The air in the dimly lit dining room was thick with the acrid scent of whiskey, clinging to the walls like an unwelcome guest. Nora sat stiffly at the old wooden table, her fingers curled around the edge of her plate as her father and uncle slurred through their conversation. Their voices were rough, marinated in years of alcohol and regret, the words blending into each other like a bad symphony.

Her father, Jack, took a long swig from his glass, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as he set it down with a clunk. "You think I'm stupid, girl?" he muttered, his lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

Nora’s stomach dropped. She had been waiting for this moment, dreading it, but hoping—praying—it wouldn’t come. She forced herself to meet his gaze, feigning ignorance. "I don’t know what you mean."

Jack let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. "Oh, you know exactly what I mean. That bastard, Eric. The one I told you to stay the hell away from. You think I wouldn’t find out?" His voice grew sharper, cutting through the air like a knife.

Her uncle, Ray, let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Damn, kid. You really are your mother’s daughter, ain’t ya? Never could listen to a damn thing."

Nora swallowed hard, her pulse pounding in her ears. "Dad, please. It’s not what you think."

Jack slammed his palm against the table, making the dishes jump. "Not what I think?" His face was twisted with fury, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table. "I told you—warned you—not to go near that son of a bitch! And you did it anyway. Behind my back!"

Ray leaned back in his chair, sipping from his glass with a smirk. "Told you she was trouble, Jack. You let her get away with too much."

Jack’s breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling with each ragged inhale. Nora could see it coming, the storm building in his eyes, the way his fingers twitched. She had seen it before, too many times to count.

She pushed back from the table slowly, hands raised in a silent plea. "Dad, please, let's just talk—"

But it was too late.

With a guttural roar, Jack swept his arm across the table, sending plates, glasses, and silverware crashing to the floor. Shards of glass and ceramic exploded in every direction, the sound ricocheting off the walls.

Nora’s scream tore through the air. "Daddy, NO!"

Nora started to feel nauseous, she glanced at her uncle, who grinned back, “starting to feel a little funny?” He sneered. 

"You're going to pay for lying to me, you little slut," her father sneered, his voice thick with rage. "Your uncle is right, you are just like your whore of a mother!"

Her eyes widened with shock and fear as she took in the scene before her. Her father and uncle, the two men she had once been able to trust, had her pinned down on the cold, hard kitchen floor. The room spun around her as the drugs they had slipped into her drink took hold of her body, leaving her powerless to resist their cruel intentions. They had drugged her. This was exactly what happened to her mother the night before she left.

Her father's heavy, alcohol-laden breath was hot on her face as he leaned in, his hands roughly grabbing at the fabric of her shirt. She tried to scream, but her voice was reduced to a feeble whimper that was drowned out by the thud of her own heartbeat in her ears. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of the betrayal, but the fog of the drug made it difficult to form coherent thoughts. She could only feel the horror of their hands on her skin, ripping away the last shreds of her dignity.

Her uncle, a man she had once looked up to, smirked down at her with a twisted glee, his eyes gleaming with lust. He licked his lips as he reached for the waistband of her jeans, his movements deliberate and practiced. She felt the fabric give way and the cool air of the room kiss her exposed skin, sending goosebumps across her body despite the heat of their touch. She struggled, trying to push them away, but her limbs felt like they were made of lead, and she couldn't move.

Her father's hand closed around her throat, squeezing just enough to keep her from speaking, but not enough to cut off her air completely. "You're going to like this," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "You're going to scream for us, beg for more." The words sent a shiver down her spine, and she could feel the bile rising in her throat again. Panic set in, and she thrashed wildly, her eyes searching for an escape that wasn't there.

“Daddy, please don’t do this!” Nora whimpered, but it was as though she wasn’t even speaking, they were driven by their own darkness.

Her uncle's hands slithered up her thighs, his fingertips dancing over her bare skin. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, his breath hot and foul. "You always were a tempting little thing," he murmured. "It's about time we had our way with you." She could feel the heat of his arousal pressing against her, and she wanted to die.

Her father's grip on her neck tightened, and she gagged, trying to free herself. But her efforts were futile. They had anticipated her resistance, and had drugged her to ensure she was compliant. The world around her grew hazier as she felt herself slipping away into darkness, but she forced her eyes to stay open, to face the monsters she had never seen before this moment.

With a snarl, her father ripped her shirt open, buttons popping off and skittering across the floor. Her breasts were exposed to their leering gazes, and she felt a wave of nausea wash over her. The cold air of the room did nothing to cool the burning shame that consumed her. Her uncle leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste the salty tears that rolled down her cheek. "So sweet," he murmured, his voice a sickening parody of affection.

Her father's hands were everywhere, exploring her body with the entitlement of a conqueror claiming his prize. She felt his rough calloused fingers dig into her flesh, leaving bruises she knew would linger for days. Her eyes watered with pain and fear, but she refused to give them the satisfaction of her tears. Instead, she glared up at them, her hatred a living, pulsing thing in her chest.

Their laughter echoed in the room, a sound that would forever be burned into her memory. Her father's hand moved down to her pants, fumbling with the button and zipper. She tried to kick out, to fight back, but her body was a traitor, refusing to cooperate. Her uncle's hands held her down firmly, his grip like a vice around her ankles.

Her father's fingers slipped inside her underwear, and she felt his cold touch on her most sensitive flesh. A whimper of protest escaped her, and she felt the pressure on her throat increase. "Daddy," she rasped, the word tasting like acid on her tongue. "Please, I’m begging you, don't." But it was a plea that fell on deaf ears. His hand continued to explore, his eyes never leaving hers, a sadistic joy glinting in them.

Her uncle, seemingly growing bored with her struggles, reached over to her face and slapped her hard. The pain shot through her like lightning, and she saw stars. "Show some respect, whore," he snarled. "You're going to enjoy this." The word 'respect' was a knife in her gut, twisted by the man who had once been her protector.

Her father's hand withdrew from her throat, and she gasped for air, only to have it cut off again as he covered her mouth with his own. His tongue forced its way past her teeth, invading her with the taste of whiskey and malice. She tried to bite down, but he was too strong. Her muffled screams were swallowed by his mouth as he claimed her, his hands now busy with the task of stripping her completely bare.

The fabric of her jeans and panties was torn away, leaving her exposed and vulnerable to their hungry gazes. The room spun around her, and she felt the cold kitchen tiles against her back as they shifted her onto her side. Her father's weight was crushing, a stark reminder of his dominance. His hand reached down to cup her exposed breast, his thumb flicking over the hardened peak with a practiced ease that made her stomach churn.