You were a good girl for most of the ride.

It was a sweet cruise chasing the sun west. Took the back country route, the familiar route, from my dope slinging days. Two lane highways through spring green fields with flowerheads that winked the rainbow. My radar detector sat suctioned to the windshield. I waited out the red alert arrows, sipping Blue Rose in the interim, one can per hour, couldn't get too sloshed out here. I pissed in a gallon jug.

After I switched the truck's plates I wasn't stopping none except for gas. Had a full twenty hours to go. My blood was up, didn't need the radio the way my heart raged. Like I was on the front line again, battling the invisible threat of the law instead of illiterate brown goatherds. It was a victorious rage though—

I had my girl.

I kept the back window open a crack, so I could check on you in the rearview a few dozen times a minute. You were a bundle of pale limbs, white silk, and fire-streaked curls, languidly bouncing in time to the ruts and potholes in crumbling asphalt. When the sky hung its highest above us you stirred. First it was low moans, then whimpers muffled against your duct tape muzzle. I watched you lamely drag yourself up to sitting.

We made eye contact in the mirror and you started screaming.

I slammed on the brakes right quick. Thunk. Your forehead cracked against the window and you fell slack. Oughta buy me a few hours of quiet, nasty little bitch. I wanted a nice bird. Seemed like I might have to train you.

After that the beer tasted sour. It was piss water, I knew that. Didn't change the fact that my gut boiled and my skull screamed like an iron spike went through it. Worse, the little orange indicator light flicked on my dash—the truck needed a refuel. I checked back another hundred times to make sure your little lungs still worked. They did. I slid the window shut when I pulled up to the pump, some podunk station in the middle of woodsy nowhere. Popped a pepto so I didn't lose my shit on the grimy gas-stained pavement. After we were full up I went into the shabby convenience store.

Bells on the door jingled when I entered. Fuck's sake. I dragged my hand through my hair and went questing, figured I'd get something more substantial to calm my gut down. But if I was getting hungry you would be too, which meant I needed little bird food, didn't know exactly what would do. Then I saw it: those cute pink half-dome cakes, coconut dusted or some shit. Snoballs. Elinor used to love them. I nabbed four boxes, then prepped a styrofoam container full of taquitos from the hotbox. The fat clerk stared from behind the register, lazily snapping her gum. Committing me to memory, fucking gash. Take a nice, long look.

I dropped my loot on the counter. Added a 32oz can of sweet tea, a jar of red hots, and a handful of packaged jerky. A roll of SweeTarts for you. Dinner enough.

The clerk snapped her bubble right in my face. Took damn near forever to scan everything, glancing to the truck, the only fucking vehicle there, and back at me.

I tossed over a wad of cash and ripped the plastic bag from her acrylic-nail clutches.

"Keep the damn change," I grunted.

Tore outta there real quick. Didn't know how fast news spread in the riverlands.

Back on the road you slept through dusk. I deepthroated the taquitos and ten bright red sausages, but it didn't help the uneasy simmer I had, like maybe you were dead or hurt too bad. Every now and then you let out a dreamstate whimper. Real pretty music. I was fine. I was just fine. Besides, I had little bird treats to make it up to you. Treats were crucial to training.

I smoked a pack to calm down. Smoked another. Jacked off once, twice, three times. Tossed gummy napkins to the passenger side floor mat.

Night fell and you woke back up. Black blood glistened on half your pretty face when you lifted up this time. Tears turned your eyes to watery moons. You were trying to tell me something, frantically mumbling beneath the tape. I had zip-tied your wrists behind your back but even then you thumped them low on the truck's frame. Mighta hurt, but all I said to you was, "Go back to bed, little bird. We're not there yet."

Nevermind how bad I needed bed. The two Demon energy drinks at the last station did jack all but turn to rancid piss. The jug was already full. You didn't let up. Your whines grated like forty grit on exposed grey matter. I was tempted to check the brakes again for an easy fix, but the blood didn't look too good. I didn't want to turn you simple. I angled the mirror and caught your sad, shining eyes.

"Shut the fuck up, you hear me? Unless you want to eat a bullet for dinner. Your Uncle liked his, and I'll feed you one too, no problem."

I pulled the Brightroar from the passenger's seat, aimed up to the ceiling.

You slumped down and wept quietly, shivering in a little ball. It was worse than the shouting somehow. It reminded me of those nights outside your house.

