One quick jerk of my thumb and all my problems would end, as long as I aimed right.

Outside, the gears of the four-wheeler screeched something fierce.

Naughty, naughty bird. I ducked out and almost choked on the fumes pouring from the garage. You had upended one of the gas canisters into a modest lake and messed my shit up, maybe looking for lighter, but panic had set in, because you humped the four-wheeler’s saddle like a frantic cowgirl, trying and failing to shift the damn thing into gear.

“You little cunt,” I rasped, but as soon as I tucked away the Brightroar and came for you, you brandished Ma’s triangle-toothed sewing scissors.

“Stay back,” you warned. I smacked the silly things right outta your hand, snared the perpetual rawness on your wrist.

"No!" you gasped.

"Yes," I barked. Gave you an open palm slap that sent snot from your nose. "What kinda shit is this, huh?" I shook you but your eyes wouldn't focus. Half your face was red already. "You think you'd get far without me? Think I wouldn't hop on my bike and ride you down? Stupid cunt. I want a smarter bird."

"Then kill me," you wailed, as I dragged you inside, upstairs, back to your special chair.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Well guess what, sweetheart? You and every other shit excuse of life on this shit excuse of a planet. You're not special. Not to anyone but me."

The alarm whirred on through the dusty floorboards. "They’re coming to save me," you blubbered.

"Like hell." I ripped up your sheet in the heat of the moment, needing rope, but remembering how you hated it. So strips patterned with little unicorns bound your ankles and chest to the chair. I fixed your wrists with Florian and Jonquil in your lap, but your friends did nothing to staunch your sobs. I needed you quiet, fast.

"You want pills, or my grip?" Eyed the Brightroar in my belt.

"Neither," you cried. "The pills hurt my tummy. Your gun hurts my head."

"Then how about you stay quiet? Here—" I tore another strip, stuffed your sock in your mouth, wound cotton around your pretty head. Snot and tears and sounds quickly soaked it. But quietly, quiet enough for me to hear rubber wheels crunching gravel on the drive. The click of a key in the ignition. An engine, dead. He didn't use sirens.

"If you keep quiet, I'll get you something special. Those vegetables—remember? If you ever want to eat a vegetable again, you're gonna sit up here real quiet. Not a single peep, understood?"

Eyes wide and watery, you nodded. I slammed you into the back of the closet just as a stout knock sounded on the front door. Had to hustle to the watch room and smack off the alarm. Took my time coming 'round to answer, especially when Dondarrion called out, "I know you're in there, Clegane. Don't be shy. Just want to greet an old friend is all. Want to make sure everything's alright."

Smug prick. I opened the door a crack, a crack that illuminated the steel on my hip.

Beric was the same—smiling for no reason, looking idiotic with his eye-patch and dented-in ginger head. Gregor's work. A shoot out, or a knifing. His uniform was the true clown shit: pressed brown button-down and pants, a badge on his breast boasting the words SER DONDARRION, and shoes polished to a dragon-glass gleam. He stuck one in the frame.

"Watch it," I warned.

"Why such hostility?" Beric slung up an arm. Leaned in. Squinted with one good eye, blue. "You look rough, Sandor. How's the Vale treating you?"

"Just fine. Better'n fine. But I'm up here now. I'm up here to stay."

Beric slowly nodded. He used his nod as an excuse to peek over shoulder, scour the living room, what with all your pretty dresses and sewing machine scattered. I shoved myself further to the side, put some pressure on that shiny shoe of his.

"You want to suck my cock that bad, huh? Just come out with it, Dondarrion. Don't play coy. How about we go out to the poppy field for old time's sake? I'll sow the fields with your seed. Might grow pansies instead, but I don't give a shit. I'll have you mewling like a lion cub, just like always."

Faggot laughed. Laughed at his lily-ass shoes, his thumbs looped into his belt. His buckle was a golden flaming heart. Shoulda noticed the ring that dazzled on his left hand, the cherry on faggy sundae, a spray of tiny diamonds inlaid on a thick gold band.

"I'm spoken for, friend. Times are better now."

"So your little red god doesn't have anything to say about sodomy?"

"The Lord of Light loves all. He shines his light in the darkest of places."

I scared up a loogie and hocked it on Beric's toe. "Here's what I think of your god. And your uniform. You aren't welcome here. You best get on."

Beric didn't flinch. Heat sparkled on his hip too. Legal heat, the type of heat he could unload at the slightest provocation. He held back because he was sweet on me. Held back because my girl was silent as the grave. Not a single whimper crept down the stairs.

