The Mother Tracie Deserves Ch. 08

BLACKMAIL GETS BLACKER

The next morning, as usual, my stepdaughter woke me at six o’clock. It was obvious she was still very angry with me. All she said was, “Forty-five minutes. Got it?”

By the time I said “yes” she had turned and walked out of my room. She had never assigned me so much time on the treadmill. It went without saying that afterward, I was to shower, dress and do my hair and makeup.

Just as I finished all that, I heard Tracie call me to the kitchen, with a sharp, “Mom!”

I hurried to her. She was waiting for her ride to school, her backpack on her shoulder. She slid a paper toward me on the kitchen counter. It was the list of my tasks for the day. She usually texted me the list, but I guessed she was so mad at me, she wouldn’t even text me – the ultimate rebuke of a teenage girl.

She didn’t say a word to me. She didn’t even look at me. I didn’t dare try to talk to her. Even her handwriting on the list looked angry.

After her friend picked her up, I threw myself into my tasks. I hoped the work would take my mind off the yoga incident and Tracie’s anger at me. The day’s list only had a few tasks, but they would take hours: wash all the windows on the house, rake up winter debris from the lawn, and give the grass its first mowing of the spring.

As I worked, my mind kept getting away from me. While I was swirling soapy water on window glass, I thought of my daughter’s smooth hands circling my body on the yoga mat. While I was raking the lawn, it reminded me of Tracie’s fingernails lightly dragging down my back.

Whenever my mind wandered to those thoughts, I worked twice as fast to distract myself from how good it had felt to be touched. You would think cutting the grass would be a good distraction. But the old lawnmower’s vibrations hit me in all the inappropriate places! I had to take a few breaks, and one cold shower, but I finally got the work all done.

I had to wonder why I was feeling as horny as I’d ever felt in my life. But it made perfect sense. It was springtime, for one thing. People always feel more excited when the weather improves after a long winter. And for me, I was feeling healthy again after a long, ugly stretch of drinking and letting myself go. Maybe I wasn’t so old and worn out after all. I just had been in a slump, but now I was alive again!

I was so grateful that I was doing better physically. I could forgive myself for some temporary, misdirected arousal.

And something else happened that day that I’d been hoping for. One of my many applications paid off: I got called in for an job interview!

I prayed that when I told Tracie, this good news could wipe away some of the unpleasantness between us.

That afternoon, when she got home from school, my stepdaughter still wouldn’t say a word to me. First, she checked the windows and the lawn to make sure I had Pendik travesti done my work. Then, as usual, she came up to me to sniff me for alcohol.

After she was satisfied that I was sober, she started walking with her backpack to her bedroom.

“Tracie, can I tell you something?”

She slowly turned to look at me, expressionless.

I said, “I got a call today for a job interview.”

She just nodded. As she walked to her bedroom, she said, “Let me know when dinner’s ready.”

The pain of Tracie’s anger made me want a drink. But I knew that was not an option.

At dinner, the tension was killing me. My daughter just looked at her phone while she ate. She acted like I wasn’t there. I felt like a ghost.

Finally, I took a chance to break the silence. I said, “I’m kind of nervous about the interview. Do you think I should buy a new outfit for it?”

She just shrugged.

I said, “I don’t know if you saw, but I got five big bags of leaves and stuff raked up. There were a lot of little twigs and branches under that one tree in front. A lot of stuff came down over the winter.”

Tracie just chewed her food and kept looking at her phone.

I said, “It’ll be nice that the windows are clean as the weather gets warmer. That took a while. But I think it makes a big difference.”

She picked up her glass of water and gave me the most fleeting of glances as she drank from it. She set it down, sighed, and looked back at her phone while she took another bite.

I took a small bite of my food. I had no appetite, knowing Tracie was so mad at me. I tried once more, saying, “Are things going okay at school?”

She dropped her fork loudly on her plate and stared at me while she took another drink of water.

I swallowed nervously.

She wiped her mouth with her napkin, then finally said something. “We’re going to make another video tonight.”

My heart jumped into my throat. “W-what kind of video?”

“Whatever kind I want. You just need to do what I say, remember?”

My mind raced with what she might want. Was she going to take her shirt off again? Something worse? “Honey, please,” I said desperately.

“Honey, please,” she mocked me, “Wah, wah, wah. I’m sober now. It was just the alcohol.”

Weakly, I said, “It- it was.”

“Fine. Since you’re so freaked out about what you started, Mom, we’re going to do something different. Leave the dishes for now. Go brush your teeth, and do a really good job.”

“W-Why?”

“You don’t need to know why. Just do it.”

The fiery wrath in her eyes sent me hurrying to the bathroom. None of our mother-daughter tiffs over the years had prepared me for seeing Tracie like this. Even on the day she started the blackmail, the girl was not as deeply angry as she had been since the yoga incident the night before.

I brushed my Pendik travestileri teeth with extra toothpaste. I scrubbed my tongue, gargled with mouthwash, flossed – everything I could think of so my stepdaughter wouldn’t be so mad at me.