We were getting close to my house, my little slice of hell, in the shaggy green hills where I lived out some of my shittiest days. But I couldn't take the noise anymore. I had a last resort, a bottle of pills to knock you out clean. I'd need to stop to get you dosed up. I knew a spot off Old Highway 5, a deep woods handoff down a gravel road then off-road, nothing but two streaks of smashed ferns and Joe-Pye that wound between old oaks. I'd swallow lead too if the law found me. Didn't want to lose you that quick, if I could avoid it.

I was good at avoiding.

It was nothing but bald starlight and cricket chirps when I switched off the ignition. That and your bird whimpers. I grabbed the orange bottle from the glove compartment and stuffed it in my pocket. Came around to the trunk, pistol in hand.

You cowered as soon as I opened up. "Easy, pretty bird." I lowered one knee into the bed; you scrambled to nowhere, eyes wide like a deer. I could tell you were sobbing even though the tape ate the sound of it. Piss ran from your nightgown down the corrugated plastic liner, straight into my jeans. Musta been holding it something fierce, the way it gushed out of you. Woulda made me hard if it wasn't accompanied by all that sniveling. I waded upstream and nabbed your waist. Not a lot of space back here but all I had to do was sit down and yank your little body to my lap.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be," I said, as you made it harder, thrashing like an outed trout. I charged the Brightroar and stuck it to the soft spot on your pretty skull. Gripped your chin with a knuckle firm against your snotty nostrils.

"Air is a privilege, understand?"

You stilled but shut your eyes on me—big mistake. "You look at me when I'm talking to you, cunt," I rasped, shaking your little face like a ragdoll. "I'm the one in charge here. I've got the fucking gun. You're going to do exactly as I say, or I'll empty my clip in you, no problem."

In sparse blue light I watched your cheeks darken. I watched a lump work down your slender throat. I watched your eyes unscrunch, and open the tiniest sliver.

"Good." I gave your nose a few millimeters, pet your sticky cheek with the barrel. "That's a good little birdie."

Tears, snot, and blood had formed a foul sort of sludge on otherwise spotless skin. It hit me—I was shit at fatherhood, birdkeeping, whatever you call tending a sweet creature's every need. I had busted you open twice now. I liked looking at your guts, sure, but I also made all those tears. You trembled. Your icy skin cooled the sweat from mine. It couldn't be more than fifty degrees out here, and you were almost fucking naked, soaked with piss and reeking of fright worse than I'd ever smelled.

Worse than Elinor, those nights we comforted each other.

Thinking of her made my gut flop over. I let go of your face to fix my hair, even though the sweat in it bit hard at my burns. "We're almost home, sweet girl," I told you, soft as I could. "I'm going to give you a little nighttime pill, so you sleep the rest of the way. It's either that, or you get my grip to your head. Your choice." You didn't say nothing of course, just blinked water at me. Alright. "I'm gonna rip the tape off now, but you stay quiet, you hear me?" A nod this time. I tucked the Brightroar at my back and gave the tape a quick jerk.

You sucked in, and wailed:

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. You're awful. You're the ugliest, nastiest, meanest man in the world. Let me go, please, let me go." You got all fighty again, ramming your gunky head against my tits, kicking out with your bound feet like some distressed mermaid. It was almost cute, unless some backwoods hunter heard us. "You're going to go to jail. They're going to find me. Uncle would never—"

I seized your throat this time. Slammed you bang-on the window. Your windpipe fought against my fingers, lost. "Your Uncle's dead, girl. Were you not listening? I would know. I watched his cunty brains spray all over his thousand dollar bedspread. You've got no one except for me. You're mine now, you're my sweet little pet, and I don't want to hurt you any worse. I'm taking you home. I'm gonna take care of you. But I can't help you none if you don't stay quiet. You have to be a good little bird. Real sweet, just like you treated your uncle. You get to choose, understand? Be good for me or die, it's that simple."

You wheezed but didn't lose my eye, even as more water tracked down your purpled cheeks. Funny how a little thing like you caught me. "I know you're a good girl," I rasped, throat tight. Felt like I was choking too. Sweat dripped from my lashes and clouded my vision. "Be sweet to me, and I'll be a good daddy back."

I let you go just like that. This time I was ready, when you screeched a gasp and wept. I locked my arms tight around you, really pressed you into me. My muscles were better than zip-ties and rope and tape. I knew you could never leave me like this. I knew I could crush your fragile collection of bones and keep the remnants forever. I thought about it hundreds of times, but I couldn't do it, not back here, and maybe not ever. And you knew I was full of shit, because you didn't stay quiet. You buried your face in my t-shirt and put muffled cries into my chest. I hugged you and shushed you, just glad to be this close, close enough to stick my nose in your hair and breathe you in, the real you, like honeysuckle and lemon, ripe summer berries.

