Who's The Daddy? By Catherine Horlax

I heard footfalls; hollow thuds echoing down the corridor, and drew my knees up so my boots wouldn't be visible. He'd said he'd be there. A tap gushed. I noticed the door was inscribed with idiocy, and calmed myself with the fact that 'Lisa Hyde stuffs mashed potato up her cunt'. At least I'd kept my word - I'd said I'd be there too. I laughed because, barring crying, I knew it was the worst thing I could do. A bang as two hands came down to grip the top of the cubicle and then his face; fat, pock-marked and grinning.

© Catherine Horlax 2007

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