Disclaimer: I own nothing.
This plot bunny's been not bugging me, haunting me ever since an SAT class a while back. Why it couldn't haunt someone else, I don't know. But I have no complaints. It was interesting to write. A little break from the happy, light stuff.
There are two things that you should know about Herr Bessell; He had a short temper, and he never loved his daughter.
Sure, he didn't hate her - she was his own flesh and blood, after all - but he was sure that he resented her for not being a boy, like he had always dreamed. He was taught that boys were better suited to carry down the family name. But for his wife's sake, he never purposely hurt Martha's feelings, but he would stack a lot of chores on her.
As she grew up, whenever Martha would do something to displease him, like unravel her braids or shirk her duties, Herr Bessel would slowly count to ten, chastise her, and send her to bed.
Then, one night, the dreams started.
Those dreams that would wake him up in the middle of the night with nothing but wet sheets. When Frau Bessell first noticed, she asked if there was something the matter. Herr Bessel shook his head, setting his head on the pillow and making a mental note to have Martha wash the sheets tomorrow.
What were those dreams, he wondered. Those were the same kinds of dreams he would have when he met his wife. Making him feel like a damn schoolboy. He knew the girl from his dreams wasn't his wife; they haven't tried having another baby in heaven knows how long. There were only two major girls in his life, so that left...
No! Herr Bessell chastised himself. You know what the Bible says about that, it's a sin. You must not give in to this temptation. It is a disciple of the Devil, attempting to tempt you. Resist!
And for a while, Herr Bessell resisted.
He finally snapped when, one lazy summer morning, Martha bumped into her father's coffee, causing it to spill all over the table.
Another thing you should know about Herr Bessell: Authority figure or not, he was still human. And, being human, all those months of pent up frustration and tension made him snap. He got up, yanked out his belt, and whipped Martha with it.
"How dare you do that, you little rat!" he yelled, along with other sharp words.
"Daddy, stop! I-It was only an a-accident!" Martha whimpered, feeling the leather strap hit her arm. Her cries of pain sent a strange pang of pleasure through him, as if he wanted to see her in pain. But how could he, when he was her father?
That thought brought him back to reality. He lowered his belt and pointed at Martha's bedroom door.
"You are to go to your room, Martha. And you are to stay there until further notice," he said, voice shaking a bit. Martha, with tears streaming down her face, went into her room. When she closed the door, Herr Bessell placed his hand on his forehead. He had actually enjoyed hitting his daughter. There were other things he wanted to do, but something deep in his memory forbade him from doing those unspeakable actions. But what?
"Honey, I heard a commotion inside. What happened?" Frau Bessell asked, coming in with the laundry she had hung outside. For a minute, Herr Bessell forgot where he was. When he remembered, he replied, "Martha spilled my coffee. It landed on my lap."
"Do you want me to talk to her?" she asked.
"Please," he replied, excusing himself to his bedroom. He had a lot of praying to do.
Inside, Martha was weeping. Why would Papa do that? She always thought fathers were supposed to chastise their daughters and send them to bed at most. Why would he...?
"Martha?" Frau Bessell asked, coming in. She sat next to her daughter and saw small bruises on her arm. Nobody spoke for about five minutes as Martha continued weeping and Frau Bessel absorbed the information.
"Martha..." her mother said, clearing her throat. "We have rules in this house. You father will not be disobeyed."
With those final words, she left.
Later that night, Herr Bessell passed Martha's bedroom door. He instantly stopped, thinking about all the things he's done and wanted to do. Yes, despite all the praying he had done in his own bedroom, those thoughts still flooded in his head. It was like he couldn't control it. Those thoughts ate away at him like some sort of parasite, slowly ruining him, until the only salvation left was the unthinkable.
He opened the door, waking Martha up.
"Martha? I just want a kiss goodnight before I go to bed," he said. Martha smiled nervously - what if he wanted to beat her again? - and reached out her arms, as if to give her father a hug. Herr Bessell accepted the hug, and positioned them so Martha was on her back and her father was on top of her.
"Papa? What are you doing?" Martha asked, half-panicked. Didn't the Bible say anything about this being a sin?
"Shh, child. The Lord won't mind," Herr Bessell said, smirking sadistically. "It's just you and me..."
When she tried to bite back a scream, he shivered in excitement.
When tears were streaming down her face, he smirked even wider.
While she was trying to make sense of what he was doing to her, he took away her childhood, tainted her innocence, and did a lot more than anyone should endure.
And when the whole thing was done, Herr Bessell, seeling a magnificent surge of satisfaction, kissed his whimpering daughter and left, but not before saying, "Child, you're a beauty..."
He had heard that this was a sin somewhere, but he had forgotten when and where.
There you go. Just a little fic on how the whole thing with Martha's father abusing her started. I just know I'll get shot for this...