Daddy's Girl
—fiction by Daniel N. Flanagan

May 23rd, 2012

How did this happen?

"Gradually and then suddenly." –Mike Campbell

I like that quote. The one from Prozac Nation, though. Never been a big Hemingway fan.

Ugh, anyways. I’m going to start writing in this diary that my daddy bought me before he went away. My guidance counselor thinks it will be a good way for me to track my progress. But I just want to read it again in a year to see how much I’ve changed, I’m sure it will be good for a few laughs.

May 25th, ’12

On my drive away from the person-storage facility which holds my father, I turned onto the highway; it’s a long ride. My eyes were red and my mascara was an oil spill, causing them to sting. I was just trying to look pretty for him; show him how much his little girl has grown. He got angry. He called me a WHORE! And then he slapped me across the face! I’m sure he didn’t mean it though, he’s just under a lot of stress being in jail and all. The guards ran across the cafeteria and tackled him, hit him with those metal rods when he wasn’t even fighting back. It’s ridiculous…he used to be their senator, these fuckers voted for him, and now they beat him, treat him like shit!

Pressing my foot steadily heavier on the gas, rapidly accelerating, I felt relieved. A weight was being lifted. I was incapable of being detained, for I already was. My mind had lost its legal suit; I tried to represent myself. I’m a terrible lawyer.

I closed my hazel eyes tight, let go of the steering wheel, and began freely flying; soaring. Unknowingly I had passed from the right lane where I entered this pavement strip of highway, and drifted into the left lane. The screwy front end alignment on my Mercedes guided me safely away from the Honda Pilot that would have flung me out of my convertible (as I wasn’t wearing my seat belt); it also would have crushed the baby who slept in the car seat located in the rear of the Honda. Maybe the impact would have turned their rear wheels, twisted the axel, causing the car to turn sharp and flip and roll, killing both baby and keeper. I was inches away from this occurrence. Someone definitely would have died. I guess I shouldn’t make my problem their problem. I thought this over. Not really thinking, but I did pull the car over.

In my defense I had just endured a traumatic event, and so I rewarded myself for surviving; I would have been better-off in a body bag though. Pulled over, I retrieved my bottle of Vicodin and an emergency mini-flashlight I keep in my center console. After closing the console lid back down, I crushed two of those oval pills into a near-fine powder and snorted them up with a rolled up hundo. I only use hundreds to snort because it makes me feel like a rock star.

Vikes hit a bit harder when insufflated, but you have to blow all the Tylenol too, which is a drag. I do it anyways because I like the cold feeling, dripping down my sinus. The whole process makes me look like the junkie I am, secondhand. My father is the first hand, the right hand, the dominant hand. I’m the left, the awkward, the creative.

June 1st ’12

I was high when I wrote that last passage. I just re-read it, even though I hate to re-read my own writing, or any writings for that matter. It always brings the emotions I felt at the time, back to me in full swing. Okay, I lied; I do re-read some books, just one. But never two, that’s cheating.

June 2nd ’12

My friend Julie Ross wanted to drink tonight, I wanted to get high. We compromised and had sex instead. She’s not bi or anything, but I always get what I want.

She was sober, but I’m always high. The mirror is just too real, you know? I don’t like the girl reflected in it.

After we fucked, I looked in the mirror, sweat glistening down my petite, bare torso. My pierced nose and belly button don’t quite match the upper class social elite family I was bred into. But drugs are universal. But, oh, they are oh so secretive, kept in private storage compartments. "Be bold" I say. My piercings and healed scars let everyone know that I am not a wealthy girl, just the daughter of a gold digging whore. I will accept the Mercedes though, only because it’s from my daddy.

Julie was a freak though, or maybe I was too? I was pretty far gone…

June 5th ’12

My name is still a mystery, isn’t it? And we’ve known each other for almost two weeks. Why haven’t you asked my name? Is it irrelevant because I’m irrelevant? Well that’s rude and I wouldn’t do that to you. Do you know your name?