I kissed your hair. You let me lift your chin so I could kiss your forehead, where your wound had congealed to a tacky crust. I licked it. I licked the salt of your tears and tang of your blood, until your moonglow skin cleared, and all that remained was a three inch scrape swimming in a palm-sized bruise. Nothing that would need stitches, some gauze ought to do. "I'll fix you up," I promised. "I'll get you your pill so you can sleep, how about that?"

"P-please, Ser," you said, quiet but hoarse. I realized my fingers had stained your throat too. "Please, I'm so thirsty. My tummy hurts. My wrists. My—my—" You looked down to your lap, maybe at your trapped ankles.

"Are they too tight?"

"Well, yes, but it's—it's—"

"Speak, girl," I spat.

"My flower," you whispered, head hung. "It hurts really bad."

I forced a breath through my nose. "That's because I fucked you. Three times."

You didn't look up, but your slight shoulders shook as another bout of weeping took over. "You're a monster," you blubbered. "You're going to go to hell and burn for all eternity."

Wasn't news to me. Still, I hated the sound, that infernal sound. I ground my teeth. I thought of the Brightroar, of emptying it in my soft palette instead, earning a one way ticket on the underworld express. I'd never hear you cry again that way, but I'd also never get another whiff of your smell. Never get another dip in your immaculate cunt, and certainly not a taste of your little asshole. You might be hurting some, but you weren't ruined. That's what I said: "No use crying over your maidenhead. It's gone, girl. You'll never get it back."

You cried harder. "What if I have your ugly babies?"

"That's the whole damn point. We're making a family."

"Oh my gosh," you wailed. "Maiden forgive me."

I didn't have a choice but to let you cry it out. My shirt was as good a kleenex as any, and better than releasing your sobs to open air. "I hate t-this s-so much. Just k-kill me already. I'd rather be dead than give b-birth to a m-m-monster." It was funny how you didn't need a blade to make it sting, but it wasn't like your nasty words would change a thing. I was getting lenient already, damn me. I fished the pill bottle out of my pocket.

"Alright, that's enough. It's bedtime."

I snared your chin and forced a blue pill past your lips. You immediately spit it out. "I want water. I'm starving. I stink ."

You fired your pout straight at me. Almost wished you were afraid again. "Fine," I grunted. "You stay put, elsewise the bears will have you. They love little girls that reek of piss."

It was a quick trip back around to the front seat. So much for dosing you up and getting going. Little birds were a serious workload. I grabbed my canteen and the grocery bag and a handful of napkins. Didn't need prompting when I shut us back in the trunk together. You moped at the puddling piss and I submerged the napkins in it.

"Do you need to shit?" I asked. You quickly shook your head. "Alright. You tell me if you need to shit, I'll get you a bucket."

I had to force the canteen past a stout frown, made me think of chewing those rosy lips right off you. But damn you drank, chugging so hard half the contents sloshed onto your itty bitty tits. The chill had made your nipples puff up through your nightgown, a treat for me, while I hand-fed you a Snoball.

"Water, please," you said after, lips dusted with coconut flakes.

I cracked open the sweet tea, parsed out sips of that instead. Finally your tears had stopped, but I could tell how puffed up your little eyes were, looking real tired with pink clouds beneath them. I fed you SweeTarts from the roll while I tended to your scrape. Kept a first-aid kit back here, stowed in the camlocker. I wasn't a goddamn amateur. A swipe of neosporin and a band-aid did the trick.

"Can I have a bath now?" you peeped.

I laughed. It came out of nowhere. The nerve of this girl—did she want me to suck the farts out of her ass too? And her ridiculous pout, that quivering bottom lip, her loaded gun, the barrel to my skull. "Don't start that shit—you see any tubs around here? That's right. We're in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. You're sleeping in your own filth tonight. Don't try me."

Oh, you did. One jewel of a tear slunk down your cheek.

I found a rag and dumped some water on it.

"The dress has to go."

We had a pretend struggle as I slipped the knife down your middle and ripped off your gown. You wanted to play the role of a little lady, not like to be sullied by a stranger. "Careful, little bird," I growled. "The more you fight the harder I'll get." You frowned, but went slack enough for me to cut your sleeves and cast the dirtied scraps aside. I wiped the rag all over your milky skin, with extra attention to your tits and armpits. Felt some kinda way looking at the blooming bruises on your neck, blood hot, choking like I had smoke in my veins.