Tracie called from the kitchen, “What’s taking so long?”

“Coming!” I wiped my mouth and hurried back.

She was leaning against the kitchen counter, tapping at her phone.

My heart pounded with worry about what she had in mind.

Without looking up, she said, “I’ll respect your hypocrisy for now, Mom. But you need to remember: You don’t get to tell me what we can and can’t do. Right?”

My chest tightened. All I could manage was a whisper, “Right.”

She said, “Have a drink of water.”

I had no idea why she wanted that, but I drank from the glass next to my dinner plate.

“Okay,” she said. “Stand here facing me.”

I did, and she set her phone on a shelf near us, at about shoulder height, pointing its camera at us. She adjusted it, making sure we were both in the frame.

I thanked god no one was taking their clothes off.

She said, “So, this one is going to be very simple. All you have to do is start at the garage door there, walk back up to this spot, call me a dirty whore, spit in my face, and slap me.”

Of all the worrisome ideas I’d had, this totally surprised me. “Wait- what?”

“You heard me. Walk up, call me a dirty whore, spit, and slap. That’s it. But you have to do it very mean. And when you slap me, slap hard.”

My jaw dropped. “Tracie, I’ve never hit you in my life. I can’t just-“

“Just do it, Mom. I’m telling you to.”

“W-What are you going to do?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m just going to stand here and take it. Because I’m an abused child, and I’m used to it.”

It suddenly made sense. I said, “More blackmail.”

“You’re so smart. So, go back to the door, wait for my cue, and make it look real.”

My body deflated, like I was shrinking into myself.

She said. “Move! What are you waiting for?”

I was waiting for this nightmare to end. But I knew it was all too real. I dragged my feet toward the kitchen door leading to the garage. It was the same door Tracie usually came through when she got home from school. She had come through that door, with her backpack on her shoulder, just a couple hours earlier, back when I hoped this evening might be okay.

I turned and saw her start the recording. She faced me and said, “Go.”

My body fought itself, like I could only move in slow motion as I walked toward her.

She put on a sad expression.

Looking at my daughter’s face, I started to gather saliva in my mouth. How was I going to spit at her, let alone slap her? I loved her too much. There was still a touch of childish roundness in her adorable cheeks. I broke out with a Travesti pendik tearful whimper. “Tracie, there’s no way. I can’t do it.”

With a big, angry sigh, she grabbed her phone and stopped the video. “You’re going to do it, Mom. Or the video from my birthday is going to get leaked.”

That whipped a red lash of alarm through me.

She said, “Start back at the door.” She readied her phone again as I hurried back.

Now I was terrified that if I didn’t do this, my life would go up in flames – even worse than it already had.

She said, “Go.”

Eager to get it over with, I walked up to her, spit in her face, then slapped her. My fingers stung. I wiped my lip. My whole body was trembling.

Tracie grabbed her phone and watched the video. I couldn’t stand to look at her screen. I looked instead at the bubbly spit oozing down my stepdaughter’s cheek. I twitched when I heard the recorded slap.

She said, “That was pretty good, actually. But we have to do it again.” She wiped her face with her dinner napkin.

“What? Why?”

“You didn’t follow my instructions, Mom.”

“Yes I did!”

“You forgot to call me a dirty whore. That’s, like, the whole point of the thing. Let’s try one more. And step a little closer to me this time.”

“Tracie…”

Her eyes flashed at me and she hissed, “What?”

Her intensity put me back on my heels. Defeated, I said, “Okay.”

I went back to the door once more. Tracie positioned her camera and took her place. She said, “Just like before. Slap a little harder. And don’t forget your line. Go.”

My stomach was turning. My body didn’t want to move. But I told myself, I’ve got no choice. I took a deep breath and held it as I walked up to her. I said, “You d-dirty whore.” I spit. I slapped. I tried hard to keep from crying. My hand stung even more. My daughter’s eyelid was sealed shut with my saliva.

She whimpered and said, “I’m sorry, Mom. Please don’t hit me anymore.”

I didn’t know what to do, what to think, what to feel. It was all so insane. I fell into the nearest chair and held my head with my hands.

Tracie wiped my spit from her eye. “Did that feel good?”

“It felt horrible, Tracie. Why would you ask me that?” I started to weep.

“Oh, come on,” she said. “We’re just acting in these videos, aren’t we? It’s all fake when the camera’s running, right?”

I glanced up to see my stepdaughter staring at me, waiting for my response.

“I- Yeah… right.”

She nodded and sniffed sardonically. She shook her head like she was disappointed, then turned to watch the replay on her phone. I heard my recorded voice say those hideous words. The sound of the second, harder slap was like a punch to my gut.

Tracie said, “Good job, Mom. It looks real.” She played the video again.

I cried harder. “I would never call you such a thing, Tracie.”

She looked hard at me. “Maybe not, but you would tell me the same thing in a different way.”

“Honey… Is this… Is this about yesterday?”

She said, “You can do the dishes now. We’re done for tonight.”

My daughter walked off and disappeared into her room.