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It was a familiar routine. Cyanide came home from school, Mud came home from a job and If she was lucky, he was already home. They talked for a bit and then he would go off and get drunk. And then all she was left with was an empty, hollow house.
With her homework finished, Cyanide wandered downstairs to tidy up and cook. She noticed a few things stranded out place, probably from her father's rushing in the mornings.
While reorganizing, she caught a glimpse of the family portrait that laid on the wall. Her mother, who she was almost identical to, stood happily, holding her and leaning against her father. Cyanide never really knew her mother.
Yes, she knew that her mother was a well loved person and she put her heart into what was best for her family, she didn't personally know her mother.
Mud had always told her that she had run off, plagued by the responsibility of being a mother but Cyanide had a feeling there was more to that. There had to be some different of reason.
No amount of positive assurance could stop the way her bottom lip wobbled. And when she later crawled into her father’s bed, seeking the comforting scent and warmth that she’d always found there as a child, she was helpless in preventing the tears from flowing down her cheeks and wetting the pillow beneath her.
At least she exhausted herself enough to fall asleep quickly, curled into a ball.
———
As Mud stumbled into the room, his footsteps echoing through the quiet house. He'd had another successful day of “negotiations." His eyes squinted slightly, his head reeling with a tinge of pain. He wasn't drunk. Maybe a little tipsy, but not drunk, no. He promised Cyanide he wouldn't anymore.
“Daisy?" He murmured confusedly, stumbling over to the bed before brushing the hair away from who he thought to be Daisy.
Cyanide jolted awake at the sound of her father's voice. She sat up quickly, rubbing at her eyes to clear them of sleep. “Dad?" she said softly, trying to hide any signs of earlier crying. She smiles softly up at him, looking smaller than ever in his big, messy bed. “How was your day?"
Mud blinked, his vision swimming. He looked down at the small figure in his bed, and for a moment, he sees Daisy again—his lost love, his long-departed wife. The whiskey haze clouded his judgment, and before he could fully process what was happening, his arms wrap around Cyanide, pulling her into a tight embrace. “My sweet," he slured, planting a kiss on her forehead, “I missed you so much."
The room spun around him, the memories of Daisy's laughter and gentle touch intermingling with the present reality of Cyanide's warm body against his. With a heavy sigh, he lowered himself onto the bed beside her, the weight of his grief and regret pressing down upon him. “I had such a rough day, baby,"
Cyanide's heart races at the sudden contact, unsure of how to react. She tentatively puts her arms around Mud, returning the embrace awkwardly. “It's okay," she says, “Everything will be fine."
Her voice was shaky, but she tried to keep it steady. She could feel the weight of his emotions and it made her own chest ache. She leaned into his side, her head resting against his broad shoulder, her eyes wide open in the darkness.
"Do… do you want me to get you some water?" She offered, hoping to help him sober up. She hadn't seen him like this in a while, and it scared her.
Mud's mind swirled with confusion and desire, mistaking Cyanide for Daisy in his drunken state. He leaned into the embrace, his hand moving down to her waist. "Water?" He repeats, his voice thick with alcohol, "No, I need something else, my love."
Before Cyanide can react or even understand his intentions, Mud rolls her onto her back and climbs on top of her, his face lowering towards hers. “Let me show you how much I've missed you."
For a split second, reality seems to flicker—his perception of Daisy's features morphing into those of his own daughter's. But the fog of the liquor holds strong, and the line between past and present blurs entirely.
In a fit of passionate madness, Mud pressed his lips to Cyanide's, his hands roaming over her body. Despite the initial shock, he feels an unsettling arousal building inside him, fueled by the warmth and softness beneath him.
As the kiss deepens, Cyanide's struggling becomes less about pushing him away and more about succumbing to the horror of the situation. Her brain screams for her to fight, but her body, starved for affection, responds in ways she doesn't quite understand.
Mud started to unbutton her nightgown, exposing her small, developing chest. His hands are clumsy, driven by a mix of misguided love and intoxication. He caressed her gently at first, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, eliciting a soft moan from Cyanide despite her fear.
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her neck as he whispered, "Shh, it's okay. I'm here for you." but his words are a twisted joke of comfort.
Cyanide's eyes filled with tears, but she remained silent, too scared to speak or move. She felt so wrong, so dirty, but she couldn't bring herself to push him away.
Mud's actions become more assertive, his hands moving lower to her hips. He shifted his weight, his intentions clear as the night outside their window.
He reaches for the waistband of her underwear, fumbling with the fabric, desperate to claim what he believes is rightfully his— his love, his life, his Daisy.