July 5th ’12

One month! See, that’s how much I don’t need you! I can fend for myself. I’m getting a lot of nosebleeds now-a-days, that’s what happens when you snort too much, I’m not worried, it’s just a phase. Bridgette is worried; that’s my birth mother by the way. She’s a cunt, by the way. "Stop being so rude ____", oops! I almost said my name! And I’m not gonna’ tell you until you care enough to ask! Anyways…

July 6th’12

Well, I did it. Got my first DUI today, making certain people proud. The charge doesn’t matter though, Bridgette bought me out of it. Did I mention we come from money? If we ever met and hung out, I could buy you something…

July 9th ’12

It’s almost my birthday! Two more months, maybe I’ll see you then!

After the DUI I became even more popular at school, I’m a senior this year. Almost graduated, which is rather pointless because I’m not even going to college; I’ll just be a writer, or something. I don’t need to validate my intelligence with a degree. I’m not a phony. I know who I am. "Can you say the same about yourself, fucker? Can you forgive?" That was a hint, by the way, to my favorite book/movie. They are not equally great, but that’s okay.

July 11th ’12

Okay, first off, Julie’s a fucking bitch; I tried to reason with her. She "caught" me sucking Brad’s dick. He’s our schools quarterback, obviously I’m gonna hook up with him. But like, I was in my room! Like, get the fuck outta my house if you don’t wanna see that kinda shit, bitch. I’m gonna do what I want to do, ha-ha. She acts like she owns me; no. I’ll fuck whoever I want; girls get too emotionally involved and I’d rather live on the cusp of love. Infatuation over all.

On the side bar, in case you didn’t know, I don’t get carded anywhere. Even though I’m only 18, I can drink wherever I go. It’s not like I live in some small, hick town or anything, but word has sure gotten around of who I am notoriously related to, and even though I hate to, I’m going to use it to my advantage. Anything to get my zebra print nails pinched around a shot glass of Grey Goose. Cock my head back as these cocks buy me blurred lines. The night always ends the same. Having my hair held by some random skank who wants to be my new best friend. If she doesn’t wanna hookup though, she’s useless. I’m not in this for friendship, infatuation over all.

September 10th ’12

And there goes my 19th birthday. Guess where I am spending it? The mental hospital! McLean to be exact, over in Belmont. Yup. Home to the likes of Sylvia Plath, because my head was definitely inches away from the oven, yeah, okay Bridgette. Now I’m being "evaluated". From what I’m hearing, I was admitted last night. Apparently I got home around 2am, after celebrating my birthday with Julie; she came in and made me cum. Then I went into the kitchen, grabbed a knife, opened the fridge, sat down in front of it, and began stabbing my belly. Perhaps I thought I was pregnant? I really don’t remember.

I’m having withdrawals bad though. I’m not really into drugs, I just like snorting, ha-ha. So could you send me some coke? I’d only need an 8-ball to get me through my stay here if I don’t blow it all in one night. I have guest privileges and I think we’d be able to sneak it in if we stayed inconspicuous inside the TV room.

September 11th ’12

Thanks for not coming by the way. I’ve been puking and shitting every night thanks to you. What the fuck is your problem? The nurses noticed I was keeping my hands in my pockets all day and they made me take them out. They saw the marks on my wrists…

Okay, I made a mistake. I was in the bathroom on the toilet, and I saw those little jagged edges that are on the toilet paper dispensers, used to cut the TP off. Well, I used it to saw off my wrist. Only the left one, that goddamn creative one. I just wanted to make myself normal. Wanted to rid myself of the evil. I must have been screaming pretty loudly because almost the whole of the nursing staff swarmed in and broke into my private stall.

It’s because they are perverts and they just wanted to catch a glimpse of my pussy. I’m going to have daddy sue them as soon as he is free.

September 21st ’12

I haven’t been released yet. They put me on pills, I refused to listen what they were for or what they did though. Instead I saved them. All the capsules, round and oval pills. I saved them in my mouth, stowed them in my pillowcase. Last night I gathered all the ones I had stored. I arranged them in a pile on the floor near my bed and began scrapping them against the dirty tile to produce powder. I crushed as many as I could before the nurse came by on her nightly rounds and saw what I was doing through the window in my door. I immediately dove down toward the mound…I hadn’t even divided them into lines yet, and sniffed the whole stack at once. Obviously these weren’t the fun kinds, like pain pills or coke, but I figured since half of them are placebos (because I’m not actually crazy!) that the other half might get me high by chance, so I did it.

