool. Everybody loves vinyl now, not CDs so much. Music doesn't sound that good on iPhones, and everybody knows vinyl sounds better than CDs.”

Buddy thought she was kind of... What was the word? Patronizing him. Yeah, that was it. He didn't have a clue that vinyl had actually started outselling CDs in recent years.

“Oh, WOW!” looking through his collection. “You got Pink Floyd.” She continued, getting excited every time she found an album by a band she liked. “Led Zeppelin...AC/DC...and the Rolling Stones, the Rolling fucking STONES! Oops. Sorry,” she said, apologizing for dropping the f-bomb.

Buddy blushed and said, “It's okay. I say that word sometimes myself,” then wondered if he should have told her that, especially since he didn't say that word, or any other curse words, at least not hardly ever.

She pulled out the album Sticky Fingers by the Stones, and said, “Can I play this? It is like one of my favorite albums of all time.”

“Sure,” he said. Buddy couldn't remember feeling this good in his life. This girl that he had come to like so much loved the same music he did, and wanted to actually listen to it. He had this warm fuzzy feeling and wanted it to last forever.

The girl skipped into the living room, turned the amp and turntable on, and put the stylus down on the last song on side one, which was Can't You Hear Me Knocking. It was his favorite song on his favorite album by the Stones. The music started, and Buddy couldn't believe what happened next.

The young girl started dancing, and he had never seen a girl, or even a woman, dance like that, except on TV. She was sort of like bumping and grinding, moving her hips back and forth, rolling her tummy at him. It was sort of like a belly dance, but the way she was moving it was a part of her a little lower than her belly that was doing most of the moving.

Mick Jagger started singing: “Yeah, you got satin shoes, yeah, you got plastic boots. Ya'll got cocaine eyes, yeah, you got speed-freak jive...”

She moved closer to him, running her fingers through her hair, and Buddy started feeling real uncomfortable in a way that might have been all right if she'd been older, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. I mean, she was just a girl, a little girl. Damn. She got real close to him, put her hands on his shoulders like she did the other day when she started to leave, when she kissed him on the cheek. He thought she was going to kiss him again, but he believed that if she did, it wouldn't be like she kissed him the other day. She didn't kiss him, though, she just stood there and danced so close she actually brushed his body a little with hers.

Then she did something that scared him a little bit. She pushed him down, and when he tried to get up, she put a bare foot on his chest and shoved him back down, then kept dancing, all the time with her foot on him so he couldn't get up. She ran did that thing with her hair again, pushing it back with her fingers, and if she had been older, he would have thought it was the sexiest thing he had ever seen, but since she was just a little girl, he couldn't think of it that way.

Mick continued to sing. “Can't you hear me knockin' on your window. Can't you hear me knockin' on your door. Can't you hear me knockin' on your dirty street, yeah...”

She finally moved away from him, strutting, and as he got to his feet, he couldn't help but notice the way she moved her butt, shaking it kind of slow like from side to side, then she turned toward him again, once more moving in his direction. He thought she was gonna push him down again, so he backed up a little, but she just danced around him. He moved with her, keeping his eyes on her because he didn't want her to push him down again, or at least he told himself that was the reason, but she just kind of ignored him, twirling around, running her fingers through her hair again, moving away from him now.

Mick kept singing. “I've been begging on my knees, I've been kickin' help me please....”

The song seemed to go on forever, and so did the girl. Buddy remembered going to this club one time where they had this hypnotist, and he would call people up to hypnotize them and make them do funny stuff, things they wouldn't have done if they hadn't been under that guy's spell. This was kinda how Buddy felt, like he'd been hypnotized. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

Even when Mick stopped singing, the song kept playing, thanks to the guitar jamming of Mick Taylor, with others like Bobby Keys on saxophone. The girl kept dancing, her hips swaying and gyrating, and she sometimes wriggled her crotch at Buddy. He knew he should tell her to stop, but he couldn't. He tried to convince himself he didn't want to hurt her feelings, that that was the reason, but it wasn't. The reason was that he didn't want her to stop.

The song finally ended, and the girl stopped then, turned to him, laughed and said, “I'm sorry. I just get carried away sometimes. Can't help it, the music just takes me places and I lose control. Do you ever feel that way sometimes?”

“Well... yeah, I guess,” he said. “I mean, not like that, but... I know what you mean.” He wasn't sure he knew, but sometimes music seemed to help him when he felt down, when it seemed that life wasn't fair, that it had never been fair to him, so he guessed maybe that's what she meant.

She went to the couch and sat down, then laid down, putting her head back against the arm of the sofa and her legs and feet up, crossing her ankles, then asked, “Can you bring me my Coke? I think I left it in your bedroom. I'm kinda tired.”

“Sure,” Buddy said, and headed toward the bedroom. “I guess all that dancing must wear you out and make you thirsty.” He wasn't sure if that was the right thing to say, but he felt like he should say something so things wouldn't get awkward like they sometimes did when he was around people.

Buddy brought the Coke back to her, then remembered he'd left his in the bedroom too, and had to go back for it. He suddenly realized he wasn't sure if he had given her the right one, or if he'd given her his Coke. He was too embarrassed to mention it, so he just got the other Coke and took a swallow, then realized he must have given her the wrong one, because this one had a funny taste, like there was some girly smelling stuff on it, like maybe what girls called lip gloss. He decided it didn't matter, at least as long as she didn't know.

The TV was still on, and it was almost time for Dr Phil. Buddy sat down and asked, “How... I mean, it's none of my business, but I was just wondering...how...” He wasn't sure he should ask, and tried to think of something else to say, but the girl finished the question for him.

“How old am I?” she said. “Is that what you want to know?”

“Well... yeah, I guess... I was just, you know, wondering,” he said.

“How old do you think I am?” she asked.

“I don't know,” he said, wishing he hadn't brought it up. “I'm not real good at guessing how old people are and stuff.” When she didn't say anything, he said, “I guess maybe... twelve. That's probably not right.”

“You're close,” she said. “I'm thirteen.”

“Well,” Buddy said. “I hope it doesn't turn out to be, you know, unlucky for you.”

She laughed. It was nice that she laughed at his attempt at being funny. Most people just looked at him funny when he tried to make jokes about something. Buddy found himself liking everything about this girl except the fact that she was so young. But then, if she was older, maybe she wouldn't like him as much as she seemed to.

She then said, “I just turned thirteen. My birthday was last week.”

“Really?” Buddy said. “I wish I had known, I coulda got you something for your birthday and all. But... well, I didn't know you then, I guess.”

“You still can,” she said. “Know what I want?”

“What?” he asked. He would have bought her the sun, the moon and the stars if he could have afforded it.

“I want some nail polish,” she said.

“You mean like for your fingernails,” he said, feeling stupid. Of course that's what she meant.

“And my toenails,” she said, lifting a bare foot up slightly to show she didn't have any polish on her toenails.

“Well,” he said, “I guess I could, you know, buy you some and all, but... I mean, your mom probably would like that... I mean, what with me being a stranger and all.”

“She don't have to know,” the girl said. “I can always hide it in a drawer. She never comes in my room anyway, and she probably wouldn't even notice, unless you got me something real gaudy. It can be something like pastel pink, you know? A real light color that she wouldn't notice. Besides, that's the color she wears, and if she noticed, I could always tell her I used her polish.”

Buddy made a mental note to buy her some nail polish next time he went to Walmart. He didn't feel too comfortable doing it, still worried about what her mom would think if she found out, but still, if she wanted some nail polish for her pretty little fingers and toes, by God, he was gonna buy her some nail polish.

Then he realized something that made him embarrassed to know that he didn't know by now. He didn't even know her name. “So now I know how old you are,” he said, “but I don't know your name.”

Words were getting easier for him when talking to her. He was feeling more and more comfortable, something that was unusual, since he hardly ever felt comfortable with anyone. That was one reason he liked her so much.

“Jamie Lynn,” she said.

“Jamie Lynn,” he said. “That's a nice name, a pretty name. I like it.”

“My dad named me after Jamie Lynn Spears,” she said.

“Who?” Buddy asked. He felt stupid, thinking he should probably know who Jamie Lynn Spears was, otherwise she would have told him.

“Jamie Lynn Spears is Britney's little sister,” she said. When he looked like he was still confused, she continued. “Britney Spears,” she said. Buddy nodded his head, as he knew who she was. “My dad was a big Britney fan, so he named me after her little sister,” she said.

“Seems like he woulda named you Britney, if it was her he liked so much,” he said, and immediately regretted it. “I mean, I think Jamie Lynn is a much prettier name and all, but...”

“Mom told me after dad walked out a few years ago that he didn't think I was good enough to be named after Britney. So he named me after Jamie Lynn instead,” she explained.

That didn't make any sense to Buddy, but he just said, “Well, I still think Jamie Lynn is a prettier name anyway.”

“Thank you,” she said. “You're sweet.” Buddy blushed and got that warm fuzzy feeling again.

She then said, “I don't know your name, either.”

“It's... Buddy,” he said, kind of embarrassed, because it was such a plain, common name. His actual name was Robert, and he wished he had told her Robert instead of Buddy, but he figured it was too late now.

“That's a nice name,” she said, looking at the TV.

“Thank you,” he said, knowing she wasn't really impressed by his name, but figuring maybe it didn't matter. Maybe it just didn't matter.

Dr Phil was coming on, so they were both silent for awhile. The topic for today was men who liked young girls. Buddy felt his face flushing.

“We can watch something else, if you like,” he said. “Or we can listen to music instead. We don't have to watch nothing, 'less you want to.”

“No, I want to watch this,” she said. Buddy hoped she didn't want to watch it because she thought he was one of those men who liked younger girls. Just because he liked her didn't mean he was one of those perverts who molested kids, and he didn't want her to think that, but then, if she thought that, she wouldn't be here anyway. Thinking that made him feel better, but he still felt weird watching them talk about that topic with a thirteen-year-old girl lying on his couch.

They watched the show for about fifteen minutes, and when Buddy saw Jamie Lynn turn her Coke can up for the last swallow, he asked, “Would you like another Coke?”

“No thanks,” she said. “I need to go home.” She started to get up, and Buddy hoped nothing was wrong.

“By the way,” she said as she sat up. “Do you...” She hesitated, then said, “Never mind.”

“What?” Buddy asked. “It's okay. Whatever it is, you know, you can ask me... you know, whatever.”

“Well,” she said. “Do you ever buy Pepsis instead of Cokes?”

“Well... No, not really. I mean, they're okay, I like Pepsi and all, but... I don't know, they're kind of sweet, maybe like they got too much sugar in 'em or something. But I like 'em all right, I can buy Pepsis if you want me to. I gotta go back to Walmart tomorrow anyway.” He didn't, really, but Buddy decided he'd make an extra trip for Pepsi if that's what she wanted.

“No, don't buy them just for me,” she said.

“No, it's fine. If you like Pepsi, then Pepsi it is,” he said. At this point, he would have bought her a brand new car, if he could have afforded it, even though she was obviously too young to drive.

“Thanks, Buddy,” she said, getting up. “You're so sweet.” She walked over and gave him a hug, a really big hug, and a kiss on the cheek.

It was the warmest, fuzziest feeling she had yet given him, and he blushed. As she started to leave, he got up and walked to the door. “Bye,” she said, walking out before he got there. Still, he went to the door and watched her leave, hoping things were okay at home and that her mom hadn't locked the door while she was gone. Of course if she had, maybe she'd come back, and that would be nice.

