a blank page on an exam. Suddenly, she was not sure if she would be able to fill in even one answer. Abandoning the sandwich and milk, she took the chips, an apple, and a paring knife to her room. Cutting the apple into slivers, she alternated bites of it with the chips, sweet and salt to keep her alert, as she sprawled across the bed with her books and notes.
The bed was a mistake, and soon Trissa slipped into a sleep of fitful dreams. The dreams wove sounds of the waking world into their fabric so that when she heard her father's footsteps in the hall, she dreamed they were Professor Edwin's coming to collect her test paper.
"But I'm not finished. I need more time," Trissa told her in her dream.
"That's a shame," Professor Edwin said shaking her head and frowning. "You should have studied harder. You should..." Professor Edwin's voice trailed off and was replaced by Bob Kirk's slurred bellow.
"Teresha Marie, God dammit, wake up! Do you think I pay good money for food so you can let it rot on the sink? I'll teasch you to--"
Startled awake, with the wisps of her dream still clinging like cobwebs, Trissa clambered to her feet. But her father hovered closer than she expected, blocking her path, and she stumbled into his chest.
Suddenly, she felt his strong grasp on her arms, clinging as much to steady his own drunken instability as her clumsiness. He held her tighter than necessary as if loosening his hold might allow her to float away from him.
Her mind flashed a vivid memory of herself as a child, held tight then lifted and tossed, giggling and breathless, into the air, free falling through space to be caught, safe and warm in her daddy's arms, then tossed again. High, so high she thought she would touch the ceiling, then down, down, falling. She trusted him to catch her back then, so long ago now, so long ago. "Daddy, I..."
Then she really was falling and he with her, his hands no longer holding her but touching her, cold and possessive hands, sliding under her blouse, up her skirt.
"Don't! You're drunk! Let me go!" Her voice was a rasping squeak. She could not make herself believe this was happening. The smell of gin on his breath pricked at her throat making tears flood her eyes.
"I'll teasch you. I'll teasch you," she heard him mumble, his lips wet and mushy against her neck and down the opening of her blouse as he slipped the buttons free.
"Stop! Stop! Let me go, please!" she sobbed. "Don't do this to me! I'm your daughter! I'm Trissa. Don't, you're hurting me, Daddy!" She pushed and struggled against his sodden weight as it crushed her down into the soft mattress.
Abruptly, he stopped and pulled away from her, his eyes filled with a strange light, as if her voice, her cry of Daddy had at last stirred some faint conscience in him.
He knows me now. He wouldn't hurt me. She tried to take advantage of his sudden perplexity by wriggling free, but his knee pinned her by her bunched-up skirt.
She saw the light fade in his eyes and something else, darker, angrier take its place. He snatched at her hair and dragged her back beneath him, slapping her hard against the left cheek then backhanding her right. It was an action so familiar that she felt all hope drain from her, replaced by the same fury and rebellion that honed her sharp tongue and she fought back, kicking and flailing at him.
She pummeled him, then fell back, winding up and hitting again and again and again until her hands felt so weak she thought she could not raise them one more time. And still he pressed down on her, groping her roughly, grimly, as if it were a duty he abhorred, with a touch so harsh it bruised her skin.
A shudder of panic shook her as she realized her strength to fight him was failing. She clawed at the bedspread beneath her, frantically trying to pull herself out from under him. In the folds of the rumpled coverlet, her fingers touched something cold and hard.
The knife! The paring knife. Without bidding them to, her fingers curled around it, and she watched in horror as the knife came up with her flying hand and traced a jagged red line down her father's face and neck.
A shocked, strangled scream emerged from both their throats and they recoiled from each