September 22nd ’12

I’m on twenty-four hour suicide watch now. Why would I want to off myself? Especially when I haven’t even met you yet, when I haven’t received your response yet. That wouldn’t make any sense, but see these doctors think they are so smart, but they don’t listen. They just scribble down words like "unstable", "delusional" and the likes. "Out of touch with reality", that was my favorite one. They are all just jealous of me. They want a family like mine, to be popular and gorgeous like me. So instead they put me in here to feel superior. I just want a cigarette.

October 1st ’12

It’s your birthday today, isn’t it? I’m not sure why, but I have a feeling it might be. I had a dream that it was last night.

I’ve started taking the meds they give me, in the little paper cups every night and most mornings. I’m still uncertain about my morning dose; they don’t give me immediate relief like my evening dose does. My dreams have been so vivid lately and they’re all I can think about during the day, they’re all I can talk about to the counselors. I’ve written them all down so I can share them with you when you finally come to visit; don’t forget the coke, babe!

November 12th ’12

I’m still here, still on my special "retreat". That’s what Bridgette called it…like I’m at a spa. Well maybe I am. I’m kinda happy here I guess. I just wish I could get one of these broads to lick my clit or something! I’m sick of playing with myself every night. Would you do it for me baby?

Anyways, my doctors say I’m developing a better disposition on life, their words, not mine. My "disposition" hasn’t changed, only my surroundings have, and I have adapted to them, to fool them.

November 15th ’12

They are plotting against me. HELP!

November 28th ’12

I was raped. In my bed. Late at night. The head nurse, the female head nurse. She attacked me. I was screaming for help, but she just grabbed a chunk of my hair and slammed my head against the concrete wall. After the pain subsided, it felt amazing for the three seconds I remember before blacking out. I was totally numb, I felt so high, so alive. I was invincible as my body shut down.

December 24th ’12

Merry Christmas to me, and two for you! I am going to paint the snow red this year…splat!

January 1st ’13

I’m writing this quick. I’m in a hospital bed, with a nurse sitting by me at all times, watching me. I keep on slipping in and out of consciousness. Bridgette is here too, she keeps kissing my forehead and brushing my hair, trying to comfort me. She’s so fucking annoying, she won’t stop crying! She even told me that I tried to kill myself for the third time since I’ve been in the nut house. But that’s not true at all, I just wanted to fly. I wanted to breathe in the white, white snow. And feel the wind beneath my wings, to dance aloft the stars.

It all happened like this;

"Gradually and then suddenly."

January 3rd, 2013 – an excerpt from The Boston Globe

"Former MA Senator, Patrick Sinclair, mourns daughter’s death."

"Daughter, Skylar Sinclair (19) had been a patient in Mclean Psychiatric Hospital for roughly three and a half months before her third recorded suicide attempt was successful. She was under surveillance in a hospital bed, proceeding her stealing of an elderly McLean nurse’s security door keys, running towards the roof, and hurling herself off from four stories up. She had been in and out of a coma for the past week, until she eventually slipped away. Senator Sinclair was just two days released from prison before news came of his only daughter’s tragic end.

Most of you will remember the infamous Sen. Sinclair for his highly publicized scandal that ended his political career. He was charged with child abuse and child molestation; the victim being his then 15 year old daughter, Skylar. It was the Senators ex-wife and Skylar’s mother, Bridgette Sinclair who alerted police officials of the abuse, and provided the pictures of her daughters bruised face as evidence. Skylar was brought before the stand to testify. She agreed to repeat episodes of physical abuse, but wholly denied any incidence of molestation. Because of this testimony, P. Sinclair was sent to prison for the duration of four years. It is common belief that the latter charge of molestation was not as heavily investigated, due to financial assuaging.

When asked to comment on whether or not he believed his actions played a role in his daughter’s suicide, he gave no response.

Daniel N. Flanagan is a Worcester, MA native. He has a few poetry publications and is currently shopping around a novella comprised mainly of short stories, supplemented with poetry. He is a college student and spends his free time writing and exercising.