Porn Star's Daughter Ch. 14

[Author's Note: This chapter is part of an ongoing saga of a young woman uncovering the mystery of her family's past. This chapter contains major spoilers and reveals for those who have not read earlier chapters. If continuity is important to you, it's highly recommended that you read the earlier chapters before this one. Otherwise, please enjoy.]

Chapter 14 - My Fair Lady

The walk to the main office was the longest I'd ever taken.

My mind reeled from the impact of finally registering what Simone had said. Two people in three days. Andrew didn't know about Tracy, so Tracy must have told Simone.

The hallway tilted back and forth, like I had just stepped into a funhouse with slanted floors. The nurse had said I could take my time and stay as long as I needed, and I was beginning to think that I should have taken her up on that offer.

As it was, I tried to force myself to take my time, wanting to get my facts in order and my thoughts whole. I struggled to figure out what to focus on. Tracy had given my arch-enemy critical information that could only have meant to hurt me. But why? Was I that bad of a lover?

All I had were questions. Nothing made sense, everything seemed to be off-kilter. Up ahead was the main office, and I pointed one foot in front of the other towards what I knew was going to be both traumatic and stress-inducing.

Simone was in the office there, and instead of wanting to rip her face off like I did only a half hour before, I wanted to interrogate her. My imagination played with me. I wanted to tie her to a hard metal stool under a single 40-watt bulb and beat her with every question.

How do you know Tracy?

What did she tell you?

Why did she tell you anything?

What is your fucking problem!?

Likewise, I wanted to call Tracy and find out the same answers. It made no sense to me. Everything had changed so fast. On Saturday, we had gotten along so well, bonded as if we were sisters. My father had wanted us to get along, and we had.

I never got along with anyone so well, and never so fast. Tracy was a perfect dream girl, someone that I admired and looked up to. She seduced me so impeccably that I didn't even know what was happening, and slipped into feeling comfortable with her so easily that it was as natural as breathing. It was mind-boggling.

My god how quickly that all changed. It hadn't even been 48 hours since I had lost my virginity to her, had tasted my first woman, had fucked the dildo beyond my wildest imagination. I thought we were going to push even more envelopes, open up more boundaries.

She was going to be my teacher.

What had gone wrong? What had I done? Nothing I could come up with, no mistake I could have made should have turned her against me in this way. It just didn't make sense.

As I walked - or should I say, staggered - onward, I continued to fight my rising panic and come up with just one single answer. Try as I might, nothing fell into place, and I felt myself being frustrated by my inability to piece together this nightmare. Unfortunately, I still had no solutions by the time I made it to the main office.

I went up to the counter. "Hello, Shannon," Mrs. Alvarez, the portly secretary greeted me. She was a kind woman and had always helped me whenever I needed it. Her voice was stern, but you could see a glimpse of sympathy behind her reproachful eyes.

"Hello, Mrs. Alvarez," I recited. I then added, "Heard any good rumors, lately?"

"Come on," she said, a brief smile cracking through her demeanor. "I'll take you back."

I walked around the counter and she escorted me to the Dean of Students' office. As we approached, I heard shouting coming from behind the door. Mrs. Alvarez hesitated only for a moment, glanced at me, and gave me a wan smile. Then, she knocked on the door.

"Come in," a weary voice called.

Mrs. Alvarez opened the door to reveal a very tired Mr. Hopkins, Dean of Students, and three extremely angry women, one of whom was my mother. Despite my predicament, I couldn't help but feel for the man.

"Come in," Mr. Hopkins repeated.

In the small office, four chairs had been placed in a semi-circle in front of his desk. One chair remained empty on the far right, on the other side of my mother. I looked at Simone, who gave me a smirk of defiance that I wanted to slap off her delicate features.

"Please have a seat," Mr. Hopkins said.

"Yeah," Simone snarled. "Have a seat, Shannon."

"That'll be enough, Simone," Mr. Hopkins said.

Simone's mother turned to her and swatted her thigh. "Behave yourself, you little bitch!" she snarled.

"That won't be necessary, Mrs. Tiller," Mr. Hopkins said, flinching.