As he watched her go, he noticed the school bus pulling up, and a lot of kids who looked to be about her age were getting off. Buddy realized that whether that was her bus or not, she had come over before school was out, which meant she had cut school today, or else she was sick, but if she was sick, she wouldn't have come to see him – would she?

He hoped she wasn't skipping school, and wondered if he should talk to her about that when she came over again. Probably not, because if he did, she might get mad. He decided not to mention it, but it still bothered him.

The next day he went to Walmart again and bought some Pepsis, and a few more snacks. He had forgotten to offer her any snacks the day before, and hoped he'd remember to mention it next time she came over, especially the Snickers. He was running low on money, and it was still a few days before his Disability check went in the bank. He was going up to the self-checkouts when he remembered something he forgot.

He went to the part of the store where they sold cosmetics and looked for nail polish. He hated to ask people who worked there to help him find stuff, because they were often rude, and sometimes they were so busy and he didn't want to bother them. He knew, because when he had worked for K-Mart years ago, before they went out of business, people used to ask him where things were, and it bothered him to be interrupted, since he had trouble keeping up with all they expected him to do anyway. But he always tried to help, even though he couldn't always remember where things were. That was one reason he got fired, he just couldn't keep up with everything they expected him to remember.

He finally had to ask, and was embarrassed, because he knew they were wondering why a man like him would want nail polish. He tried to tell himself it was none of their business, but still, it bothered him. Then he saw they had different kinds, and different shades. He wanted to get some the same as her mom had, but didn't know what kind that was, so he finally just bought one called Hard Candy Classic. It didn't cost too much, so he got that, and the girl who worked in that area suggested he get some cotton balls, so he did, although he didn't know the reason for the cotton balls. He also got a small gift bag to put it in, then checked out and went home, wondering later if he should have gotten her a card, too, but if he had, her mom might have found it, and that would not be good.

When he got home, the school bus was there, and he saw kids about her age getting on. He looked for her, wondering if he should wave at her if he saw her, or if it would embarrass her. He didn't see her, so he didn't have to worry about that, but he still wondered if she was even going to school or not. Maybe he should talk to her about that after all, as he didn't want her getting in trouble for missing school, but he was still afraid of making her mad, so he decided again it would be best not to mention it.

Last edited by dirksneath; 11-Nov-18 at 23:48.
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Old 12-Nov-18, 01:04
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Default Re: A prisoner in his own home

CHAPTER THREE



Jamie Lynn came over that day at around 2:00 pm, and Buddy wondered if maybe she just got out of school early, but didn't think she had. “Hey Buddy,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek as she walked in. She wore a white tee shirt with the tail cut in strips, like fringe, along with a very short, pair of jean shorts. As usual, she was barefooted.

“Like my denim panties?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips and smiling.

“Say what?” Buddy asked, not sure what she meant.

“My denim panties,” she said. “My cutoff jean shorts. My mom's boyfriend calls them denim panties, 'cause they're so short and tight. He says they're more like panties than shorts.”

Buddy wasn't sure what to say, so he didn't say anything. He looked, and couldn't help noticing she had the nicest legs, especially for a thirteen-year-old girl. Finally he said, “Well... I mean, they're short all right, but... I guess there's nothing wrong with that.”

She laughed and said, “I hope you're not embarrassed. It's just so hot, I thought I'd wear something a little cooler than those old jeans.” She then headed to the kitchen, not even asking if she could have a drink, just helping herself, which was okay with Buddy.

“Oh, Wow! You got some Pepsis! Thanks, Buddy,” she said, grabbing a Pepsi and popping it open as she walked back into the front room.

“Well, I had to go to Walmart anyway,” he said. “I got some snacks and stuff, too. I forgot to tell you yesterday I got some Snickers. They're on the counter.”

Jamie Lynn turned to walk back in the kitchen and said, “Buddy, you are absolutely the sweetest man on the face of the earth. Pepsis and Snickers. I love you, Buddy, I totally love you.” She came out with a Pepsi in one hand and a Snickers bar in the other and gave him as much of a hug as she could with her hands full.

“Well....” he said, then wasn't sure what to say next. Finally, he remembered. “I gotcha something for your birthday, too, even though it's a little late.” He then went to the couch, where he had put the gift bag. He was going to wait for her to sit down so she'd be surprised when she saw it, but decided since he couldn't think of anything to say after she hugged him, he'd go ahead and give it to her.

“Oh, no. You didn't,” she said, putting the Pepsi and the Snickers bar down on the end table as she grabbed the gift bag and quickly took the polish and cotton balls out. “Oh, Buddy. Nail polish. Pink nail polish, just like I wanted. And you even got me some cotton balls for between my toes.” She put the stuff down and went up and gave him a big hug, and he hugged her back this time. She stood slightly on tip toes and gave him a light kiss on the lips this time instead of just the cheek.

“I love you, Buddy,” she said, hugging him again, not letting go. “I love you so much. You're the only person I know who would give me just what I wanted for my birthday.”

She finally let him go and sat down to open the polish. “Well,” Buddy said. “I'm glad you like it. I had to go to Walmart anyway,” he said again, still struggling to find the words he wanted to say, knowing he'd think of something better he should have said after it was too late.

As Jamie Lynn was opening the cotton balls to go to work on her toenails, he said, “Would you like to listen to some music or something? There ain't nothin' much on TV.”

“That would be great, Buddy,” she said, putting the cotton balls between her toes. “Could you put on some Pink Floyd? I love Dark Side of the Moon.”

Buddy saw what she was doing with the cotton balls, but didn't quite get why it was necessary, but guessed maybe it didn't matter. He went into the bedroom and got the album, then brought it back and put it on the turntable. She was already painting one of her toenails when she said, “Oh, I forgot to ask if you have some old newspaper or something to put on the floor. You know, so it won't get on the floor.”

He didn't have any newspaper, so he said, “Don't worry about it. This old carpet, it... it don't matter.”

“Shit,” she said. “I'm already messing up. Are your hands steady, Buddy? I can't do anything like this without screwing it up and getting more of it on my toes than on my nails.”

Was he understanding her right? Did she want him to put the polish on her toenails? “Well... I guess, but... What exactly is it you want me... I mean...”

She gave him that “puppy dog look” and said, “Could you do it? Please?”

She kept looking at him that way, and at that point he would have flown to the moon and back for her, so he gave in. There was no way he could say no.

“Well...” he said. “Okay. I guess.” He then walked over and knelt down in front of her. She extended a bare foot to him and he put his hand under her foot to hold it while taking the brush in the other, and began painting her toenails.

“Buddy, you are so good at this,” she said. “You ought to open a pedicure shop. You do it so well.”

“Well,” he said, “It ain't like, you know... What I mean is, I ain't had a lot of experience, I can tell you that.”

Jamie Lynn laughed so hard, she rolled back, accidentally moving her foot so that he got nail polish on her toes. “Oh,” she said, “I'm sorry, Buddy. That was my fault.”

“I got some Kleenex on the table,” he said. “Here, let me get some.” He got up and grabbed a few tissues and sat back down, as Jamie tried to control her laughter. He carefully wiped the polish off her toes and went back to work.

After a few minutes, Buddy noticed she was looking at him very seriously, with the biggest, brightest blue eyes. It was more than just another one of those puppy dog looks, or at least it seemed to him like it was. He thought maybe he had said or done something he shouldn't have, so he said, “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, still looking at him. “It's just that... You're the nicest, sweetest man I've ever known in my life, and I love you so much.”

He blushed and said, “Well... Thank you. You're real sweet, too,” then went back to work painting her toenails.

When he finished one set of toes, she extended her other bare foot to him, and he went to work on her other five toes. “You know, this ain't really so hard,” he said. “You just need a steady hand.”

She didn't say anything, which he guessed was okay. He got to thinking that when you get to know somebody well enough to feel comfortable with them, they don't always have to talk, they don't have to respond to every little thing that comes out of your mouth, and that was nice. It was really nice. He wasn't used to it, because he didn't know anyone else he felt that comfortable with. Never had, really, not since he was a kid at least, and maybe not even then.

By the time he finished, side one of Dark Side of the Moon had finished playing. He turned it over to side two, and he sat in his chair while Jamie Lynn lay on the couch to watch TV after the album was over. They talked, Jamie Lynn doing most of it. She talked about her father, mostly, even though it sounded as though he had not been a part of her life since she was nine or ten, and Buddy wasn't sure how much attention he paid to her even then.

She talked about her mom's stupid boyfriend, whose name was Timothy Walker. He was a mechanic somewhere, and always smelled like grease when he came over. She didn't care for him, didn't care much for her mom, either. She had an older sister who lived somewhere on the other side of town with some man who was unemployed. They had a baby that was in foster care somewhere. Jamie Lynn had never seen the baby and didn't know for sure if it was a boy or a girl. Sometimes her mom referred to it as a boy, sometimes she said it was a girl. She probably didn't know either, and didn't care.

The Dr Phil show came and went, but Jamie Lynn had talked so much, Buddy couldn't remember what the topic of the day was, but he didn't care much. He liked listening to Jamie Lynn talk, but wished she didn't have such a sad life. He wished he could somehow make it better. She had made his life so good just by being there, and he wanted to do something for her to make her life as good as she was making his.

“Can we listen to some music?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said. “What you want to hear?”

“Well,” she said, “It's an album by the Rolling Stones, but I can't remember the name. There's really only one song that's good, that I like, and it's about a motel, something about a girl named Hannah and a motel.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “The album is called Black and Blue, and the song is Memory Motel. It ain't my, you know, favorite album by the Stones, but that's a good slow song and all.” He had really hoped she'd want to hear something a little more upbeat because he wanted to see her dance again, but he felt ashamed for feeling that way, seeing as how she was so young.

He went to get the album, and when he came back, she had gone to the fridge to get another Pepsi. At the rate she was going, he was gonna have to buy more in a few days, and hopefully he wouldn't have to until after his Disability check went in the bank. Remembering she only liked one song, he put the stylus down at the beginning of the last song on side one. The song started real slow, with some piano music. Then Mick Jagger started singing:

“Hannah honey was a peachy kind of girl. Her eyes were hazel, and her nose was slightly curved...”

Jamie Lynn closed her eyes and started swaying, putting one hand on her tummy and her other hand in the air, as she turned around slowly, dancing, but not like she did yesterday. She was like a different girl, one who didn't really know how to dance but just turned around slowly with the music, moving her hips just a little. Still, there was something very sweet about it, something Buddy found appealing, even if not the same way as with what she did yesterday, but it made him feel funny inside. It was a good feeling, and he wished he could just watch her all day, just like he was watching her now.

After she turned all the way around, she opened her eyes and looked at Buddy, then said, “Would you dance with me, Buddy?”

“What?” he said, kind of stunned. “Aw, no. I mean... I can't dance.”

“Sure you can, Buddy,” she said, walking up to him. “All you have to do is put your arms around me, like this,” she said, putting his arms around her waist as she put hers around his neck. “Then just turn around in a circle, real slow like, and move your hips, like this.”

She swayed her hips to and fro, very slowly, taking Buddy with her in a slow circle. “That's good, Buddy.” she said. “You're doing real good.” After a few moments she said, “You're doing just great, Buddy.”

They danced, turning around slowly, just like she said. Jamie Lynn stood on tip toes and put her head on his shoulders, and if the feelings he got before were warm and fuzzy, then this feeling was... well, it was something like nothing he had ever experienced before in his life. He wanted it to last forever, although if there was one thing he had learned in his life, it was that nothing good lasted forever, just the bad stuff.

