From a young age, Hannah despised those scenes in movies that portrayed happy families gathered around a long dining table, smiling and chatting about their day while passing platters of home-cooked dishes. She knew that movies were not meant to be super realistic, still she couldn’t help but cringe and mutter about them being complete and utter bullshit. Nonetheless, secretly, Hannah liked to imagine that far-off fantasy of grinning from ear-to-ear while chowing down on a meatloaf recipe that had been passed down three generations. Even now, she caught herself ever-so-slightly smiling as she sat on the living room floor watching one of those scenes until the sound of her parents screaming at the top of their lungs pulled her back to reality.

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Hannah heard a door slam and, soon after, her father stomped into the living room and plopped down on the couch, the springs creaking underneath the sudden weight. He grabbed the television remote from the coffee table and changed the channel to something about flipping houses.

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“Everything okay?” she asked, knowing that everything was definitely not okay but not knowing what else to say.

 

“Yeah,” her father said. “Peachy.”

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Hannah stood up and walked over to her father, curling up into his lap. The tension seemed to loosen a little as she nuzzled her head into the crook of his neck.

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“You’re growing into such a fine young woman,” he said, almost ready to smile, “You know, if I was your age, I’d be all over you.”

Hannah forced a smile, “Thanks, Dad.”

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Her father caressed her thigh and soon she began to drift off to sleep, his warmth providing a kind of comfort. She didn’t like to admit it, but Hannah thrived off of attention. Her mother, a shrewd woman, never really provided her with the attention or comfort she craved as a child, so she always sought out her father instead. He always tried to make her feel special and loved, like he said any good father would do.

Hannah's eyes opened as her father’s hand began trailing up her thigh towards her hip. She quickly sat upright and cleared her throat.

“I’m tired, Dad,” she said quietly, tugging her shorts down a little.

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Her father sighed, “Okay. Rain check?”

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Hannah reluctantly nodded and moved toward her attic bedroom. She climbed the ladder, coughing from time to time from the dust. She threw herself down on the bed, her feet hanging off the end, and looked up at the ceiling, observing the mold spot there that seemed to have once again gotten bigger.

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Rain check? The words echoed in her head like a cacophony of bells. As Hannah had grown older, innocent father-daughter bonding time turned into something out of nightmares.

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Her father always took her need for attention as encouragement while not seeing that the attention she craved was like that of a small child.

Each time, her father would coax her, always saying this time would be the last, and Hannah always believed him despite everything. She had to believe… but that was getting increasingly difficult.

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Just stop, she thought, and shoved these thoughts from her head. Then she closed her eyes and allowed her mind to retreat to the comforting darkness that lay behind them.

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* * *

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“Your father is going to pick you up after school,” Hannah’s mother said with a frown, unlocking Hannah’s car door.

“Okay. Thanks.” She grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder after sliding out of the beat up Honda and looking up at her mother to say goodbye.

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Every time she looked her in the eyes, Hannah saw it: jealousy. Even more, though fainter, was the sadness. Her mother knew about what happened between Hannah and her father, she was certain. Hannah often overheard the pair arguing and it was almost always the same thing. Sometimes, Hannah’s mother would shriek at her afterwards, spittle flying in her face and her breath reeking of alcohol.

“I know what you are up to, you little whore,” she would scream, “You are trying to steal my husband! You’re ruining my life!”

Still, Hannah could not help but notice the pain in her eyes as she said it. Going from a full-time nurse to quitting because of “work-related issues,” those issues being that her husband was touching their daughter took a toll on her. Hannah couldn’t possibly count the number of times she’d heard ice crashing into a rocks glass, as she downed cheap liquor as if it were water. Was that why she always took it out on her, followed by the silence that meant she was drinking another shot of Jack Daniels? Why she never did anything to stop him?

Before Hannah could say a “goodbye,” her mother peeled out of the drop-off line. She sighed and made her way to the front doors of the high school building, biting her lip in apprehension.