"Ms. Tiller," she corrected him. She brushed her hair out of her face, and I got a better look at her now. She wavered a little in the chair, and I began to wonder if she was even sober. She looked somewhat familiar, but I couldn't place her. Then again, she looked like almost every other middle-aged woman who hadn't quite accepted that she was middle-age.

I turned and looked at my mother then, who was as white as a sheet. Just like the previous night, she wouldn't look me straight in the eye. It was a look of abject fear and dread, and I glanced down and saw her hands clasped in her lap, knuckles white. I suddenly got scared for her.

Now you've done it! Team Morality said. You've fucked up your chance to get into college, and all the hard work your mother has done to raise you has gone out the window!

That wasn't true, and I knew it. I had pretty much been raising myself for the past several years, but the guilt factory had gone into overtime.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I whispered, and put a hand on her arm. She didn't move, and she didn't look at me. Her lip quivered.

Oh shit. I knew what that meant.

"As all of you know," Mr. Hopkins recited, as if this was a speech he had given dozens of times before, "we have a zero-tolerance policy at this school. Each student and their parents are required to read and sign a Code-of-Conduct form at the beginning-"

"What the fuck?" Simone shouted at him. "Why am I in trouble? I'm the victim here!"

"Simone," Mr. Hopkins said, calmly. "Please settle down."

"She attacked me!" Simone yelled.

My mother turned to look at me. "Is this true?" she asked, quietly.

I nodded.

She thought for a moment. "Is she the girl you were talking about this morning?"

I nodded again.

She mirrored my movements, understanding dawning on her face. "I see," she said.

What? What do you see? I couldn't read her face. There was something going on here. She wasn't acting the way she normally would. Why won't anyone tell me anything?!

"Mr. Hopkins," Simone's mother said, her voice changing to a sweet, almost seductive drawl. "It appears that there is some bad blood between the girls, it's true."

My mother reacted to that. She shot Ms. Tiller a look, who caught it and smiled lasciviously back at my mother. I caught it, but wasn't sure what it meant.

"But the case seems pretty clear, here," she continued, twirling her blonde hair with her fingers. Holy fuck, she's flirting with him! "My daughter is innocent in all of this."

"Innocent, my ass," I muttered under my breath.

My mother nudged me.

"I don't see why she needs to be punished for being attacked," Ms. Tiller concluded.

"Ms. Tiller," Mr. Hopkins began.

"Christine," she said, smiling. Did she just push her breasts out a little?

"Ms. Tiller," Mr. Hopkins repeated, and I had to put my hand to my mouth to hide a smile as she deflated. "The rules are very clear. No fighting. Zero tolerance."

"This is so unfair," Simone complained.

"What are you talking about?" I exclaimed. "You have been bullying me for weeks!"

"Shanny," my mother put her hand on my arm, trying to get me to calm down.

"Shannon," Mr. Hopkins turned to me. "It is not necessary to shout."

"Not necessary?" I felt my emotions ramping up for take-off. "She's the one who has been doing all kinds of shit to me. She's the one who..."

I stopped, and everyone was looking at me with interest. An evil smile crept across Simone's face. Go ahead, Shannon, it seemed to say. Tell them. Tell them everything that I've done.

I swallowed. "She's the one who started it," I finished weakly.

Simone cocked her head, that evil fucking smile growing wider. "What?" she asked with fake innocence. "All I did was give you back your litter."

I stood up at that moment, ready to attack her again. At the same time, everyone else stood up too, my mother holding me back, and Ms. Tiller trying to hold Simone away from me. At that moment, I realized that she was, in fact, drunk, and Simone could have pushed her over easily.

At that moment, the door opened, and my father stood in the doorway, looking larger than life. I had never seen him so unhappy, and all of my aggression disappeared in a moment.

He looked around the room, a pained expression on his face. He said nothing, just stood there. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my mother's eyes watering, until a single tear seemed to race across her cheek and fall on her blouse.

Finally, he looked at me, but still said nothing. I opened my mouth to speak, but Simone beat me to the punch.

"Hello, Daddy."

What did she say? I looked from my Simone to my father and back again. Wait, what did she fucking say?!

Simone had a look on her face that I had never seen before: adoration. Her entire being lit up like a neon sign when she saw him, even under the unfortunate circumstances. I had never seen her like this, so alight with joy to see him.