But all of that changed that afternoon, or Buddy thought it did. The song went on and on, and they danced, and Buddy felt tears welling up in his eyes. He was crying, partly for Jamie Lynn and the hard life she seemed to have, but part was for his own joy at having her come into his life. He was determined he would make things better for her, just as she had made his life so much better. There was nothing he wouldn't do for this sweet, barefooted little girl. Nothing. Nothing.

Mick Jagger and Keith Richards shared lead vocals on the chorus: “You're just a memory, of a love that used to mean so much to me...”

The song finally ended, and he was embarrassed that she might see the tears in his eyes, but she was crying, too. He went to take the record off while she stood there wiping her eyes.

“Thank you, Buddy,” she said. “That was one of the nicest times I've ever had. I think maybe it was the nicest in like, ever.”

He didn't say anything, partly because he couldn't think of anything, but mostly because he was kind of choked up. He didn't think he could talk if his life depended on it.

Jamie Lynn went back to the sofa and he went to the kitchen to get another Coke for himself. When he felt he could finally talk, he said, “Do you want to listen to something else?”

“No,” she said. “I don't think I could after that. It was wonderful, Buddy. Thank you so much for playing that song, and for dancing with me, and for... everything. Thank you, Buddy.”

Since Jamie Lynn didn't want to listen to another record, they watched TV, although Buddy couldn't have told you later anything he saw or heard, other than a vague memory of the evening news being on, then over, then Inside Edition followed by Entertainment Tonight. He suddenly realized it was 8:00 pm. Since it was almost summer it didn't get dark till later, so it kind of surprised him that it was so late.

“You know,” he said, “I wish you could stay here like, you know, forever and all, but... well I was just wondering... are you gonna be in trouble with your mom or anything?”

Jamie Lynn just shook her head and didn't say anything. Buddy waited a few moments and said, “Well that's good. That's real good. But... I mean, are you sure? If you need to go home, it wouldn't hurt my feelings or nothing... Not that I want you to go, but...”

“I can't go home,” Jamie Lynn said.

“You mean... Your mom has the door locked again?” he asks.

“It's not just that,” she said. “She threw me out. My mom kicked me out of the house, and now I can't go back. She won't let me in.”

Jamie Lynn started crying. Buddy got up and went to the couch. She sat up and he sat beside her, putting his arm around her as she cried on his shoulder. He reached over and got some Kleenex and gave one to her. She took it, then put her head back on his shoulder.

“There, there, honey, it's gonna be all right,” he said. “She's your mama, she can't do that. She'll change her mind, she's probably just mad right now. I'll bet you she's looking for you right now, she probably wants you to come home for supper.”

“No, she won't change her mind,” Jamie Lynn said. “And I wouldn't go back even if she did.”

“Well... why... I mean, it ain't none of my business, but...” Buddy stammered.

“She thinks I'm screwing around with her fucking boyfriend,” Jamie Lynn said. “She thinks I'm fucking him behind her back.”

“Well now, that's just... I can't believe... I mean, I ain't saying your lyin', it's just that... Why would she think something like that?” he asked.

“Last night, we were sitting in the living room, watching some stupid movie he brought over on DVD 'cause we can't watch TV 'cause my mom's unemployed and says she can't afford cable TV now,” she said.

“Anyway, Mom got up to go take the clothes out of the dryer, and me and Timothy were sittin' on the sofa. He always sits next to me, not Mom. You'd think that would be a clue to anybody with half a brain, but not Mom. He's always putting his hand on my leg, even when she's in the room. She acts like she don't see it, just goes on watching TV.

“So anyway, she goes to take the clothes out of the dryer, and he started putting his hands all over me, one hand between my legs and the other under my shirt. I started yelling at him, 'Get your filthy hands off me,' and Mom just yelled at me from where she was to stop yellin'. So he keeps on, and I slapped him.

“About that time, Mom walks back in the room, and he's still feelin' all over me with his hands, and she accuses me of trying to mess around with him. He's practically raping me, trying to take my shirt off, and she starts screaming at me, saying I'm always trying to take her boyfriends away. And of course, Timothy, he just tells her he was the one having to fight me off, like I was trying to rape him or somethin'.

Jamie Lynn started crying again, then continued. “So Mom, she finally starts yellin' at me to get out, get out of her house. She don't care what I do or where I go, or who I screw, just so it ain't her boyfriend, and she don't want me in her house any more, just get out, you little slut, get out.”

She asked for another Kleenex, and when Buddy gave her one, she continued. “So anyway, I left, didn't even have time to pack any clothes or even my toothbrush, she just threw me out with what I got on right now, nothin' else.

“I started to come over here, but it was getting late, and I didn't want to bother you, so I went to a friend's house, Jenny Thompson. Her mom knows how my mom is, so I asked if I could spend the night, and Jenny's mom said yeah, but I had to be out today, 'cause she didn't want my mom comin' over and making a scene. So I spent the night there, but I can't go back.”

Buddy wanted more than anything to offer to let her stay there, but as much as he loved her, he knew what the neighbors would probably say about that, and he couldn't afford for that to happen. His rent lady was mean to him sometimes, even though he always paid the rent right on time except for one time when he couldn't, and she got downright nasty about it. If she was to find out he had a thirteen-year-old girl staying with him, even for just one night, she'd throw him out and probably call the police. He couldn't afford to let that happen.

Buddy didn't say anything for awhile, and neither did Jamie Lynn. Things were kind of awkward, but he finally said, “Well have you tried to talk to your mom today, you know, to see if maybe she... you know, she might have cooled off and...”

“Buddy, I can't got back there, even if she'd let me,” she said. “I can't let that fucking grease monkey put his dirty hands on me again. I just can't.”
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Old 12-Nov-18, 01:52
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Default Re: A prisoner in his own home

Thanks for posting the first three chapters, Dirk. It was really good to be able get to know these characters in one hit. I feel for both of them, but wonder if Jamie was being honest with Buddy when she talked about why she couldn't go home. She's had it tough, that's for sure.
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Default Re: A prisoner in his own home

I'm glad to know someone feels for both of them. The girl is a manipulator, that's for sure, but that's how she's learned to survive. Neither one can help being the way they are, and I hope no one sees the girl as nothing but a villain, even though I've always said the girls in my stories are always "bad guys." This story is that rare exception. It's not a story about good guys and bad girls, it's a story about two people who should never have somehow gotten together. It's also probably not the best story for the forum, but once I started writing it, I couldn't stop. Maybe with some tweaking and polishing, I could post it somewhere else, but since I've started posting it here, you guys are stuck with it, just as Buddy and Jamie Lynn are going to be stuck with each other, at least for now. For those who don't like the story and won't like the story even after having read all of it, don't give up on me. There will be another Little Serial Killers story at some point, one with an interesting twist, and also one about a preteen girl gang who wreak havoc with a man who complains to the cops about the loud music coming from the home of one of the girls. He will rue the day he ever messed with them, and not just because they make him listen to Ariana Grande and Justin Bieber, although that in itself is pretty sadistic.

Added after 1 20 minutes:

Here is chapter four. I told you it was a slow burn. In this chapter, Buddy learns a little more about Jamie Lynn/Hannah, and what may be in store for him, assuming there's some truth in what her mother says. A good title for this chapter might be "Storm Warnings."




CHAPTER FOUR



Buddy felt real bad when she said that, because he was afraid she'd think he didn't care what that pervert did, and that wasn't true. He loved Jamie Lynn, and the idea of somebody doing something like that made him real mad, and yet there he was trying to get her to talk to her mom about letting her go back. She must have thought he was as bad as her mom, especially since he hadn't asked her to stay with him, but he knew he couldn't ask her to stay there. It just wouldn't work out.

After several moments of more awkward silence, she asked, “Buddy, can I please stay here tonight? I promise I won't cause you no trouble. I'll sleep on the sofa, you won't even hardly know I'm here. I just can't go back, and I ain't got nowhere else to go. Please, Buddy. Please...” She put her head on his shoulder and started crying again.

“It's all right, honey, it's all right,” he said. “You can stay here. Matter of fact, you can stay here as long as you need to.”

Buddy knew he shouldn't have said that. One night might be okay, as long as the neighbors, especially nosy old Ms Newberry, and his rent lady, Ms. McClendon, didn't find out. But Lord knows what kind of trouble it would cause if he allowed her to stay any longer than that.

“Oh, thank you, Buddy,” she said, throwing her arms around him and giving him a big hug. “I knew I could depend on you. You're the only person in the whole goddamn world who cares about me, and I love you so much, Buddy, you just don't know how much I love you.” She kept hugging him, and he just sat there and hugged her back, stroking her hair and telling her not to worry, everything's gonna be all right. He knew it wasn't gonna be all right, but what else could he do?

Finally, he said, “Jeez, honey, you must be hungry, and all I give you to eat was a Snickers. I don't have much to eat other than snacks and all, 'cept for some TV dinners.”

She finally released him and said, “A TV dinner would be great, Buddy, just great.”

“Well okay then, let's go have us some supper,” he said, getting up and going to the kitchen.

“And can I have another Pepsi?” she asked. “I mean, I hate to drink up all your Pepsis, but...”

“Don't you worry about that,” he said. “I bought 'em for you, honey. I still got plenty of Cokes.”

“Thank you, Buddy,” she said. “Your the best. I'd be on the street right now if it weren't for you. You saved my life.”

“Well, I don't know about that,” he said, feeling kind of awkward and still a little worried. “Anyway, what you want... I mean, I ain't got nothing but meat loaf and Salisbury steak. The meat loaf comes with mashed potatoes and the Salisbury steak has macaroni and cheese... Or... I think that's right, let me check.” He opened the freezer compartment of his refrigerator to look and be sure, as he didn't want to tell her wrong.

“Either one's fine, Buddy,” she said. “Either one's just fine.”

Buddy had forgotten to buy TV dinners at Walmart, and only had two left, so he knew he'd have to go to Walmart first thing the next morning and buy more. He put them in the microwave, set the timer and came back and sat down, then remembered that for two dinners, he'd probably need to add some cooking time. He went back and looked at the carton for instructions, but didn't see any, so he just added two more minutes to it and hoped they wouldn't be overcooked.

The dinners were fine, and Jamie Lynn told him over and over how much she appreciated what he was doing, and how much she loved him, that he was the best, and the only person in the world who cared about her. Buddy kept telling her it was fine, everything would work out okay, and that he would always be there for her no matter what. But he was worried, real worried.

Jamie Lynn insisted on sleeping on the couch, and Buddy first told her no, it was okay for her to sleep in the bedroom and he'd sleep on the couch, then he remembered how uncomfortable his mattress was, and told her so she wouldn't think it was that he didn't want her to sleep in his bed, even though he didn't think it was appropriate, really, to let her do that anyway, even with him sleeping on the couch. It was one thing for a young girl like Jamie Lynn to spend the night in his house, but if anyone found out she slept in his bed? Well, that would just make things worse.

So she pulled off her shorts and he brought her one of the pillows from his bed, since he only needed one for himself anyway, and a sheet. Fortunately he had one clean sheet, as he didn't have that many sheets anyway, and often put off washing them until he didn't have any clean ones left.

He was kind of embarrassed to see her in tee shirt and panties, but she was right about the shorts she had been wearing. They were just about as skimpy as panties, so he really didn't see that much more after she took off her shorts. Still, it just didn't seem appropriate, but he didn't say anything.

When he started to leave, she called him back. “Buddy?” she said.

“Yeah, honey?” he said.

She said, “You know that song we danced to, the one by the Rolling Stones?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Course I remember. It's a real nice song.”