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* * *

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Hannah panted heavily, a sweet ecstasy coupled with exhaustion coursing through her. Sweat glistened all over her body, giving the illusion of her shining.

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“Not too bad, Miller,” a sultry voice whispered in her ear.

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Sofia loomed over her with a hungry look in her eyes, which would have made Hannah self-conscious had she not been so exhausted.

“Thanks,” she replied in between breaths, a wave of pleasure rippling through her body.

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They had established this relationship several months prior. Sofia approached Hannah with an offer she never thought she would have received: sexual favors in exchange for material goods. Being wealthy and popular, Hannah was not sure why Sofia had approached her of all people. Maybe it was because she was big-breasted, something her father had commended her on. Nonetheless, Sofia emphasized that their exchanges must remain secret, or else her reputation would be on the line. Hannah had accepted the offer and there they were, lying in the woods behind the school naked and blissful.

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Sex with Sofia was quite different from encounters with her father. For one thing, Sofia’s touch felt soft yet confident whereas her father’s felt rough and yet somehow cowardly. Hannah admittedly enjoyed Sofia’s company more, even though she was often mean. While in school, she would pass by Hannah and give her no more than a quick glance. She couldn’t explain to herself why she liked this relationship, maybe because it was different from anything else she had experienced. She almost enjoyed it more than the rewards she got as a result. Almost.

“Here’s that food like I promised,” Sofia said, pulling a lunchbox out of her backpack. As per request, inside were two pieces of ham slow roasted and glazed in brown sugar alongside various seared vegetables and seasoned mashed potatoes with scallions. To some it might seem silly, but Hannah wanted nothing more than to have fresh homemade meals⸺real food instead of microwave dinners. Hannah’s mouth watered and she practically lunged for the meal.

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“Wait. Before I give you this…” Sofia began before hesitating and looking down.

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“Yes?” Hannah asked eagerly, wanting to scarf down the food before her.

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Sofia looked back up at Hannah, “I was wondering if you’d like to come over to my house after school. I’m really struggling in English and I heard that you’re really good.”

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“Oh.” Hannah replied, surprised. Her father would be upset that their time together would be cut short, but the food in front of Hannah beckoned to her.

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She nodded, to which Sofia gave her a small smile and handed her the lunchbox. Hannah ate heartily, paying no mind to the other girl who sat watching her demolish the lunch. Sofia was likely used to it, however. She never asked why Hannah ate as though she were starving, never asked why she wanted food, clothes, or even basic hygiene products in exchange for sex. Hannah never offered an answer either. It was an unspoken agreement between the two.

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After she was finished, Sofia took the lunchbox from Hannah and placed it back into her backpack. She stared at her for a few moments, her unreadable expression starting to make Hannah self-conscious. The silence was broken when Sofia asked with a smirk, “Ready for round two?”

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* * *

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Hannah was right about her father being mildly upset that she had plans other than spending time with him after school. He had tried to protest and convince her otherwise by stating that they were going to “work on one of his projects together,” which was usually code for having sex. Her father had begun calling it that to not raise suspicion from her mother, something that never worked. He did a bunch of odd jobs, like painting houses, tinkering with plumbing, and mowing yards, so he thought that phrase was a good cover-up. Hannah couldn’t help but think he was a fool.

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“Is this it?” he asked, gesturing up at a house with a white picket fence and a well-managed lawn.

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“I suppose so,” Hannah said, getting out of the pickup truck.

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“I love you. Be safe,” he said with a tender smile, glancing down at her.

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“You too.”

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She turned and headed for the door, preparing to knock but the door opened before she could do so. Upon seeing someone answer the door, her father drove off.

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“Hello! You must be Hannah.” A tan brunette woman beamed at her. “Please, do come in! Oh, but leave your shoes at the door, please! House rules.”

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Hannah complied, tugging off her sneakers and taking in the beauty of the house’s interior. A large golden chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystals sparkling. Beneath her, a long carpet that felt like how Hannah imagined a cloud would feel seemed to welcome her, though she felt out of place with her dirty hoodie and socks with holes.