My entire world spun out of control in that moment.

I didn't know where to look. I scanned the room from him, to her, to my mother, unable to breathe. No one in the room seemed to move, or even be shocked by her words. Like Alice in Wonderland, I felt myself falling into a rabbit hole, downward, spiraling out of control. I felt like I was about to faint.

Why did she call him "Daddy?" Why didn't anyone correct her? Why is nobody reacting at all?

I stared at him, willing him to contradict her. Tell her, I thought at him desperately. Tell her she's full of shit. Tell her she's mistaken. Tell her!

My father looked at her, and said none of these things. Instead, he turned to look at me, a sad expression crossing his features.

My mother gasped out a sob.

Oh my god. I sat in the chair with a hard crash, the legs skidding on the tile floor with a loud scrape.

I looked at Ms. Tiller again, and then my world spun completely out of control. Ms. Tiller - Christine - was the blonde girl from the video. The porn video. The video where she had taken my father's penis into her ass.

I hadn't recognized her at first. The years had not been nearly as kind to her as they had to my mother or Tracy. But now, seeing her in the same room with my father and Simone, the resemblance now clicked.

Simone had called my father, "Daddy." If that was true, that...

That meant...

That meant that she... was my sister.

I felt a rush in my ears, and suddenly the world started to turn. The walls seemed to fold in on themselves and Mr. Hopkins' desk seemed to float into the air. My vision closed in like elevator doors, and then I had an up-close view of the ceiling. Or was it floor? Maybe I was in outer space.

I fainted.

There was no way to tell how long I was out. When I came to, I was lying in the back seat of my father's truck, my head in my mother's lap. The smell of tools and wood and metal flooded my senses.

"What?" I asked. "Where am I?"

"Shhhh," my mother said, keeping me still. "Don't move. Relax."

It was difficult to get my bearings. I could see my father driving, but where was he taking us?

"My car," I muttered. "I've got to get my car."

"Don't worry about your car," my father said. "We'll go pick it up later."

I thought about Simone and Heather vandalizing my car, and knew that I had to get back to it before that happened.

Simone, that bitch.

I sat bolt upright, despite my mother's attempts to keep me horizontal.

Simone.

"Wait, Simone," I began, and tried once again to get my bearings. It wasn't working. "What is going on?" I demanded.

I looked at my mother, and noticed that she had been crying. A lot. Her makeup was almost completely gone, and what little that remained was nothing more than smudges and smears.

"We're taking you home," my father said, glancing at me in his rear-view mirror.

"That's not what I mean," I said, my voice gaining an edge.

"We're here," he said, ignoring my question.

He pulled up to the house, and we all got out as if we had just come from a funeral. No one said a word, the weight of our situation hanging over us like a ton of bricks.

Inside, my father dropped his keys on the kitchen counter, and stood with his back to me, his fingers pinching his nose.

"Michelle," he said quietly. "You probably want to freshen up a little. I'll make some tea."

I expected my mother to argue with him, tell him off for giving her instructions in her own house. Instead, she simply nodded and went into her bedroom.

My father had spent enough time in the house to know where everything was, and went about making tea as if he lived there his whole life. I sat down at the kitchen table, watching him.

"Dad," I began.

He stopped what he was doing, but didn't look at me. "Let's wait until your mother comes back," he said.

"But Dad!" I argued.

"I promise," he said after a while, his voice still sounding defeated. "We'll explain everything."

It was just as well. I wasn't sure what I wanted to say, anyway. I wanted to apologize for getting into a fight, wanted to understand what was happening with Simone, why everyone seemed to know about it but me.

The minutes dragged on like hours. I sat in anxious silence, wanting to know the truth but afraid to hear it at the same time. I thought back to what he had told me in the car - Promise me, he had said. I had promised. I thought back to what I had told Andrew earlier. "I keep my promises," I had said.

Could I keep that promise now? You are going to have difficult times ahead, my mother had just told me that very morning. You are not prepared, but you have to be.

Something told me that this was what they were referring to, in their own ways. I felt myself begin to shake with fear and anxiety, my hands vibrating against the table. My father placed the cup of tea in front of me, and I held onto it with both hands in the hopes that the heat would settle me down. It didn't work.