“It sure is,” she said. “But I was wondering... the name of the girl in that song is 'Hannah.'”

“Yeah,” he said. “I think you're right, he called her Hannah.”

“Well,” she said. “Could you call me that? Hannah? I like that name better than Jamie Lynn. So... Would you call me Hannah from now on?”

“Well,” he said, not knowing for sure if that was a good idea or not. “Yeah, I guess I could. But I think Jamie Lynn is a real pretty name, too.”

“I know you do, Buddy, I know you do. But... I want to be Hannah from now on, just like the girl in the song. I want to be your Hannah honey, 'cause that's what he calls her, 'Hannah honey.' I mean, you call me honey, and I like that, so... if I could just be your 'Hannah honey,' it'd make me real happy.”

He thought about it, then said, “Well... Okay, honey. I mean, Hannah honey.”

“Thank you, Buddy,” she said.

Then as he started to turn around, she extended her arms. He leaned over and she gave him a nice big hug, and a light kiss on the lips that lasted a couple of seconds longer than he felt comfortable with.

“Goodnight, Buddy,” she said. “I love you.”

“Goodnight, Jamie Lynn... I mean, Hannah. Hannah honey. I love you, too.” She smiled and rolled over, then closed her eyes. Buddy then turned out the light and went to his room.

He left the lamp on in his bedroom, as he thought it best if there was at least one light on, what with a little girl sleeping in his front room. Somehow it just seemed right to have a light on. He took off his shoes, but didn't take off anything else, not even his shirt or socks, as he would be kinda embarrassed for her to see him even partially undressed, since he was real shy about things like that.

Buddy went to bed and said a prayer, something he hardly ever did, but tonight he felt he needed to ask God to look after Jamie Lynn. He wasn't sure how God would feel about him calling her a name that wasn't really hers, especially with it being one from a song by the Rolling Stones and all. Buddy wanted to make sure God understood that he wanted to help the girl, not do bad things to her like her mama's boyfriend, and he hoped God wouldn't think letting her stay at his house was a sin. He just wanted Jamie Lynn to be all right, because he had never cared about anyone so much in his life.

Buddy was just about asleep when he thought he heard something. It was more like a vibration than a noise, a sensation that there was movement somewhere nearby. Then he felt something or someone getting up on the bed next to him, and when he rolled over to see what it was, Jamie Lynn was crawling under the sheet next to him. Oh shit, he thought.

“Jamie Lynn?” he asked. “What...what are you doin', honey?”

“I'm sorry Buddy, I didn't mean to wake you up,” she said. “It's just that I can't sleep, I'm so upset. I thought maybe if I got next to someone who cares about me, the only person in the world who loves me, I'd be able to sleep. I don't mean nothin' by it.”

Buddy wasn't sure what to say at first, so there was another awkward moment. Then he said, “Well, honey, you know I love you, but... Well, it's just that... It ain't really a... appropri... appro...”

“Buddy, please don't tell me it's not appropriate for me to sleep with you,” she said. “I'm not trying to have sex with you. I just don't want to be alone, 'specially at night.”

“Well, I... I mean, I guess...” he stammered, trying to find the right way to say what he thought needed to be said without hurting her feelings.

“Thank you, Buddy,” she said. “I knew you'd understand.”

She then curled up with her knees close to her stomach, like a little kid. He'd heard somewhere that the way she was all balled up like that was called a “fetal position,” because that's how fetuses are in the womb. It might have been Dr Phil where they said that.

Not only was she going to sleep like a little baby that hadn't been born yet, but she put her thumb in her mouth, something else that made her seem just like a little bitty gal instead of a thirteen-year-old girl who could dance the way she did today, and especially yesterday. Buddy knew he couldn't go to sleep anytime soon, so he just sat up in bed watching her for a long, long time, unable to take his eyes off of her. He loved that little girl. God, how much he loved her.

Buddy finally fell asleep and didn't wake up until after 9:00 am. Jamie, or rather Hannah, was no longer in the bed next to him. He figured she must have gone back to the sofa, what with that mattress being so uncomfortable. He got up, put his shoes on, and went into the front room, where he saw no sign of her. She wasn't in the kitchen either, and the bathroom door was open with no one inside. He figured maybe she had gone to school, then realized she couldn't go in a pair or shorts like that and barefooted. Maybe she went home to make things up with her mom, although he hoped that boyfriend wasn't still there, the son of a bitch.

He took a shower, got dressed and decided to go to Walmart to buy some more TV dinners, just in case she came back. He needed some more anyway. He locked the door, then decided to put a note on the door for her, just in case she came back. The note read: “Gon to Wall mart.” He bought a dozen, all of them meat loaf and Salisbury steak, as he didn't like the turkey dinners and the fried chicken dinners were always awful, because the crust was never crispy.

When he got back, she was standing by the front door, crying. “Hey, Jamie Lynn... I mean, Hannah... honey,” he said. “What's wrong?”

“Why did you lock me out?” she asked.

“Honey, I just went to Walmart,” he said. “Didn't you see my note?” he had left it in the crack of the door, so no one could see it unless they took it out and read it. The note was gone. She had wadded it up and thrown in on the ground.

“Yeah, but you didn't have to lock the door, not if you were gonna be gone just a few minutes. I thought you didn't want me back in your house.”

“Now that's just not true,” he said, unlocking the door and letting her inside. “I just didn't want nobody else going in my house and all. I ain't got much that's worth stealing, you know, just my stereo and TV and my old computer and all, but I had somebody steal a TV once, a real nice one, you know, better than what I got now and all, and I didn't want that, you know, ever happening again. Like you said, I was just gone a few minutes and all, and I didn't know where you was, you know?”

She didn't say anything else, and Buddy felt bad, but he hoped she understood. He guessed that with her mom locking her out like she did, she was just real sensitive about the door being locked. “I'm sorry,” he said.

She still didn't say anything, so he said, “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” she said. “A little.”

“I ain't got no breakfast food, but it's almost lunch time anyway,” he said. “I got some more TV dinners. You want meat loaf or Salisbury steak?”

“It don't matter,” she said. “I had meat loaf last night, so I guess maybe Salisbury steak.”

He made one of each, and she had the Salisbury steak this time and he had meat loaf. She was very quiet, not saying much, even when he said something or asked her a question. He finally decided he needed to ask her about school.

“Honey, I hope you don't mind me asking but... What about school? I mean, obviously if you're gonna be going to school, we gone have to get you some clothes and stuff, but I don't get my check...”

“I'm not going to school right now,” she said. “I got suspended.”

“Oh,” he said. Buddy wanted to know why, but she seemed to be in kind of a bad mood, and so he didn't say anything else.

The rest of the afternoon, they watched TV. He asked if she wanted to listen to music and she just shook her head, quietly watching what was on TV. Buddy didn't have anything but basic cable, which didn't include much. No Disney or Nickelodeon, no MTV, although Buddy didn't know why anybody would want to watch MTV anyway, as they no longer showed much in the way of music videos like they did when he was young.

He figured she was down about her mom and stuff, and he sure couldn't blame her for that. Still, he wished she'd put on that Stones song and ask him to dance with her again. Maybe she'd feel like it later on. By the time Dr Phil came on, she had fallen asleep on the couch. The topic today was men who don't pay child support or maintain contact their kids. That was a popular topic on daytime talk shows and Buddy was kind of tired of it. He wondered if her daddy paid child support, or where he even was. According to Hannah, he didn't try to maintain contact. Buddy figured all that had to make things worse for her as well as her mom.

She got up about the time Dr Phil was over and went to the bathroom. He had noticed she never closed the door, and so Buddy had to be sure to look the other way so she could have some privacy, although it didn't seem to matter to her. After a few minutes, he heard the shower, and realized she didn't have any clean clothes to put on. He wished he could afford to at least let her go to Walmart and buy some panties and stuff. That would have to wait until day after tomorrow, when he got his check, and as much as he loved her, he hoped by then things could be worked out with her mom, as he knew he couldn't afford to let her stay there indefinitely.

Buddy was on his way to the kitchen when she walked out naked as the day she was born, carrying her clothes, and he turned his head away immediately. “Hannah!” he said. “You need to put on some... you know... clothes and stuff...”

“What?” she said. “Oh Buddy, I live here now, so it don't matter. Don't be such a prude.”

“Well, I know that, but still... you might want to, you know, at least put a towel around... I mean, with you being a young girl and all...”

“Whatever,” she said, going back in the bathroom and putting a towel around her before coming out again. She dropped it in a few seconds to put her clothes on, and Buddy had to look away again.

What bothered him after he stopped blushing was what else she had said: “I live here now.” He knew she couldn't live here, even if he could take care of her, which he couldn't. Ms McClendon wouldn't stand for it. Buddy knew he would have to talk to her about that, but right now just didn't seem to be the time.

He asked if she was hungry, and she said yes, so he popped a couple of TV dinners in the microwave. When they sat down to eat, she said, “Do you think next time you could get something besides meat loaf and Salisbury steak?”

“Well... ,” he said. “Yeah, I guess. I just don't like most of the others, but I guess maybe I could.”

“Maybe some lasagna,” she said. “Stouffer's makes good lasagna.”

He agreed to go back to Walmart for some different dinners the next day, although he knew he wouldn't have any money left. Still, if that's what she wanted, it was okay, as his check would be in the bank the next day.

That night she slept on the couch. He knew that was more appropriate, but missed having her in bed beside him. Today had been sort of a downer, not at all like the day before, when she looked at him the way she did when he was painting her toenails and had told him he was the nicest, sweetest person she had ever known, and how much she loved him. And then there was the dance, which had been the greatest most fantastic experience of his life. He had practically fallen in love with her, or maybe he had, even though she was too young, way too young. And of course, later, she had slept with him, although they hadn't done anything because it wouldn't have been right, but still... Oh, well. Maybe she'll be in a better mood tomorrow, he hoped.

But the next day was no better. In fact, it was even worse. Jamie Lynn... or rather, Hannah had criticized everything and wanted more of this, more of that. Why couldn't he get more channels on cable? It didn't cost that much. Did they have to eat TV dinners every day? Couldn't they at least go to McDonald's now and then? She needed some clothes, when was he gonna buy her some clothes? Buddy tried to tell her about the money situation, and that his check was going in the bank the next day, then they could go to McDonald's, and Walmart, so she could get some clothes. Then he asked if maybe she thought her mom would at least let her go get her clothes from her house, but that was a mistake. She went ballistic, saying she didn't ever want to see that “fucking bitch” again.

That afternoon she disappeared for several hours. Buddy had no idea where she went the times she left, and she never said. He thought about going to see her mom, to see if she would at least give him some money or something, but wasn't sure that was a good thing to do. He didn't want to give her the wrong idea about his relationship with Hannah, but he decided he would just have to explain it to her.

Several times he started out the door, then turned around and came back. Finally he decided he had no choice. It would be better to meet her and maybe get her side of things, and maybe she'd at least let him have her clothes, and maybe some money to help him buy something for them to eat besides TV dinners.

Buddy wasn't sure exactly where she lived, but he had a pretty good idea. He knocked on the wrong door, and was a little embarrassed when a man wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a sleeveless undershirt answered, and he had to ask where Jamie Lynn's mother lived. He was also kind of surprised at what the man said.

“Oh, you been having trouble with that little bitch too, huh?” the man had asked. “What'd she do to you?” Buddy said it wasn't anything like that, he just needed to talk to her mom about some things. The man said, “Uh-huh, I'll bet you do.” Buddy noticed he had a black eye. The man didn't say anything about it and Buddy knew it was none of his business and didn't ask. He was sure it didn't have anything to do with his sweet Hannah.