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“Sofia! Your friend is here!” Mrs. Zucca called up the nearby flight of stairs.

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“Coming,” Sofia called in response.

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Hannah was not sure Sofia was her friend, but she wasn’t sure what else she might be. No word that she could think of quite fit.

Mrs. Zucca turned to Hannah with that same warm smile, “I’m so glad that Sofia has found a friend. After moving here, she was a bit lonely for a while… Also, were you going to stay for dinner? You’re welcome to!”

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“Yes, she’s staying for dinner, Mama,” Sofia answered from the top step.

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“Ah! Well, wonderful! Alonzo, my husband, should be here in about an hour and in the meantime I’ll get our chef to begin preparing something. Do you have any allergies, dear?”

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“Not that I’m aware,” Hannah said with a soft smile, bewildered by the consideration.

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Mrs. Zucca nodded and walked off to what Hannah presumed was the kitchen while Sofia dragged her to her bedroom, which looked almost exactly how Hannah had pictured it: clean, minimalistic, and organized. Sofia sat down on her bed, explaining that it was way more comfortable than sitting at her desk. She opened up a Word document on her Macbook and sighed at the paragraph in front of her.

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“I’m stuck. I’ve never been good at writing essays.” She ran her fingers through her hair.

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“You all eat together?” Hannah asked, lying down and staring up at the ceiling.

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Sofia furrowed her brows and nodded, to which Hannah asked, “What’s it like? Do you all talk about your day?”

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“I mean… yeah. It’s pretty boring, though. Papa talks about his business and Mama usually gossips about other people, which actually can be entertaining at times. Why?”

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“Just wondering.” Hannah analyzed the ceiling some more, “You don’t have mold.”

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Sofia frowned, “No… why would I have mold? That’s gross. Also dangerous. That stuff could literally kill you.”

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“Huh. I guess you’re right.” Hannah bit her lip in thought.

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“You’re an odd one, Miller. Anyway, are you going to help me with my essay or not?”

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Sofia cocked an eyebrow at her. “You’re letting me stay for dinner. Why?”

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“I don’t know… I guess it’s just the polite thing to do?”

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“Huh.” Hannah tilted her head. “So what’s the prompt?”

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* * *

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The evening replayed in her mind as Hannah lay on her rickety bed in the waning moonlight. The Zucca family had been kind and welcoming, despite Hannah’s slight anxiety. Mrs. Zucca had even taught her the Tarantella dance after telling the story of how her and Mr. Zucca fell in love. She felt her lips turn up in a smile as she kicked her feet in the air and turned methodically. Hannah had laughed as she had been passed off to Sofia, who had a slight glimmer in her eyes as they danced.

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At that thought, Hannah frowned ever so slightly because she finally realized what a family was supposed to be like, she’d seen it with her own eyes, and was tired of believing that things would get better. Sitting around just hoping was bullshit. She was ready to face the truth.

Her eyes drifted toward the ceiling at the mold spot in the corner. She used to not mind it. After all, it was just another living thing trying to survive in the world. But now all she could hear was Sofia’s voice saying, “That’s gross… that could kill you.” Hannah began searching around the attic for cleaning supplies. She stood on her bed and used a washcloth to scrub the mold with bleach. After a while, she stood back satisfied. The spot was now clean and bare. She quietly headed down the ladder to wash her hands in the bathroom. As she did, her eyes drifted to the kitchen where the landline phone rested on the countertop.

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After she dried her hands, Hannah felt her feet glide towards the phone. Her hand hovered above the receiver as thoughts flooded into her head.

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Not too bad, Miller.

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If I was your age, I’d be all over you.

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You’re an odd one.

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I love you. Be safe.

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I guess it’s the polite thing to do?

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Before she could stop herself, Hannah picked up the receiver and she felt her finger dial a number, her hand shaking. The line only rang for a short amount of time until a voice greeted her on the other end.

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“9-1-1. How may I help you?”