the 2 people who actually reviewed. Thank you!

to the rest of it really that scary to review? chickens

Margo glanced back as the car pulled away. Her heart clenched when she saw the lone figure in the doorway, pain and shock etched on his features.

Her mouth tasted sour from the words she had said, and every fibre in her body wanted to go back and hug him, the only father she had ever known. To hold him close like she did when she was eleven, and apologise for everything she had ever done.

But that idea was laughable, she could imagine what her friends would say, and it's not like he would instantly forgive her, right? Thoughts of doubt crowded around inside her head, scrambling over one another, and Margo just couldn't deal with it. So she grabbed the bottle that was being passed around and drank, cheered on by the other occupants of the car.

The clear, strong liquid burned her throat, making her sputter and cough. It left behind a warm numbness that spread through her body, blurring her thoughts and judgement.

Just what she needed.

She sat in the packed car, pressed against the bodies of people she barely knew, laughing numbly at jokes she didn't hear.

Later, she sat by herself in a corner of the dank, abandoned house the party was in. Her friends had long wandered off, none even glancing back to see where she was, their little tag-along. Her head nodded in rhythm with the pounding techno music, and between her fingers hung a half-empty beer bottle. She had lost count of how many she had downed.

Stumbling over to a suspiciously stained and moth-eaten couch she flopped onto it, feeling the springs groan in protest. She sighed and took another swig of the bitter liquid in the bottle, dimly aware of someone sitting next to her.

Hands slid around her waist and she was roughly pulled onto someone's lap. Hands explored beneath her clothes, sliding up her thighs and under the skirt that had already hitched up too far.

Her bottle fell from her hand and smashed, the sound barely heard over the music. So, of course, no one would hear her.

", don't..." she murmured, her tongue heavy and clumsy from alcohol. "I-I don't li-mpf!" she was cut off by a set of lips colliding with her own, stubble brushing her chin.

Hands, more forcefully now, pinned her to the couch, she could feel the sticky fabric against her back, the smell of alcohol on her assailant's breath making her gag. He chuckled, his voice low and rough.

"Now, now baby doll, don't you'll be over before you know it," he growled in her ear, a terrible, primal sound. He had a southern accent and was heavily built, easily holding her down. The room was dim, the only lighting from the neon glow sticks people were wearing around their necks and the occasional burst of strobe lighting, harsh and disorientating.

He had managed to pin her with one hand, and then Margo heard the low, unmistakable sound of a zipper being lowered.

Her mind went into overdrive. "No, no! This can't be happening, this won't happen!"

The thought, clear as crystal, rang though her head. She twisted and squirmed, lashing out with her legs, doing anything she could to keep him from touching her.

Strobe lights flashed, cause harsh shadows, twisting the features of his face into a grotesque mask as he held her down, fighting against her resistance .

With a final struggle, they tumbled off the couch, landing on the equally filthy floor with a crash. Margo jumped up, chest heaving, eyes wide and frightened. Her top was ripped and her skirt twisted, but she didn't care.

Pausing only to kick her would-be-rapist across the face, Margo ran from the techno filled, filthy hell-hole.

Gru sat in the booth of the kitchen, staring at a cup of coffee long gone cold. Beside him sat a stuffed unicorn that Agnes had left with him when she went to bed, "for company".

The girls had been trying to cheer him up all evening, coming home from their grandma's early to hug him, and try to distract him. A play with her unicorns by Agnes, a series of heart-thumping, daring skateboard tricks by Edith, yet still he could not forget. Nothing they did could lift the worried look from his eyes, or stop his constant glances out the window or towards the phone.

His mother had gone looking for Margo, but after searching for hours, she returned empty handed, and had said what she always did "Those gurls need a mother!"

And so Gru was constantly reminded. He didn't get what the big deal was, he had grown up without a father, they had left Russia to get away from him. It must be different for girls, he thought. Maybe that was why they spent so much time with his mom, so they had some sort of female role model. He certainly couldn't see any other reason.

But how could he provide a mother figure for his little girls? He may let them clamber all over him, and even enjoy their hugs, but the thought of anyone else being near them, or him, made him shudder. Growing up with a stony-hearted mother, he had never felt comfortable around women and getting a mother for the girls, well it wasn't just as though he could put an ad in the paper, was it?

He sighed and gazed into the milky liquid in the cup he held, as if it would give him the answer. Standing up, he went to the sink, pouring the wasted coffee down the drain. He glanced at the clock. Half two in the morning, and once again Gru's mind filled with images of what could have happened to Margo, every possible bad thing he could imagine. And being an ex-villain, he could imagine a lot.

He never knew parenting could be like this. Difficult, yes. Frustrating, yes. But no-one ever told him it would be so heart-breaking.

people, i see you. You think i cant. You alert and favorite, i can see EVERYTHING ¬.¬

Let me ask you one thing...Y YOU NO REVIEW?