The man directed him to the right house and said, “Good luck,” then closed the door. Buddy knocked on the door of Hannah's house and waited a long time before a woman with a beer in her hand answered the door.

“Yeah?” she said. “Who are you and what do you want?” She didn't invite him in, so Buddy just talked to her at the door, explaining that he was just trying to help her daughter out and wanted to know if there was anything she could do to, you know, help with expenses and stuff.

“Are you fucking that little slut?” she asked. “If so, I oughta call the cops on you.”

“No ma'am, it ain't nothing like that,” he said, taken aback at the bluntness of the question. “It's just that, well, I let her sleep on my couch, and I been tryin' to help her out.” He went on to explain that he just needed some help till things kind of, you know, settled down so she could come back home.

The woman made it clear that “the little bitch” wasn't coming back to her house, and if he couldn't take care of her, he needed to call social services and let them come get her and take her to a foster home. Buddy told her he didn't want to do that, she could stay with him, but he just needed some help, if nothing else, maybe if he could get some of her clothes.

“She tell you my boyfriend tried to rape her?” she asked.

“Ma'am, I don't know if it's, you know, a good idea for me to... what I mean is, what happened ain't none of my business...”

“Well, I think you oughta know, since she's with you now,” she said. “Just so you can't say I didn't tell you. What happened was this. I was washing clothes, and left her and Timothy watching a movie, then I heard her yelling and Timothy screaming.

“I ran back in the living room and they was on the floor, and she had her legs around his waist. At first I thought they was fucking, but he still had his clothes on, and she was still wearing her tee shirt with them little short shorts that look more like panties than shorts. She was punching him in the face over and over with her fists while holding him in place with her legs, squeezing him with 'em. She may be a little gal, but she's strong. You just don't know, least you might not know yet, but you'll find out.

“He was screamin' 'cause she was hurtin' him, and I mean with her fists and legs. She finally put such a hurtin' on him with her legs so hard he couldn't breathe, so he couldn't scream no more. I tried to pull her off of him, but she just hit me in the face, knockin' me down, then went back to work on Timothy, not lettin' him go. I finally had to call the cops on her, and it weren't the first time, neither.”

Buddy was in shock. He knew he wasn't very smart, but one thing he had learned was that most times when something happened between two people, the truth was usually somewhere between what each person said. He figured she must be exaggerating, and maybe leaving out what might have happened to cause Hannah to jump on him like that.

The woman went on to tell him that Jamie Lynn had been evaluated by a school psychologist because she caused so many problems at school. The psychologist had said she had a lot of anger toward her father, who left home when she was seven and never paid a dime in child support, even though it was court ordered.

She went on to tell him that even though they hadn't seen hide nor hair of her daddy since she was seven, Jamie Lynn still thought her daddy was gonna come back for her one day and take her with him to some big old house with a picket fence and a pony he bought just for her, some place that didn't exist except in her mind. “That's what she's waitin' for,” the woman said. She drank part of her beer, then continued. “She's waitin' for her daddy, who she thinks is some kind of prince, to come ridin' up on a white horse to take her away from all this.” She gestured with her hand toward her house, and from what Buddy could see of the inside, Hannah had been right about her mom not having been much of a housekeeper. “He's gonna take her away so they can live happily ever after.”

She drank more of her beer and said, “Anyway, that psychologist feller said that was why she had so much rage toward Timothy and ever other boyfriend I ever had. She ran 'em all off, jumpin' on 'em and beatin' 'em up, but never as bad as she did Timothy the other night. She hates ever man that comes along 'cause he ain't her daddy, or at least they ain't what she thinks her daddy is, which is a perfect man whose shit don't stink.

The woman drank the last of her beer, then continued. “I asked the psychologist if she was a psychopath, and he just looked at me, wouldn't answer, just said that it would require more evaluation, but I think he knew and just didn't want to say, didn't want to call a little girl a psycho, but I know she is.

“All Timothy tried to do was give her some discipline, like most of my other boyfriends tried to do. A child needs a father, and when they ain't got one, they don't always take to the men who try to take up the slack, especially when they think their daddies is something they want 'em to be instead of what they really are. It ain't that anybody can replace him, I know that, although in his case, there ain't much to replace, 'cause he wasn't much of a father even before he left.”

Hannah's mother looked at Buddy a few seconds, letting it all sink in, but she wasn't finished yet. “Last thing I heard her say before she jumped on Timothy the other night was, 'You ain't my fuckin' daddy.' Ever time she says that to a man, it's like an alarm goin' off, like a warnin' that they's about to be an explosion. That's when she goes off on 'em.

“So if you try to be firm with her, get her to follow some rules, you better watch out when she says 'You ain't my fuckin' daddy, 'cause they's about to be hell to pay, mister. I hope you got good medical insurance for when she does.” She then chuckled, but Buddy didn't think it was very funny.

He told her again he just wanted some help, something that would allow him to feed her and stuff, and maybe she could just let him get some of her clothes, but the woman refused.

“You wanna save the world by tryin' to take care of that little bitch, you find a way to do it yourself,” she said. “I've spent as much money on her as I'm goin' to, and you can buy her whatever clothes she wants, but unless you got a lot of money, whatever you buy ain't gonna be good enough. All I can say is, good luck, mister, 'cause you're gonna need it.” She then slammed the door in his face.

Last edited by dirksneath; 12-Nov-18 at 03:57.
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Old 12-Nov-18, 05:44
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Default Re: A prisoner in his own home

This is where it starts getting interesting. After shopping at Walmart, Hannah begins trying on the clothing Buddy bought for her, including a swim suit. She then engages him in a game in which she is the Amazon warrior princess stalking her prey, and Buddy is her prey. It's all just a game, but a very interesting one.




CHAPTER FIVE



Hannah didn't come back that day. Buddy kept looking out the window, then after dark he went outside and walked around the neighborhood looking for her, but didn't see her. He got to thinking. Her mom had called her “that little slut” when he first knocked on the door, and asked if he had been having sex with her, but denied anything sexual happened between Hannah and the boyfriend.

Why had she called her a little slut? Maybe she had a boyfriend, and she was with him, maybe having sex with him. If so, she was taking poor Buddy for a fool. It made him kind of mad, but mostly sad to think she might be somewhere having sex with some boy, or even worse, maybe a man. Buddy left the door unlocked and a light on inside, but she didn't come back that night.

When she finally came in the next afternoon, she said very little, just asked for something to eat. He put a Stouffer's lasagna in the microwave, and she ate it in silence, not even saying thank you, which hurt his feelings as he had remembered what she said about Stouffer's making good lasagna, so he'd bought several just for her. She just laid down on the couch to watch TV, once again complaining about there being nothing to watch because he didn't have any decent channels. She also refused to watch Dr Phil, insisting on watching an infomercial on another channel, because “anything was better than Dr Phil.”

Buddy finally said at least some of what was on his mind, telling her he was doing the best he could, but Hannah just ignored him. Finally, he said, “You know, the other day... I mean, when you came over and I gave you that nail polish for your birthday, and we danced... that was nice, I really liked that. What I'm sayin' is... Do you think we could do that again? Dance, I mean.”

She looked at him a few moments, then said, “I don't feel much like dancing.”

Buddy thought for a minute, then said, “Well I guess you're tired from whatever you was doin' all night long.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” she said, obviously very angry.

“Nothin'. I'm sorry, honey,” he said. “It's just that, I miss things like they was on that first day you was here, when I gave you that nail polish, and you said how nice and great I was, and how you loved me, and... and especially when we danced. That was... it was the best time I've ever had, and I just wish we could, you know, like maybe... do it again.”

“I guess you want me to sleep with you again too, huh?” she shot back, which cut him like a knife.

“No!” he said. “I wasn't talkin' about that. I told you, I mean, I tried to tell you that wasn't...”

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “It wasn't appropriate,” she said, practically spitting out the word “appropriate.” Then she said, “Just like me walking out of the shower naked wasn't appropriate, so maybe dancing with you ain't appropriate neither.”

“Honey, please... I just want things to be more like they was that day, that's all. I mean, it's like the least you can do... what I mean is...”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” she said. “I'm supposed to dance with you, tell you how great you are and how much I love you, all for letting me sleep on this shitty sofa and eat your shitty TV dinners.”

“Well if you don't like my shitty stuff, you can just leave and stay with whoever you was with last night,” he said, and walked out of the room. He came back in a few minutes later with the album by the Rolling Stones, but she was already walking out the door, slamming it behind her. He took the record back and turned the TV to Dr Phil, but the show was almost over. Tomorrow's show was about people who aren't grateful for the things other people do for them.

Hannah came back later that night, just when he was getting ready for bed. “I'm sorry I was such a snotty little bitch, Buddy,” she said. “I guess I've just been real upset about... you know, things being like they are with my mom, what with her taking up for her boyfriend after what he tried to do to me.”

“It's okay, honey,” Buddy said. “I understand.”

She hugged him, kissed him on the cheek and said, “I'd kinda like to dance to that record now, if it ain't too late.”

Happier than he'd been since he went to sleep with Hannah, his little honey, beside him the other night, he went to get the record, then couldn't find it. He almost went into a panic, then found where he'd misfiled it between Sticky Fingers and Exile On Main Street when it should have been between It's Only Rock 'N Roll and Some Girls. He was so upset when she left while he was getting the record out earlier, he must have just put it in the wrong place.

He brought it back in the room and put the stylus down at the beginning of Memory Motel. By the time Mick started singing, he had his arms around Hannah's waist and her arms were around his neck. They danced real slow like in a circle, just like they did the other day, or almost. It wasn't quite the same. Hannah didn't put her head on his shoulder, and her arms were kind of lose around his neck, and she didn't tell him how he was the nicest, sweetest man or that she loved him, but still, she was dancing with him, and everything was all right again.

When they were finished, she went to the sofa and laid down without taking off her shorts. He had noticed a slight odor, as she apparently had not had a shower since that day she had walked out without a towel around her, and she was wearing the same tee shirt and shorts, her “denim panties” as she called them, so he guessed it was to be expected, but it wasn't a bad odor. In fact it was kind of sweet, or at least Buddy thought it was.

He walked over and pulled the sheet over, like he was tucking her in, and said, “Goodnight, honey.”

She said, “Good night, Buddy,” then rolled over without extending her arms for a hug or giving him a kiss. He was disappointed, but she had danced with him again. At least she had done that.

As he was headed for his room, she called out to him. “Buddy?”

“Yeah, honey?” he said, coming back in the room, hoping she wanted to give him a hug and a goodnight kiss after all.

“Are we still going to Walmart tomorrow?” she asked. “So I can get some clothes?”

“Yeah, honey,” he said, kinda disappointed. “I told you we would, so yeah, we gonna get you some clothes.”

“Thanks,” she said, then reached out for a hug. He walked over to her and she put her arms around his neck and gave him a hug, and he hugged her back. She then rolled over on the couch again.

Buddy went to bed, feeling better than he had, but not as good as he had hoped. Things were better, he decided. Not the same as they were, but still, better. Things were gonna be all right, or as least he hoped they would.

The next morning, Hannah jumped on the bed with him, all playful like, telling him, “Get up, Buddy. Let's go to Walmart.”

When he was slow to get up, she engaged him in a tickle fight for a few seconds, then got off the bed and dragged him with her. Buddy said, “Wait, let me put my shoes on.”

After he put his shoes on, she took him by the hand and they started out the door. Buddy stopped, looked at her bare feet, and said, “Wait a minute. You know, they got this rule about.... you know, it's like a “no shirt, no shoes” rule and all, so... I mean...”

