Making Past Perfect

Tonight was the night. I had to get out. My bag was packed with the bare minimum and waiting under my bed. The few hundred dollars i managed to save was tucked in my jeans pocket.

The small pocket pistol was laying on the bedside table.

I wonder again where Michael, my closest and dearest friend, managed to get this for me.

At 16 years old, we can't just stroll into a shop and casually make a purchase.

"Mia! Get your ass down here now" my father yells from the bottom of the stairs, breaking my chain of thoughts.

I take the pistol and safely put it in my jacket pocket and hurry downstairs.

I learned at an early age not to disobey my father.

"Yes Daddy" I answer as I get to the bottom of the stairs.

Even though I am not a child anymore, my father insists that I call him Daddy,

I briefly wonder again what goes on in that sick head of his.

He motions to a beautiful white box, neatly wrapped with a pink bow.

"You will be ready at 9 tonight, wearing that dress"

Shocked, I walk to the box sitting on the counter and opened it.

In between the softest tissue paper I have ever felt, was a red dress. I picked up the dress, and gasped.

It was short, see through and left little to the imagination.

"You cannot expect me to wear this! I am not a hooker!"