Finally my mother emerged from her bedroom, new makeup freshly applied. It brought her poise and grace, which I supposed she felt she needed. She sat down at the table, and gripped her mug of tea in the same way that I did.

No one said anything for a while, and then I asked the most logical question I could think of.

"Is it true?" I asked.

My father looked at my mother, who gave him a nod. She was apparently ready. Well, as ready as she would ever be.

"Is it true that Simone is... my sister?" I clarified.

My father nodded slowly. "She is your half-sister, yes," he admitted. His voice was low, steady, and calm.

I didn't feel calm, though. I wanted to throw the mug of hot tea in his face, and even contemplated doing it anyway.

I looked at my mother. "And you knew?" I asked.

She only looked at her tea, and nodded slowly.

I looked from my mother to my father, and said, "What the fuck?!"

That got a reaction from both of them. My mother was about to say something about my language, but I think guilt got the better of her, and she closed her mouth and remained silent.

"Shannon," my father said. "There is a lot you don't know-"

"Well that's the understatement of the year!" I cried, no longer able to stay as cool and collected as I had hoped.

My father struggled to keep his calm, and somehow managed to succeed. "-and it's going to be difficult to hear."

He paused for too long. "Well?" I demanded. "Tell me, then!"

He swallowed. "There are some things that you do when you're younger that you're not proud of," he said.

"Oh for fuck's sake!" I said in exasperation. I leaned back in my chair, waiting for the bullshit.

My father's face clouded over. "Do you want to hear this, or not?" he said, his words laced with irritation.

"Fine, go on, then," I said. Somehow I didn't think he had the moral high ground here.

"As I was saying," he started over. "When I was younger, I did things that seemed like a good idea at the time."

My mother snorted, and drank her tea. My father glanced at her with a pleading look, and she returned to saying nothing.

"At the time, I was a bit wild and adventurous. I did a lot of things that I would never do now," he said. "But the things you do have consequences."

My mother stood up suddenly, and then went over to the counter and grabbed a box of tissues. She returned and put it on the table. I swallowed, knowing this was not a good sign. I hated it when my mother cried. It didn't happen often, but when it did it broke my heart.

Then she pushed the tissue box in my direction.

Oh, no.

"One of those times," he said, continuing, "resulted in two girls getting pregnant."

"Mom and Ms. Tiller," I said, trying to move this along.

My mother took a tissue.

"Ms. Tiller, yes," my father confirmed. Wait, what about Mom?

I looked at her, but she only stared at her mug.

"Your mother," Dad said slowly, "had a very rough pregnancy."

Tears began to stream down my mother's face, but she didn't make a sound. Drops began to form at her jaw and chin, but she made no move to wipe them away. She looked paralyzed.

I looked back at my Dad. "She died during childbirth," he said evenly.

I didn't understand. "What?" I asked, looking at Mom. "What?"

The room began to spin again. I wondered if I was trapped in a horror movie, or if I was dreaming, or if someone had put drugs in the tea. Tunnel vision enclosed around me again, but I fought against it.

Don't faint... don't faint...

I closed my eyes and placed my palms flat against the table, trying to gain my balance from its level surface. After a few moments, I felt like it was safe to open my eyes again.

My mother looked at me then. "Zoey was my sister," she said, the words choking her as she spoke them. "When she died, I..." she stopped, her voice cracked in a sobbing choke.

All of a sudden, I didn't know if I could hear any more. I had wanted to know the truth, wanted to know everything, but now I wasn't sure if I could deal with what they were about to reveal.

My father spared my mother the pain. He took a breath, and then tried to start over again. "Your mother - your birth mother, I mean - her name was Zoey. The doctors told her that if she took you to term, she would likely not make it," my father said. "She made your mother promise to adopt you and raise you."

Adopted? Raise me?

"You're," I said quietly, looking at my mother. "You're not my real Mom?"

My father's voice grew hard instantly. "She is your real mother, Shannon," he growled, bringing me back to how he had reacted in the car when he thought I had disrespected her.

I recoiled as if I'd been hit. "No, I just meant..."

My mother reached out and put her hands on both my hand and my father's. "I know what she meant," she said, placating my father.