Hannah looked at her feet and said, “You mean I can't go in 'cause I'm barefooted.”

Buddy said, “Well, yeah... I mean, it ain't my rule or nothin', but still...”

“Here's what we'll do,” she said. “You go inside while I wait in the car. You can buy me some flip-flops or something. Nothing fancy, just something I can put on my feet, then bring 'em out and I'll put 'em on and we can go shopping at FUCKING WALMART!” she said, pumping her fists.

“Yeah, that'll work,” Buddy said. “Come on, let's go.”

As they were leaving, he saw that nosy Ms Newberry sweeping off her porch and looking at them, but he didn't care. He was going to Walmart with his Hannah honey.

So off to Walmart they went. Buddy left Hannah in the car and quickly found a pair of flip-flops, paid for them, and took them back to the car, where Hannah was waiting on the passenger side. She opened the door when she saw him coming. The flip-flops were connected by a small plastic cord that looked like fishing line, and Buddy tried to pull them apart, but couldn't.

“Here,” Hannah said, “give 'em to me.” She jerked them out of his hands and pulled, breaking the cord easily, then handed them back to Buddy and pointed one bare foot at him.

“Pretend I'm Cinderella and you're the handsome prince who has to put 'em on my feet to see if they fit,” she said.

Buddy knelt down and put a flip-flop on one foot, then the other, and pronounced them to be “A perfect fit.”

“That means I am now your princess, and we will live happily ever after,” she proclaimed, raising her head in the air as she got out of the car. She extended her arm to Buddy, bent at the elbow, and he put his arm in hers, and the handsome prince and the beautiful princess strutted into Walmart, smiling at all the people who gawked at them.

Once inside the store, Hannah was like a little kid in a candy shop or a toy store, running, hopping and skipping to the girls' clothing section. She was so excited she outran her flip-flops twice and to turn around and stick them back on her feet. What Buddy had in mind was maybe a couple of pairs of jeans, maybe a pair of shorts, and three or four tee shirts, and some underwear, but Hannah had a lot more in mind. A LOT more.

She spent the next two and a half hours trying on just about every article of clothing she could get her hands on: dresses, skirts, tank tops and blouses, bathing suits, belts. She even wanted some shoes, something Buddy hadn't thought about, since he'd never seen her wearing shoes, other than the flip-flops he had just bought. He looked at the price tags, and even though he wasn't able to estimate how much the total would be, he knew it would probably take a large hunk from his Disability deposit. So much for brake work.

When she finally finished in the clothing and shoe departments, which had taken a lot of encouragement and insistence from Buddy, she said she wasn't finished. “Buddy, I've got to have personal care shit... you know, toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo...”

Buddy told her she could use his toothpaste and shampoo, but she didn't like the cheap brands he used. She insisted on Sensodyne toothpaste, claiming she had sensitive teeth, and some fancy salon shampoo as well as conditioner, and she wouldn't settle for the Walmart brands. He was taken aback when she walked down the feminine hygiene department and picked up a couple of boxes of tampons. It had never occurred to him that a thirteen-year-old girl might need something like that. He may have been a prince when they had pranced into the store three hours earlier, but he feared he'd be a pauper before she was through.

Buddy's feelings were slightly hurt when she insisted on buying some more nail polish, seeing as how he had bought some for her birthday, especially when she picked out another bottle of pink nail polish that cost twice as much as the one he had given her. Still, she was his princess, and she had worn him down in the clothing section when he kept telling her he couldn't afford all this stuff, so he just gave in to her on almost everything else she wanted, including more snacks and Pepsis.

In the checkout line, she grabbed several bars of candy, chewing gum, and an energy drink, as if she needed one. By the time everything was scanned, the total came to over six hundred dollars, twice as much as Buddy had thought it would be and far more than he had intended to spend. He had forgotten to go to the ATM, so he had to use his debit card, and even though he always remembered his PIN, he was so flustered, his mind went blank. It took him a couple of minutes to get it right.

The princess skipped back to the car while the prince dragged behind, still in shock over how much he had spent. His rent and other bills were not due for another couple of weeks, but Disability was his only income, and he knew Ms. McClendon would never cut him any slack on rent, especially since she didn't seem to like him much anyway. He hoped the power company would accept a partial payment on his electric bill, although he had no clue as to when he'd be able to pay the rest of it.

“Oh look, there's IHOP,” she said as they were leaving the parking lot. IHOP was just down from Walmart, only they now called it International House of Burgers. “Can we go to IHOP, Buddy?” she asked. “Timothy took me and my mom there once, and it was awesome. They got the best omelettes.”

Buddy figured, what the heck. He'd spent so much already, a little more couldn't hurt. Besides, he figured he'd have pancakes and just water to drink, so how much could it be? Of course Hannah had to have the big steak omelette, the most expensive one on the menu, as well as a chocolate shake and a crispy strawberry banana cheesecake, which cost more than any of the other desserts.

He was shocked when the bill came to almost 30.00, excluding tip. Buddy wasn't going to leave a tip, but Hannah told him he needed to give the waitress something, so he left a dollar, despite the hard look from Hannah, who scolded him all the way to the car.

When they got home, she skipped into the house, kicked off her flip-flops, and asked Buddy to put on some music. “Led Zeppelin,” she said. “Anything by the Zep.” Buddy went to his room and got Led Zeppelin IV, figuring he couldn't go wrong with that one, and he was right. It was her favorite.

Hannah spent nearly an hour modeling clothes for him. She changed right in front of him, although he asked her more than once to go in the bedroom or bathroom for that.

“The princess shouldn't have to be so modest in front of the prince,” she said. “After all, we're practically married.”

Buddy knew that wasn't true, but at least she didn't get completely naked, at least not at first, although he had to turn away a couple of times when she stripped off her tee shirt to try on a top. The last thing she tried on was a black one piece swim suit Before putting it on, she slipped out of her shirt and panties, but Buddy had anticipated it and looked away just in time. It was cut high on the hips, making her already long legs seem even longer. When the Levee Breaks, the last song on side two, was playing on the stereo, and Hannah turned the volume up a little too loud, and Buddy feared the neighbors might complain, but didn't say anything.

Still wearing the swim suit, she started dancing. Bonham's drums kicked in: Thump THUMP... Thumpa thump THUMP...”

She moved in much the same was as she had done a few days earlier to the Stones song Can't You Hear Me Knocking, a bump and grind, swaying her hips, undulating, moving her body like a snake, in waves, walking slowly and sensuously in Buddy's direction, licking her lips and puckering them slightly as though waiting for a kiss. Buddy was mesmerized, knowing that he shouldn't be and feeling guilty because he was.

Hannah put her hands on his shoulders, then slipped her arms lightly around his neck, body still moving as she pressed against him, gazing into his eyes, then said, “I'm the warrior princess in the Amazon rain forest, stalking her prey. When I catch him, I'm either going to kill him or make him my slave, I haven't decided which. You are my prey, so you better run. Run for your freedom, and maybe even your life, because when the Amazon warrior princess catches you, then you will have to give up one or the other.”

Buddy just stood there, so Hannah said, “Run. Run. Try to get away.”

He ran, not quite understanding the game, but doing as he was told. Figuring he wasn't supposed to really try to get away, he only trotted to the door, and Hannah caught him easily, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“I have you, and now you must fight,” she said. “Fight for your life, for the warrior princess has decided to kill you.” Hannah's voice was very dramatic.
“Now, beg for mercy, Buddy,” she said, almost in a whisper, like a stage manager tossing out a line to an actor onstage who has forgotten what he's supposed to say.

“Huh?” he responded, confused. He wasn't sure he liked this game.

“Pretend I'm going to kill you,” she said. “You have to fight for your life and beg for mercy... On second thought, forget begging for mercy for now, right now you have to fight...” She stopped and walked over to the turntable, lifting the stylus over the record so she could explain the rules to Buddy.

“When the music starts, I'm going to be the warrior princess of the Amazons, stalking a man,” she said. “You're the man, my prey, and you know that when I catch you, I'm either going to kill you or make you my slave, and you don't want either one. You have to fight me, but you know that I am very strong and powerful, and that you don't stand much of a chance, so you're frightened, very frightened.

“Do I have to run again?” he asked.

Hannah thought for a second, then said, “No, I don't think so. There's not enough room for a good chase, so you just pretend that the warrior princess has cornered you, and you can't go any further because you're at the edge of a cliff, so now you have to fight.”

She went into a crouch, knees slightly bent, hands and arms extended, like a wrestler getting ready to attack an opponent. “Now, wait till I put the music on,” she said, padding back over to the turntable.

After putting the music on again, she went back into the crouch, standing between Buddy and the door. “Okay, Buddy. I'm still the warrior princess and you're my prey, but it's kinda like you're the running back trying to score, and I'm the defender you gotta get by.” She went back into her crouch, then said, “Understand?”

“Yeah, I think so,” he said.

The music started. Drums: Thump THUMP... Thumpa thump THUMP...”

Buddy moved to the right and she moved with him, blocking him. He feinted left, then quickly moved right, headed for the door, but she grabbed him just as he got about two feet past her, once again getting her arms around his waist. Hannah tightened her grip and threw him to the floor, standing over him and placing a bare foot on his face as she started swaying her hips back and forth, dancing while she held him down with her foot.

“I have caught you, worthless man who is now at the mercy of the warrior princess,” she said dramatically. You must fight for your life, as I will surely kill you unless you prove yourself to be stronger. Your only chance is to defeat me.”

When he did nothing, she said, “Come on, Buddy, try to get my foot off your face, do something to show you're willing to fight me so you can escape.”

He grabbed her ankle and pulled her foot away, then tried to get up, but she fell on him and wrestled him. Over and over they rolled, bumping into his chair before rolling back the other way. She ended up on top, pinning his shoulders with her hands before scooting forward and trapping him in a schoolgirl pin.

Thump THUMP... Thumpa thump THUMP...

She moved forward again, straddling his face, raising her arms in the air, pumping her fists and moving up and down, back and forth in time with the music, eyes closed. Buddy was not sure about this, as he was both excited and concerned, as this was not appropriate. He was tempted to push her off, but would have had to put his hands on her, and couldn't figure out where to put them without it seeming he was interested in doing something that wouldn't be right. He finally grabbed her just above the hips and pushed on way, then pulled back the other way, but not too hard. She remained seated on his face, grinding on him now, back and forth, back and forth.

“Mm mmmm, mm mmmm,” he said, trying to say “Uh-uh,” but it came out muffled because her crotch was pressed so firmly against his face.

He tried again, and she rolled off of him, but quickly wrapped her legs around his head and locked her ankles behind him. Buddy tried to get up but only made it to his knees in front of the girl, who pulled him back with her legs. He was kneeling in front of her. She gazed at him but he couldn't see her because she had her legs around his head and his eyes were covered by her crotch.

Buddy grabbed her legs and tried to pull them away, then stopped, letting them go, so she said, “Go ahead, Buddy. Try to pull my legs away. It's okay. Remember, you've got to fight me, or else the warrior princess will surely kill you, or take you captive and make you her slave, and you don't want either one of those things to happen. You've got to fight me, and try to get away.”

Buddy didn't like this game. It wasn't appropriate. Hannah was only thirteen, and he didn't think she wanted to have sex or anything, but still, this wasn't right. He could imagine them talking about things like his on Dr Phil, but wasn't sure just what they'd call this topic.