I distracted myself by working my way between your legs to your little honeypot. "Not there," you gasped, wiggling back against the shell wall, really silly looking, what with your hands stuck behind you and your tits full out.

"Your cunt is mine. You'd best remember that."

"Are you going to rape me again?"

"Might be. I'd like that fuck that frown right off your little face."

I thumbed your droopy lower lip, and you snapped at me. "Careful," I warned, glancing down at my growing bulge in my jeans. Your eyes followed.

"Just give me a sleeping pill if you're going to do it," you glumly peeped. "I don't want to be awake."

I grunted. Didn't very well like your attitude, especially given that it was time for the pill, time for you to get some rest so I could get on the road. But you looked up at me, shivering, goosepimples painting your naked flesh. Couldn't put the tattered gown back on, and I certainly couldn't risk hypothermia. I fetched one of my flannels and a pair of your panties from my canvas duffel, but realized the zip ties had to go if I was gonna dress you.

"I won't run," you said, reading my mind. "I just need clothes, please. I'm so cold."

I flicked my switchblade open and ran it through the ties. Yeah, they had done some damage, really rubbed you raw. I kissed the inflamed strips of skin, warm on my lips. I helped you into the flannel, slid the undies up your long skinny legs.

"I was missing these ones," you said, soft, not flinching when I pulled my oversized shirt down to your knees, smoothing out the black and yellow plaid.

"I know," I confessed. "I took them."

"So you were the one sneaking around my room."

"Yeah. Smelled good in there. Real pretty."

"Did you—did you take my panty liners?"

"Sure did. I used to jack off with them."

You made a new noise, a high-pitched inhale, maybe the start to a sob, except you caught your face in two little hands. "This is a nightmare," you whined into your fingers. "I just want to go home, Ser. I won't tell on you. Really, I swear on it on the Seven."

I clamped your wrists and tugged you back into me. Got our noses together, hot to cold. "Listen well, girl," I hissed. "I'll only tell you this one more time. You don't call me Ser. My brother was a Ser. Remember how I told you about him?" A tiny nod. Fluttering breath against my lips, sweet. "Good girl. You can call me Sandor or Daddy, and that's it."

"You'll never be my daddy," you whispered.

"Then Sandor will have to do."

I released you. Thrust your bear into your arms to give your fresh tears somewhere to go. Then I shifted back onto my knees to get a nice little bed set up. I swept the soggy napkins out the trunk. Smoothed the quilt over the lingering moisture. See, I could be a good daddy. You didn't know shit about shit. Good thing we had all the time in the world. I reclined as best I could, boots sticking out the hatch, and dragged you back into me, with your little ass nestled right into my stiffening cock. I ground it between your cheeks, really let it announce itself, as I sloppily kissed my way to your ear.

"Do you want that pill now?" I asked.

"Yes, please, Se-Sandor."

Good girl. Good, sweet, little bird, learning her manners. That wasn't so hard. A little blood and a lot of tears, but you swallowed the pill after I put it on your tongue and gave you a sip of sweet tea. I waited for it to hit, kissing and licking your neck, nibbling a bit, mashing your tits, running my palm along your thigh. I wasn't a cannibal or nothing, just had a sizable appetite, but if I had to eat one person, it would be you, sweet girl. No question.

When your breath steadied I took my cock out, hooked a finger in your panties to ease them down a bit. You weren't wet down there. Maybe a little damp from the rag bath, but not slicked up like a bitch in heat. Not turned on. Just sleeping. I ran my cock along your petals and thought about what you said about hurting, how I mighta been a little too rough with you in your bedroom, maybe a little overeager. Not this time. I nudged your hole and felt a fair bit of resistance. Decided not to stretch you out again so soon. I put my all into humping, and all I really needed was a noseful of the stench in your hair, a handful of bird tit, and the image of your tight little flower, how nice it looked with my cock gaping it.

I came on your hole. I might have dozed off with my soft cock between your legs, feeling totally secure, knowing you weren't gonna wake up, screaming or crying. I hugged all of us, you, the bear, and the baby between. It was silent except for us breathing together. I didn't have one nightmare. I only woke up because I had to piss.

"Sleep tight, pretty bird," I told you. I fixed your panties with my load trapped in them. I kissed the band-aid on your forehead and clambered out of the trunk. My watch glowed a bright green 3:15AM as I let loose into a shrub.

I really lost track of time. Better get on.