Bastard (A Novel)

Author's note: You can find the previous chapters and the full outline (the ending included) in the Critique community.

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December 19, 2023, 6:00 p.m.

***

Roseanne Miller was walking home from work. Frank heard her red high-heeled shoes on the pavement.

Clickety clack. Clickety clack.

She had just endured an enormously long day with her clients.

Roseanne Miller was a prostitute, and a good one. She'd chosen this kind of work because it paid the bills. The money continued to stack up and her husband had determinedly said he didn't have a problem with it, though she continued to doubt that this was true due to his erratic behavior.

After all, they had a daughter to provide for: Sarah Miller wanted to go to the Los Angeles Film School and fulfill her dreams of being an actress.

This was not cheap, even on a lawyer's salary, so Frank had told Roseanne, in so many words, that her work was necessary to fulfill the dreams of their daughter. They wanted to pay for room and board, which came with a lofty price tag, not to mention the flights to and from Los Angeles, California.

It was a Tuesday, and Roseanne sauntered in, exhausted from the day: She'd had no less than 10 male clients, all old white, and, to put it bluntly, rather ugly.

None of them were even remotely charming, and each transaction was merely that: transactional.

Not to mention every single one of them wanted a blow job and nearly choked her in the process.

One old, fat bastard named Mark had even thrown her on the bed and might as well have forced himself on her, though the sex was, regrettably, consensual.

She did come home with cash though, and lots of it.

"Roseanne!" Frank said with an unusually wide smile. "How was your day?"

"Absolutely horrible!" She snapped.

"The men were awful today, and I did that shit ten times. TEN."

She sighed.

"At least I got money from it. For us."

"Yes, yes. Thank you, darling. How about I make up for those gross men? Maybe just you and me."

"No, Frank. I'm tired. I'm absolutely exhausted, and I can't take any more of this crap. Not today."

Frank's smile immediately turned to a grimace.

"Roseanne. C'mon! It's been a month since we've had sex, and you know how I get when I'm bored out of my mind with cases. I want your body, Roseanne. Your beautiful body."

He stood behind her and caressed her stomach with his hands.

"It won't take long. Not long at all, and then we'll both get back to our...business."

"NO. Frank. I've told you. I don't want to."

He marched away and slammed his fist on the kitchen table. Then threw a chair.

"YOU NEVER WANT TO! YOU BITCH!! YOU NEVER, EVER WANT ME! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU. FINE. FINE. IF YOU WON'T FUCK ME, I'LL GET SOMEONE ELSE TO. YOU ALWAYS DO, FOR FUCK'S SAKE."

He marched through the doorway and slammed the door shut behind him.

I can't believe that man. Nothing is ever good enough for him. He is always horny. Always. I can never catch a break! And he knows I've been working all day. He knows! Bastard.

Sarah Miller walked downstairs, looking shaken.

"Mom?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Frank, well, dad. He raped me when you were gone."

"He did what?!"

"He, you know."

Her cheeks were flushed, her heart pounding.

"I-I'm so sorry, dear. I promise to divorce him. I promise. We won't have to deal with that man any longer. I love you."

Sarah Miller walked upstairs, paralyzed emotionally from the experience.

That bastard. I can't believe he did that. And to his own daughter.

She locked the door.

He's never coming back if he knows what's good for him.