He finally grabbed her legs and tried to pull them away, but couldn't. Meanwhile, Hannah was still moving with the music, rotating her legs and his head in a circle, then back and forth, as he tried to free himself. She finally pulled him back down, once more getting on his face and grinding.

“Mm mmm,” Buddy said, his voice still muffled. “Lmmm me oh.” He was trying to say, “Let me go,” but that's the best he could do.

Hannah finally got up and pulled him up by the hair, then when he was on his feet, she put her hands on his shoulders and jumped, slipping her legs around his midsection and her arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly with both sets of limbs. It hurt, plus he couldn't breathe, so he couldn't say anything.

Buddy pulled at her arms first, then her legs, then her arms again. Nothing worked. She couldn't have known what she was doing, he figured, but he had to stop her, as it hurt and he couldn't breathe. Buddy tapped her leg three times, indicating his submission.

“Do you surrender to the warrior princess?” Hannah asked him.

“Yes,” he managed to say when she relaxed enough so he could catch his breath. That was all he could say, however, as he had to breathe real heavy like to catch his breath.

“Your surrender is accepted,” she said, but didn't let him go. She still had her arms and legs wound around him, just not as tightly. “You are now the slave of the warrior princess, and must do exactly as you are told, or she will surely kill you. And she may kill you anyway if she feels like it.”

“Can we play something else?” he asked. “I don't much care for this game.”

Hannah finally released him and slid down his body and onto her feet. She went back and started the song over, and started dancing again, gyrating and swaying her hips, then started undulating with her hands on her hips, moving snake-like. She moved around Buddy, and he turned with her, keeping his eyes on her, unable to look away, even though it bothered him. Buddy found it hard to believe sometimes that Hannah was a thirteen-year-old girl.

When the music was over, she asked for a Pepsi. They watched TV for awhile, even though there was nothing much on. Buddy fell asleep in his chair, and when he awoke, Hannah wasn't there. He called out to her, thinking she may have been in the bathroom or the bedroom, looking for something else to wear. She didn't answer, so he went to see if she was there, but she wasn't. He found the bathing suit she was wearing on the floor. He went into the kitchen, got a Coke and popped a TV dinner in the microwave, then after eating, he sat back down to wait for Dr Phil.

Last edited by dirksneath; 12-Nov-18 at 21:42.
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Old 12-Nov-18, 14:53
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Default Re: A prisoner in his own home

And now the part you've been waiting for. Just keep telling yourself, it's only a story, it's only a story, it's only a story...





CHAPTER SIX



About an hour later, she burst threw the door, yelling “What the FUCK did you go talk to my mom for, you son of a bitch?” She was wearing one of the new tee shirts and jean shorts, and as usual, she was barefooted.

“Hannah,” he said, jumping up out of his chair. “I was just...”

“She told me she told you what happened between me and Timothy,” she said. “Is that why you went? You didn't believe me?”

“No, honey, I was just trying to get you some clothes, and maybe get her to help out...”

“BULLSHIT! You didn't believe me,” she said, practically screaming.

“No, honey, I told her that wasn't any of my business, I just wanted...”

She punched him in the face, hard, knocking him to the floor, then pulled him up by the hair and punched him again, and once more he crashed to the floor, where she began stomping him with her bare feet. “Stop it, please stop,” Buddy yelled, but she only stopped long enough to pull him back up and slam him into the wall, where she punched him hard in the stomach, then kicked him in the face when he bent over in pain. He hit the wall and crumpled to the floor.

When Buddy tried to get up, she got behind him on her knees, wrapped an arm around his throat and pulled him back on top of her, slipping her legs around his midsection and crushing him. He couldn't breathe, and this time what she was doing was no game. The pain was even worse than it had been before, when they were just playing, and he desperately tried to free himself, pushing and pulling at her arms and legs, slapping and punching her legs when that didn't work.

Seeing her bare feet in front of him, he grabbed her ankles and tried to pull them apart. Buddy didn't want to hurt the girl, but knew he had to free himself or she'd choke him to death, so he started pulling her toes and she finally released him with her legs but not her arms. He rolled away to one side to keep her from getting her legs around him again, although she tried, throwing one leg up and over him as he struggled with her arm, trying to pull it away from his throat. Hannah kept trying to pull him back over, using the heel of her foot, so she could get her legs around him again, but he rolled further until he was on his stomach.

She released him and got up, stomping him again. “Don't you fucking EVER talk to my mom again,” she yelled. “EVER!”

She finally stopped and walked out the door. Buddy slowly got up and went to the bathroom to look in the mirror to see how badly injured his face was. His nose and bottom lip were bleeding, but she hadn't knocked any teeth out or anything. Buddy wasn't sure about whether it was okay to put Neosporin that close to his mouth, so he decided not to fool with it. Instead, he pulled a strip of toilet paper and dabbed the blood from his mouth and blew his nose, ejecting a clump of blood and mucus, then went back to the front room, sat down, and watched Dr Phil. The topic of the day was children who become violent.

Hannah was gone all night, and Buddy was very upset and depressed, not at all sure if she'd be back or if he wanted her to come back. He thought about taking her clothes and stuff back to Walmart, then decided against it. Even though Buddy meant no harm in going to her mom's house, he decided he shouldn't have gone. What happened was his fault, he figured, but still, she didn't need to act that way and should have listened to him. Maybe they could talk about it when she came back, if she came back. Then again, maybe it would be best not to bring it up, and maybe it would be better if she just didn't come back, although he didn't want to think about that.

When Hannah finally returned the next day, she didn't say anything. She just walked in, kind of pouty, as Buddy sat at the table eating a TV dinner and drinking a Coke. “Can I have something to eat?” she asked

Buddy hesitated a few moments, then said, “Okay.”

“I can fix it myself,” she told him, getting one out of the fridge, also helping herself to a Pepsi.

They ate in silence, and when Buddy was finished, he got another Coke out of the fridge and sat down to watch TV. Dr Phil wouldn't be on for several hours, so he watched CNN and bemoaned the fact that there had been another mass shooting. When Hannah finished, she went to the sofa and lay down.

“I'm sorry about yesterday,” she said. “I was just mad 'cause you went to talk to my mom. You should have told me you was gonna do that.”

“I woulda, but you weren't nowhere around,” he said. Buddy wanted to say more, but didn't want to start another fight. Lord knows he didn't want to do that. She didn't say anything, either.

When Dr Phil came on, she got up and walked out the door without saying anything. Buddy occasionally looked out the window for her, and even walked out the door now and then to see if there was any sign of her, but there wasn't. She didn't come back until the next day, just before the start of Dr Phil. The topic was teenagers who come and go as they please. She was wearing her old denim cutoffs, her “denim panties,” and one of the new tee shirts.

“I'm hungry,” she said, with no explanation as to where she had been. “Can we go out to eat? I'm tired of TV dinners.”

“You must have been eating TV dinners somewhere else then,” Buddy said, surprising even himself with his blunt response.

She hesitated, obviously shocked. “Can't we at least go to Burger King or somewhere? Or maybe Wendy's.”

“Do you have any money?” Buddy asked. “I spent all mine at Walmart and IHOP... I mean, you know...”

“Please, Buddy,” she said, walking up to him and giving him a kiss on the cheek and a hug. “I'm really hungry.”

“There was some Snickers, a whole bag of them,” Buddy said, still looking at the TV. Someone on Dr Phil was talking about the problems they had with their fifteen-year-old daughter staying out all night and coming home only when she was hungry. “I don't know what happened to them... I mean, you know, someone must have walked in and taken them when I left the door unlocked... you know, when I had to go somewhere and didn't want you to be, you know, locked out.”

Buddy's tone implied that he knew she took them, however. He had been to Walmart a little later than usual that morning for some more Cokes and TV dinners and had left the door unlocked, and had noticed that the Snickers bars were missing when he got back.

He continued. “Hannah honey, you know I really love you and all, but you can't just, you know, come and go as you please if you want to keep staying here...”

“What, you want me to stay here all the time?” she snapped at him.

“No, I didn't say that,” he said. “It's just that...”

“There ain't nothing to do here,” she said, getting angry, which scared Buddy. “You just watch TV all day, 'cept when you wanna dance with me or something.”

“Look, honey, it's just that...” he started, but she interrupted.

“My mom kicked me out 'cause she believed her boyfriend when he said he didn't do nothin' instead of me,” she said. “She wouldn't never let me go anywhere or visit my friends, nothing, especially when he was there. He didn't want me to go anywhere 'cause he wanted to sit by me and put his hands all over me, and now you want me to just stay here with you all the time and dance with you.”

“I didn't say that,” Buddy said, standing up and facing her. “It's just that I don't never know where, you know, where you are or anything...”

“That's none of your goddamn business,” she screamed.

“Now honey, there ain't no sense in you losing your temper and all... It's just that, you know, if you gonna stay here, they's gotta be some rules... ”

“YOU AIN'T MY GODDAMN DADDY,” she said, then attacked him.

Hannah took him down, throwing her arms around his waist in a perfect tackle. They wrestled, rolling across the floor. Pinning him to the floor, she unleashed a series of punches at his face, and when he rolled her off, she clamped her legs around his midsection and began crushing him. Buddy couldn't believe her strength. It was almost superhuman, and no matter what he did she wouldn't let go. He punched her legs, pulled at them, reached behind him in an attempt to grab her bare feet and pull her toes, but she extended her legs so he couldn't reach them.

She leaned back and applied maximum pressure. If the poor man had trouble believing how strong she was up to this point, he was totally shocked by this display of power. He had no doubt she could kill him this way. All he could do was groan in pain, as he couldn't breathe. He was able to get to his knees, but the girl took him back down so that they were on their sides, facing each other.

Buddy reached out and grabbed her hair, pulling it, then as much as he hated to do it, he punched her in the face, but didn't have the leverage for it to have much effect. It wasn't that he didn't want to hurt her, as he was desperate for relief from the pain. It was that he couldn't. He used both hands to pull her hair, trying to do something that might make her release him.

But she didn't, and she wouldn't. She just squeezed and squeezed, giving him no respite until she herself needed to relax and take a breath. However, it didn't last long, as she was soon bearing down on him again. Buddy was in a panic, not knowing what to do. He finally was able to roll on top of her. He grabbed her throat and started trying to choke her, but she grabbed his wrists and began pulling his hands away, not completely, but enough to keep him from applying much pressure.

The poor man tried to free his wrists from her clutches so he could punch her, as he had better leverage now than before. However, she wouldn't release him. He struggled to his feet with the girl still tightly wound around him and started running toward the wall, slamming her into it with enough force that she finally released him, and they both collapsed to the floor. The blow hurt Buddy as much as it did the girl.

Hannah recovered first and got to her feet. Buddy was struggling to rise, but she unleashed a hard kick to his face, knocking him back down, then started stomping him, her bare feet smashing down on his head, face and body. He covered up as best he could, but she kept trampling him.

Buddy managed to get to his feet and backed away, but the girl kept after him, punching his face and body with her fists. He ran to the phone with the girl after him, tackling him again as she took him down. The phone was on the end table next to the TV, and he knocked the TV partially off the stand as he fell. He was able to grab the phone and was about to dial 911 when the girl fell on him.

They wrestled, but Buddy was able to maintain his grip on the handset. “Who you tryin' to call, Buddy?” she asked, pinning him to the floor. “Huh? Who you tryin' to call? The police? Cause if you are, I'm gonna tell 'em you tried to rape me.”

“NO,” Buddy yelled. “Don't you... don't you tell nobody that, you know that ain't true.”