"I've missed you so much," he whispers again, his voice strained with passion. "Let me make it right, let me show you how much I love you." Rolled out from his mouth, grinding his hips against her, his erection pressing against her thigh.
Cyanide's eyes widened in horror, her body trembling as she realized what's happening. She attempted to protest, but the words catch in her throat, choking her.
Oblivious to Cyanide's distress, Mud continued. He moved his hand further down, finding her entrance and beginning to tease it with his finger.
Her legs instinctively try to close, but his weight is too much for her to fight against. Her nails dig into his back as she attempts to resist, the pain mixing with the overwhelming guilt and disgust she feels.
Mud takes her reaction as one of pleasure, thinking it's Daisy responding to his touch after all these years apart. Growing bolder, he inserted a finger deeper into her, coaxing out more sounds of distress that he takes for pleasure.
"That's it, baby," he murmurs, his tongue tracing the shell of her ear. "Take it all in. I've got you."
Encouraged by what he perceives as her consent, Mud removes his finger and replaces it with his cigarette-laden mouth, his tongue probing and teasing her sensitive area.
Cyanide's body arches in involuntary response, her legs parting slightly despite the screaming in her mind to stop. He's lost in his delusion, tasting what he believes is the love of his life, oblivious to the fact of the unforgivable act.
Cyanide's breath hitches in her throat, a small cry escaping her lips as she feels his tongue against her. She can't believe this is happening. This isn't right. This isn't what she wants.
But she can't move, can't push him away. She just lies there, trembling, as her body responds to his touch.
Eager to satisfy his imaginary Daisy, Mud's tongue worked passionately, lapping at her clit with a desperation born of years of longing.
Cyanide's hips twitched, her body betraying her, reacting instinctively to the sensations he's creating. Her hands move to his head, her mind struggling with pushing him away and pulling the feeling closer.
He groaned, his excitement growing, as he slid two fingers into her, his movements becoming more insistent. Mud's free hand wanders up to Cyanide's chest, squeezing it roughly, his teeth grazing her inner thigh as he devoured her.
Cyanide bit her lip to keep from crying out, her eyes squeezed shut tightly. Only feeling violated, used, but her body refused to listen to her mind's pleas for it to stop. Her grip on his head tightened, her nails digging into his scalp. A tear trickles down her cheek, landing on the pillowcase, unnoticed by the man above her, lost in his sick fantasy.
He pumps his fingers into her faster, chuckling darkly to himself. “"You always liked it like this, didn't you, Daisy?"” he says, his voice thick with lust and the lie of love.
Cyanide can feel herself getting closer, her body's natural response to the stimulation overpowering her true thoughts. Sensing her impending finish, Mud quickens his pace, his tongue circling her clit with vigor. "Come for me, baby," he mutters, his voice a harsh contrast to the tender endearment from moments ago.
Cyanide's orgasm crashes over her, a wave of unwanted pleasure that leaves her feeling more ashamed than she ever has in her life
Mud pulls back, a twisted smile on his face, watching as Cyanide's body shivers with the forced finish. He takes a moment to admire his handiwork before standing up and undoing his pants.
He positioned himself over her, aligning his length with her entrance. “"Let's make a new memory,"” he says, his voice a low murmur as he began to pushed inside of her.
With every inch he sunk into her, Cyanide felt like she was dying inside. She couldn't believe her own body was allowing this. The pain was unbearable, but she was too scared to say anything.
Mud let out a groan of satisfaction, his hips moving in a slow rhythm. In his mind, he was reclaiming what he believed was his, healing old wounds.
Cyanide's eyes full with tears, and she bit down on her pillow to muffle her cries. Her mind racing with thoughts of how she can make this stop, but all she could manage was to lie there, taking it.
Mud's thrusts became more powerful, his grip on her hips tightening as he neared his end. He leaned down, whispering in her ear, "This is where we belong, together forever." and Finally, Mud reached his finish inside her. Collapsing onto the bed next to her, spent and satisfied, he still called her Daisy.
Cyanide laid there, her body aching and her soul shattered, her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, unable to look at the man who has just ruined her. Breathing heavily, Mud rolled onto his back beside her, a contented sigh escaping his lips. “"Rest now, my love,"” he murmurs, stroking her hair with a tenderness that makes Cyanide's stomach churn.
As he falls into an uneasy sleep, Cyanide carefully pulled herself from his grasp, wincing at the pain between her legs. She slid off the bed, her legs wobbly as she stood. Wrapping herself in a blanket, she ran from the room, sobbing silently.