"I'm not looking for trouble. You know that. You know I want what's best for you. You're not Gregor. Your story isn't the same."

"If you know what's best for you," I grit out, "you'll keep my brother's name out of your mouth."

"That sounds an awful lot like a threat to an officer, don't you think?"

"Should I spit on your pretty badge? Would that get the message through your thick skull? I doubt it. If he couldn't, nothing could."

Our lips were close. So close I swallowed the spearmint on his breath. He sighed it right into my mouth, heavy and slow. "I came here as a friend, Sandor. It doesn't look good. Word travels fast, even 'round here. Petyr Baelish was an important man. His niece won't be so readily forgotten."

"Are you threatening me?"

Beric fell back. He raised his hands, surrendering them to the sun. "It's beyond you and me. You made sure of that. You may not believe, but—" He looked up, his gaunt face damn near skeletal in jagged rays of dusk. " Light your flame among us, R'hllor. Show us the truth or falseness of this man. Strike him down if he is guilty, and give strength to his sword if he is true. "

That grin, that stupid, fucking grin. I frothed. I spat.

"Fuck your god, Dondarrion. You're going to look me in the eye and spout off some pretty verses, begging for mercy in flame? Here's the truth—" I slicked back hair, shoved my scars full into the scathing sky. "Mercy is a farce. The gods made men strong to cull the weak. I've been guilty since the day he marked me. There's no truer man than me."

I slammed the door, but Beric's laughter rang through those time-eaten beams. "You're right," he called, footsteps creaking on the porch, crunching on the drive. "You could never live a lie."

I waited for full silence, but even after Beric's car went, the woods and wind screamed their vitality. Solitude was an illusion. Branches prodded the windows. Birds occupied the branches—witnessing. Elinor's portrait glared at me from its place on the wall. I ripped it down. Chucked it into the cold fireplace where the frame shattered, and just like all those years I go, I toppled down. Like the smoke summoned me. I choked on its ghost scooping handfuls of shards and ash, piling them back on your picture. "I'm sorry, sweet girl. I'm sorry." I didn't know what I was saying. No flames in that pit but I sweated like hellfire. It dripped off my face and smoldered in my gut.

Upstairs, a whimper sounded.

It was your fault.

I smacked open the closet door, fuming.

"You little cunt," I rasped. I hooked my arm around the back of your chair, dragged you out of the closet, out of your room, down the stairs. Smack, smack, smack. Oh, you were trying to chirp alright. But there wasn't a single prayer in the Seven-Pointed Star that'd save your little ass now.

I dragged you clear out through the patio, across the lumpy lawn, into the garage. I slammed you into the gassy puddle you made on the concrete floor. It pooled a dark rainbow, stunk.

"The little bird thought she'd burn our house down, after everything I've done. All the time and money I spent watching you, protecting you from your Uncle, risking my hide to give you a better day. You knew— " I pinched your chin and lifted it. Still hadn't fixed my hair right. "You knew what he did to me, and you thought you'd do the same." Fetched my lighter from my back pocket, flicked it open a few hairs from your snot-crusty nose. "I ought to make us even. Or might be my grip isn't so good. Might be I'll drop this lighter, and leave you here to burn."

I doused you in my ragged breath. You wept quiet waterfalls. Slowly, your eyes shut.

You nodded.

I could fuck you if I stuffed you, but not if I scorched you to cinder and bone. I pocketed the lighter. Unsheathed my knife instead, squatted down. Eased the blade between the fresh purpling on your cheek and the strip of kiddy sheet across your lips. Your sock gag came out soggy. You breathed in rapid flutters.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" I spat.

Your lips folded in. Your head shook—no.

I roared. I hacked at the bounds on your ankles and chest, seized you by the scruff. I thrust your face into the pool of gas at our feet. "You're happy with yourself, is it? You think it's a fun game to ruin everything your daddy worked for?"

"Please," you begged. You writhed against my grip, basting yourself, sputtering as your mess worked its way into your mouth. Good. "Please. I'm sorry. I won't do it again. I promise. Just be gentle with me. Be a good daddy. Don't be mean, please."

I lifted your head, my fingers flush against your scalp. "I am a good daddy. Best you'll ever have."

"If you were a good daddy, you wouldn't hit me. You wouldn't put your penis in my flower."

"A good baby bird wouldn't light our house on fire. She wouldn't run away."

"I won't. I swear it on the Maiden."

