Chika Fann

18 December 20XX

Rokku-san no ie

LIKE A LITTLE GIRL

I got full off ice cream and pie he bought me (to apologize). He was really, really sorry.

“Gomennasai!” he said over and over again. “Gomennasai! Gomennasai! Gomen!”

“Wakatte imasu. Watashi wa daijoubu.”

“Sou?”

“Sou da yo.” And then he kissed me on the forehead and bought me sweets. Everything’s alright now (with the love of my life).

All the boys I dreamed about while I stretched out in bed, my face buried in some cheesy romance manga, this is what I wanted. I wanted a senpai who would buy me treats when I was sad, who’d hold me tight and say nice things to me, who would never leave me. I don’t want anything else in the world.

I’m mad (I’m in love). Mom doesn’t know. She wouldn’t understand.

“So, who’s that friend of yours?” she asked me the other night.

“Oh, that’s Rock! Er, Duane, I mean…”

“‘Rock?’” She slurred, “Is that a pet-name I hear?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean? That’s your man, right? That’s your Rock!”

“It’s not like that!”

“Is-too!”

“Is-not!”

Her breath smelled. It was really dark out, but it wasn’t late.

“Hey, Mom!” I shouted (where was she?), “Where’s all the mouthwash?”

“Oh!” She paused. “Sorry, honey, I’ll get some tomorrow.”

“Okay!” I shouted. She paused again.

“I love you!”

“I love you too!” I said. Last time I saw her this early, she was passed out on the couch.

We usually get groceries every week (I think). When we eat, it’s usually frozen (yasui, nee). We also have snacks and other stuff sometimes (mo yasui yo!). When I really feel really hungry, though, I just drink lots of water, and I don’t feel so bad.

But I never feel hungry around him. Of course, he always makes sure I eat… but also, he just… fills me up. I have him inside of me wherever I go. He is my food. Rokkusan wa watashi no ichiban suki na tabemono desu. He is my number-one favorite food.

When he puts those hands on me (they’re so dry!) I love it. When they caress my neck like a loving snake, when they sneak up my skirt like tentacles, when they peel off my undies like a vulture, stealing away my innocence like roadkill—I scream. I scream, so drunk off his feeling, so high, so in ecstasy, so simple, so basic, so stupid, so ecstatic, so wonderful…

“Keep going.”

“Hai!”

“More!” I cry! “More! More! More!” My scream reverberates off the bare walls, flooding through the house and emptying back into me like he does. His passion is the color of the ceiling… hard… thick… off-white… it was so drab before. It was so drab until it made me think of him.

Leave me stupid, dull, and naked on the sofa, like Mama was when I was little. Leave seed on my body where her vomit was. Stain me (and show me to everyone). Show my face on screens like hers was; make me famous; make me sick; make me.

Make me! Make me! Make me! Make me! Make me! Make me! Make me! Make me! Make me! Make me! Make me!

Mommy, what will you think when you take me to school tomorrow?