Confessing to the crooks

Funny, sometimes I dream about history. I mean, in the dream I know things have happened in the past and so I think of them in the dream. Once I read that you can't dream in time lines, that it's just "here and now" and that the past and the future doesn't exist. Well, that's wrong. This dream I had shows that. Although I cut the end. In the end it got so warped with us not returning to the kitchen but to an open field, yada, yada. This is the interesting part. In my opinion. :-)
======================================

My brother, sister and I lived with three men in a house. We were not siblings for real, but since we came from different broken homes we felt like siblings in this house. The three men were between 35-45 years old and to be honest we weren’t sure what their jobs were, but I suspected they did something illegal. Never the less, they were kind to us and we regarded them as our fathers.

My experience from families weren’t that bright. My mother was almost never at home. My father was home but usually drunk, always with a short temper. He never spoke to me, unless he shouted at me for making noises or that he wanted me to do something, like bring him a beer. When he felt like it, which he did almost every day, he used to beat me up. Often he used a coat-hanger and beat me all over my body until he got tired. He called it ‘his daily exercise’. If he thought I deserved a punishment he used to tie me so I couldn’t move and then he could punish me the whole day, on and off, with whatever implement he felt like at the moment. No wonder I ran away so often. At last I ended up here.

I’ve heard things about these guys, that they are real crooks and that they can be pretty violent. I’ve heard that the blond guy use to help other crooks to collect debts by beating the owing guy until he hand over the money. At first when I heard these stories I got pretty scared of my ‘fathers’. I didn’t dare to talk to them, yet look them in the face. They noticed and I was scared they would get angry with me for, you know, not talking to them, but they were very sweet. They ruffled my hair and wondered if I’d swallowed my tongue. My 'brother' and 'sister' knew nothing of this and I noticed that they trusted these guys. My sister even used to curl up next to them in front of the TV. Well, slowly I started to loosen up and, really, whatever they might do at their ‘jobs’, they were never mean to us. Of course they could get mad and feel the need to ‘correct’ us, but it was dealt with in no harder nor longer way than necessary and always left, at least me, with a feeling that they didn’t like it but that they felt like they had to. I was not scared of them, just respected them.

This morning I was ready early. I had promised to wait for my sister though, and I waited. And waited. Finally I had to go out in the kitchen and see what took her so long. She just put a toast in the oven.
“What are you doing?! I’m gonna be late!”
“Oh.” She said, “I’m sorry, when do you start?”
“I… I should’ve been there like, NOW.”
“Oh… well, I’m done soon.”
I sighed and took a second look at the clock. I’d begin in two minutes, I was going to be late – again. I got grumpy, took a coat-hanger which lay on the bench and started to play with it to get rid of my frustration.

The men stood gathered around the kitchen-table with a map spread out and one of them turned his head.
“Don’t worry, Angela, everyone can be late once in a while. We’ll just write a note for you. I’m sure they’ll understand.”
I didn’t reply but bent the hook until it broke. They would not understand me. If the men only knew how often I’d been late. May they never find out. They had specifically warned me that if they received another note from school I would be in for it. And I had promised to never be late or skip classes again. Only that the last two weeks I had been late three times and this fourth time would render in a note, no matter what. I couldn’t hide three late arrivals. I looked at the coat-hanger, which now looked more like a stick with no steel details left. My real dad would’ve used this pretty good if he knew… I was glad I didn’t live at home. So why did I hesitate, better get it over with than meet them after they’ve received the note. I took a deep breath.

“Er… I think… you will get a note this afternoon…”
The men stopped talking and I could see their heads turn up from the map and look at each other.
“Really, why?” one of them asked without turning his head at me.
“Because… because I’ve already been late three times…”
No one spoke a word. My sister was to take a bite from her toast but she hesitated, curious about the continuance.
“I’m sorry…” I mumbled.

The blond guy straightened his back, took a deep breath and turned towards me.
“Ok, then. Off we go.” He said and approached me. I swallowed. As he came near me he reached out his hand for the stick that was the only thing left from the coat-hanger. I gave it to him and he walked before me to the next room.

He didn’t close the door, they seldom did. The important thing was not to not be seen by the others, but not to be heard. He watched me as I slowly unbuckled my belt and let my jeans fall to the floor, then I bent over and rested my hands on the seat of the chair in front of me. The blond guy moved into position.
TWACK
The stick hit across my panties and I grimaced from the numb pain. The blond guy gave me a series of about ten strokes on my clothed behind. I bit my lips and tried to stand still. In the end I almost leaned forward to avoid the impact, but the stick found its target. The blond guy stopped and I slowly straightened up and pulled up my jeans, sniffling. I faced him and with trembling lip and tears in my eyes I whispered:
“Thank you.”
The blond guy threw the stick on the bed and put an arm around my shoulders.
“I think your sister is ready now, Angela.” He smiled and walked me back into the kitchen.