Couldn't find a lie in eyes clear as yours, eyes that shone my own image back at me. I shook my hair and it fell on my scars in sodden, salty clumps. "Fine. But there are new rules now. I'm not taking any chances."

For starters, I fished a rusty choke chain outta the shed. Used to be Grandad raised some fearsome hounds. Hunted game and man. He sold them for the prettiest penny to rich assholes that cared about pedigree and fighting rings. Gregor killed them all that way—fights, to the death. I liked sleeping in the kennel when I was little. Didn’t care that I stank like piss.

I thought about kenneling you, but decided against it, because I liked your company. Especially once I got you fixed with that choke chain. One pull and you knew how it worked. Good.

“You’re going to make dinner.”

I led you down to the cellar where you collected an armful of mason jars: beans, corn, peas, beets, squash. “Can I take them all?” you asked.

“As much as you can carry.”

I carried up more booze. I drank it straight and watched from the kitchen table as you flitted around, fetching pots and pans. My flannel didn’t fully cover your cheeks as you lifted onto tiptoes to reach the upper cupboards. I didn’t offer to help you none, because I liked seeing your tiny fingers grasp with your tongue poked through your lips.

You set the table and poured me a glass of milk. Served up a steak and baked potato. You gave yourself half a potato and a pile of green beans. You almost looked grateful.

“Bless this meal. Bless the fertile earth and the food it provides. Bless the hands that prepared this meal and bless this—bless this home. In the name of the Seven we pray, amen.”

You looked at me, eyes popping out of your cute skull. Oh.

“Amen,” I answered.

Satisfied, you ate. I downed my meal quick and lit up, so I could watch you.

“You stare so much,” you said to your plate.

“So?”

“I guess it's weird. I guess that’s why you stole me.”

“True enough.”

I would never get my fill of you. Not as you finished your last green bean, slurped down a glass of water. Not when you asked, “May I please use the ladies’ room?”

For some fun, I tugged you outside where the grasses grew and tangled. “Here. Piss.”

You frowned. “I’d rather wait.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion, little bird. You piss here or I’m putting you in your bed.”

We waited together. Listened to the wind come hollow at the house as dusk fell. It lapped at the loose siding and the shutters that clung sparsely to their hinges. I wished you would sing again, wished that I could have my song without making a mark. I wished I knew the right words to charm you, to make you smile, to make you spread your legs with your cunt sopping wet. I wished you were like her. I wished you were you. But you’re dead. And the little bird timidly fished beneath my flannel to pull down her panties. She squatted. Only a few drops dribbled down her asscheeks. She whimpered, buried her head between her knees.

When your stream came full gush, I fished out my cock and pissed on your puddle, groaning. Didn’t take but two strokes to get me hard. I tightened my grip on your chain so your knees fell to fresh mud. “Yuck,” you whined, an opening for me to get my cock in your mouth. No more words, just mumbling and a resistant jaw.

“Suck me off quick and I won’t fuck you tonight,” I told you. I set my hand spread wide on your crown with my thumb dropped down to your sad little gash. Your cheek boasted my handprint. “I’m sorry I hit you,” I said, humping your lips. “I won’t do it again. I won’t feed you those pills if you don’t want. You’re my pretty little girl. I’ll treat you pretty, I swear.”

Though water spilled from your eyes, your mouth relaxed and your tongue dropped. I could cram a good four inches to the back of your throat. Soon as I felt you gag, I came. “Good girl,” I said, shoving your face against my groin. “There’s my good girl.”

We showered together. I had you scrub me down with a rag and I gave you the same treatment. After, you spread your cheeks so I could smear on your ointment. I tucked you in bed in one of my t-shirts. Still had to handcuff you to the bars of the headboard, but I gave you Florian and Jonquil for company.

“How’s that?” I asked. I put my hand in the red ghost I’d left behind earlier.

“Good,” you answered.

“You want a pill or not?”

“No thank you, Daddy.”

You sweetly raised your eyes and my lips twitched up. Good girl. Good sweet girl.

You’d be trained proper yet.

I took the opportunity to birdwatch, sitting on the floor with my back against the posters of pretty little Symeon. Smoked a couple cigarettes and ashed them in the cracks of the floorboards. Begging for something but too weak to outright commit. My burner buzzed in my back pocket.

Beric came by

Musta come from Bronn.

You say shit? I fired off.

No
But you owe me
5k

Fuck you, I sent first. Then, Deal.

Tomorrow

I grunted too loud maybe and slammed my burner to the ground. Latched eyes with two glowy orbs that quickly shut. Fuck me. I was hoping you wouldn't notice my phone.