She wrestled the handset away from him and placed it back on the base of the phone, then got up. “I'm sorry I hurt you, Buddy,” she said, standing over him. “But I can't let you call the cops. They'll either call child protective services and have me put in a foster home or they'll put me in juvenile detention, and that's even worse. I been in both places, so I know.”

She then collapsed on the sofa and started crying. Buddy slowly got to his feet, hurting badly after her vicious attack. “Honey, I can't go on, you know, I can't...”

“I'm sorry, Buddy, I really am,” she said. “It's just that... you reminded me of Timothy, talking to me like that.”

“I can't help what I reminded you of,” he said, afraid of what she might do, but unable to contain himself any longer. “It's just that I can't go on like... I mean, with you comin' and goin' and then jumping on me... It's just that...”

“I know, Buddy,” she said, “and I'm truly sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you like that.”

Buddy went to the bathroom and checked out his injuries, wiping the blood off his face with toilet paper. He thought she might have broken his nose, but it looked okay, other than being bloody. His upper and bottom lips were busted and bleeding, and he was probably going to have a shiner.

“You gotta find someplace else to stay, honey,” he said. “I... I just can't...” He broke down and cried.

Hannah came up to him and put her arms around him from behind. “I'm really, really sorry I hurt you,” she said. “Tell you what. Let's have a TV dinner, and then we can dance. We can put on that Stones song about the motel.”

“I don't wanna dance,” he said. “I just don't wanna dance no more.”

She released him and said, “Okay, Buddy. I guess I can't blame you.” She started gathering up her toothbrush and paste, shampoo and tampons, and said, “I'll just take my stuff and go.”

Buddy helped her pack her personal belongings and clothes, putting them in plastic garbage bags. Then she started crying again, saying, “But I ain't got no place to go.”

“I'm sorry, honey, but you got to go,” he said, fearing she would attack him again, but she didn't. Instead, she walked out the door.

Buddy finished packing her clothes and stuff and placed them by the door. Before going to bed that night, he started to leave the door unlocked in case she came back, but was afraid she'd attack him in his sleep. He therefore locked the door. The next morning, he placed the bags outside the door and locked it. Then out of fear about Ms McClendon nosing around and wondering what was in the bags, he decided to take them to her mom's house and leave them with her.

On his way to the car, old Ms Newberry saw him. She was sweeping her porch again. Buddy couldn't help but think she had the cleanest porch in town, but at least she wasn't sweeping it in the middle of the night.

“Looks like a lot of garbage for one man,” nosy old Ms Newberry said.

“No ma'am, it ain't garbage,” he told her, avoiding eye contact with the old biddy.

“My goodness, what happened to your face?” she asked, obviously noticing the black eye. When he didn't respond, she said, “You're supposed to say, 'You should see the other guy'” and laughed. Her laughter sounded like the cackle of an old crow, which he decided was a good nickname for her, the old crow.

He continued ignoring her, putting the clothes in the car and driving over to Hannah's mom's house. He had to knock for several minutes and was just about to leave the bags when she answered the door.

“Finally figured out what she was, did you?” she asked when she opened the door and saw the bags of her clothes and other belongings.

“Well, ma'am,” Buddy said, trying to be nice. “Let's just say it didn't work out too good.”

Looking at the injuries to his face, including his black eye, she said, “Looks like it didn't work out none too good for you, that's for sure.” She took the bags and closed the door.

Buddy went back home, hoping that old crow had gone back inside, but she was now sweeping the sidewalk in front of the house. “By the way, who's that little gal I seen coming out of your house the other day?” she asked. “She was mighty cute.”

He started to tell her it was none of her business, but instead he just ignored her, walked into his house and locked the door. He had never felt so sad and dejected in his life. Instead of watching Dr Phil, he listened to music, mostly The Allman Brothers Band and The Who. He wasn't in the mood for Led Zeppelin or The Rolling Stones.

Suddenly the door crashed open, and Hannah walked in, still wearing the same shorts, her denim panties as she called them, and tee shirt. Buddy thought he had locked the door, then realized she had kicked it in with her bare foot. She headed for him without saying a word, and he knew he was in some deep shit.

He ran for the phone, but she grabbed him by the hair from behind and threw him to the floor, then padded over to the phone, pulled the cord out of the wall and threw the phone at him, knocking him in the head as he was getting up. Buddy fell back on the floor.

“You son of a bitch,” she said, grabbing him by the collar, pulling him up and slamming him into the wall. She backed up and ran at him, crashing into his body and knocking him back against the wall. The girl the punched him hard in the stomach, then elbowed him in the back, knocking him to the floor.

“Get up,” she said, pulling him up by the hair.

“Hannah, please...” he said, but her bare foot slammed into his face, knocking him back into the wall. She grabbed his hair, pulled him up and punched him in the face again, and once more he crashed into the wall. The girl then kicked him in the face again and his body hit the wall, and he fell to the floor. Certainly she'll stop now, he thought. She'll be hugging him, telling hims she's sorry, that she didn't mean to hurt him. But that's not what happened.

The girl straddled his neck, facing the same way he was, on her knees as she placed her hands under his chin and pulled so that the back of his head was pressed into her crotch. She pressed her thighs against the sides of his head, then rolled, pulling the trapped man with her as she locked her ankles, consolidating a rear neck scissor, crushing his neck as hard as she could with her powerful thighs. Once again the poor man was unable to breathe, and it felt as though she was breaking his neck. He soon passed out.

When Buddy came to, the first thing he saw was her pink painted toenails, and he realized it was the new nail polish she had bought during the shopping spree at Walmart, not the cheaper polish he had bought her for her birthday. It was a lighter shade than the one he had bought. She nudged his face with her toes, then kicked his face. He groaned and tried to rise, but she kicked him back to the floor.

Rolling him over onto his back with her feet, she straddled him, then covered his body with hers, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling his face into her chest. It was as though she were breast smothering him, but the girl really didn't have any breasts. Still, it was humiliating for the poor man who was guilty of only trying to help the young girl. She held him for several minutes as he started to cry.

“Please, Hannah,” he pleaded, although his voice was muffled. “Let me go.” But the girl was in no mood for showing mercy.

Hannah finally got up, ignoring his crying and his pleas, as she pulled the frightened man to his feet. Facing him, she squatted down as she put one hand under his crotch, through his legs and on his butt with the other arm around his neck, putting that hand on his back, then lifted him so that his body was perpendicular to the floor with his head a little lower than his legs and lower body. Now holding him above the floor, she lifted his legs and flipped them up and over his head, body slamming him to the floor on his back, knocking him unconscious.

When he came to, he was lying on his back on the floor. Hannah had found some duct tape and a pair of scissors and was cutting the tape and using it to bind his wrists. She had already bound his ankles. He thought his back might be broken, but he could still move, although she already had him taped enough so that he couldn't do anything but squirm. He yelled “Stop,” but she stood up and kicked him in the face. Buddy was now on the floor, completely immobilized.

She went into the bedroom and came out with the album Led Zeppelin IV, turning it over to side two. She placed the stylus down at the beginning of When the Levee Breaks. While John Bohnam's powerful drumming blasted forth from the speakers, she went into her sensuous dance, swiveling her hips, undulating and strutting around the helpless man, occasionally kicking him in the face, body and crotch.

“I told you not to EVER go to my mom's house again, Buddy,” she said. “NEVER, I said. You're gonna regret that,” she continued, as if he didn't already.

Thump THUMP... thumpa thump THUMP...

She kicked his face again, harder than ever, then began stomping him, stopping only to dance some more, gyrating around the room. Buddy didn't know much about mental health issues, but he knew this girl was crazy, totally insane. He knew his life was at stake.

“Please, let me go, Hannah,” he whimpered, scared shitless. “Please...”

Thump THUMP... Thumpa thump THUMP...

She danced, kicked and stomped, danced, kicked and stomped. Buddy had never been so scared in his life. He trembled in fear, knowing this girl was going to kill him. She finally stopped and placed a bare foot on his face.

“The slave has to kiss and lick the feet of the princess warrior,” she said. “Kiss and lick my bare feet, slave,” she demanded, nudging his face with her toes. “DO IT,” she screamed, “or I'll kill you right now, and I mean it.”

He stared kissing and licking one foot, then the other. “Now, lick between my toes,” she demanded. He did. “Now the other foot,” she ordered him, as she withdrew her foot and offered him the other one. He licked between the toes of the other foot.

“Now, suck my toes,” she said, sticking her toes in his mouth. He sucked all five of her toes, then she switched feet, forcing him to suck the toes of her other foot. When he finished, she started stomping him.

Buddy then started screaming. “HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME! SHE'S KILLING ME!”

Hannah kicked him and said, “SHUT THE FUCK UP.” He did. She went to the kitchen and got a Pepsi from the fridge, then padded back to the front room and continued dancing, taking a drink of the Pepsi now and then. When the song ended, she placed the stylus back at the beginning of the song.

Thump, THUMP... Thumpa, thump THUMP...

“Oh, I'm sorry, Buddy,” she said. “Do you want a Coke? Here, let me get you one.”

Hannah went back to the kitchen and brought back a Coke, opened it, and said, “Open wide.” She then poured it onto his face.

She then said, “My, that was quick. You must have been really thirsty.” She then returned to the kitchen and got another Coke, then went back and poured it onto his face.

Buddy started screaming again. “PLEASE STOP, HANNAH, PLEASE LET ME GO!”

Thump, THUMP... Thumpa, thump THUMP...

“I told you to SHUT THE FUCK UP!” she screamed, then picked up the tape and scissors and cut off a strip, placing it over his mouth. She then straddled him and said, “I'm gonna fucking poke your goddamn eyes out.”

Hannah placed her fingers around his head, grasping it, and pressed her thumbs into his eyes. Buddy began to scream under the tape, suddenly terrified that she was not only going to kill him, but make his death as horrible as possible. She pushed harder and harder, causing Buddy to almost pass out from the fear. The girl held the pressure on his eyes for several seconds, but didn't go any further. She finally stopped and wrapped her fingers around his throat and began choking him.

Buddy bumped his body up and down and rolled from side to side, raising his bound legs and stamping his feet, trying desperately to throw the girl off, but without the use of his hands, there wasn't much he could do. Hannah didn't stop strangling him until he passed out.

When he came to, she was padding toward him from the kitchen. Buddy immediately noticed she had a knife in her hand, and once again began his muffled screaming. Hannah straddled him again, placing the knife to his throat as she grabbed his hair with her free hand. He could feel the cold, sharp blade on his skin and expected her to slice his throat any second, but once again the sadistic young girl stopped. She smiled, and Buddy could see evil in her face. He was never a believer in the supernatural, but believed with all his heart that the girl was a child of the devil, or perhaps she was possessed, like the kids in those movies about exorcisms.

“I ain't gonna kill you, Buddy, at least not yet” she said softly. “I just want you to know that I can, and I will. But not now.”

She got off of him, leaving the knife on the floor, then walked out the door, leaving him on the floor, where he spent the night with his ankles and wrists bound with duct tape, and a strip of tape across his mouth so he couldn't call for help. Buddy wondered if Dr Phil had ever done a show in which the topic was crazy young girls who tie people up and eventually kill them.

He fell asleep at one point, and when he awoke, it was dark outside. Buddy was afraid she wouldn't come back and that he would slowly starve and thirst to death on the floor of his home, but he was also afraid she would come back and that what she would do might be even worse. All he could do was cry, and wonder what happened to that sweet little girl, his Hannah honey, the girl who taught him how to slow dance and made him feel on top of the world for the first time in his life. Buddy fell asleep again and dreamed, but the dreams were far from pleasant.
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