The Life of Jacque Part Five (complete)

        I have a little bit of a problem, one that I didn’t expect happening for quite some time. The issue is that my daughter, who is only eight, is far too smart for me. I came home one day to see that Bridget, in her somehow infinite wisdom, had found my gun case. Luckily, she hadn’t opened it yet, but when she saw my panic, it locked into her brain that the only thing she wanted in life was to get that gun case. 

    No matter how many times I hid it or how well I thought it did, whenever I turned around, there was Bridget with the gun case. A few times, she’s actually figured out the lock! One time, I found her hefting it through the kitchen, wearing her mother’s scarf and a hat that was too big. She was pretending to be a sheriff. 

    “No, Bridget,” I tell her as I take the gun.

    “But why?” She scoffs.

    “I told you no, that should be the only reason you need to stay away from it,” I tell her very sternly. “This is dangerous.”

    “Then why do you have it?” She scoffs.

    I can’t fucking argue with this kid. She always had me going in circles. “I have it for just in case,” I tell her.

    “Well, I’ll play with it for just in case.” To my horror, she’s turning into me more and more as the days go by.

    “No, no, no, that isn’t how logic works,” I tell her as I place the gun back into the case. I change the lock passcode for the hundredth time, and I put it on a top shelf with plans to move it after she goes to sleep.

    “It’s so cool though, Dad!” She scoffs. 

    “No, it’s not. It’s scary and bad, my haricot,” I tell her, and I put my hand over her mouth when she tries to talk. “Just because I have it doesn’t mean those things are true.”

    She scowls at me and throws the hat on the ground. “You never let me have fun!”

    “I do so, do you want me to go get your mother?” I ask her.

    She fumes heavily if smoke could come out of her ears. I’m sure it would at that exact moment. I watch her as she storms into the den, kicking her stuffed animals before throwing herself down on the ground and laying flat. It’s uncanny, I’ve never done that in front of her, but my mother has videos of me doing that exact same thing when I was upset. I’m terrified, not only is she smart but she’s exactly like me, this doesn’t bode well. In fact, it goes against the very plans I had in mind for her where she turned out like her mother.

    That night, after Bridget is tucked in and asleep, I take the gun safe from the shelf to hide it somewhere else. 

    “Can’t you just get rid of that thing?” Mirian sighs.

    “I got rid of my truck,” I tell her. I decide to wrap the gun safe in brown paper to disguise it, making it seem less appealing to Bridget.

    “She wasn’t going to give a shit about the truck,” Mirian scoffs. “I mean,” she grunts and shakes her head. “My god, Jacques! She’s too fucking smart! Give her credit here.”

    “It isn’t loaded,” I tell her. “The bullets are packed away in my underwear drawer.”

    “That’s not the point! That gun is illegal. If she were to go to school and brag about what a cool gun her daddy has then we could be in a whirlpool of shit, Jacques.”

    I sigh and look back at Mirian. “I’m sorry I just-”

    “What is so important you keep it? Why is it more important than the safety of your family?” Mirian glares holes into me. “Tell me.”

    I shake my head, feeling my gullet boil and bubble with guilt. I knew it was stupid to keep this gun. Lord knows we don’t even need it. I just want to hold onto one tiny shred of my past. I know it makes me a bad person, but part of me needs it.

    “Look,” Mirian scoffs. “If it is so important to you then maybe she should see first hand what it can do?”

    “You want me to shoot someone while she watches?” I ask.

    Mirian makes a face, taking me seriously at first. She then slugs me hard on the arm. “Oh my god, you jackass!” She laughs. “Holy shit, no. How could you even joke that?”

    I grin at her. “I had to get you to laugh somehow. You were getting scary.”

    “Take her to Greg’s ‘shooting range,’” she rolls her eyes even at the idea. “Show her it isn’t a toy because that’s honestly what she thinks. She doesn’t understand that it’s a horrible, dangerous, evil thing.”

    “Your mother says the same thing about me,” I chuckle.

    “No, mom would much prefer the gun in the house to you.” She then half smiles at me and sighs, laying her arms flat at her sides. “This is going to be an uphill fight all our lives,” she murmurs. “You can’t just keep treating Bridget like she’s your buddy.”

    “I don’t do that,” I scoff.

    She huffs and shakes her head. “Yes, you do, Jacque.”

    I roll my eyes, and she slaps my arm. “Ow! What the hell?”

    “Stop that!” She snaps. “I am so sick of your holier than thou attitude! Rolling your eyes, sniffing, scoffing, doing all that fucking shit just because you think someone isn’t as goddamn smart as you.”

    “Mirian I-”

    “Save it! You’re so fucking smug sometimes it’s suffocating. Bridget is a child. You are her father. Just because you think it’s the right thing to do doesn’t mean that it is! You undermine me just because you think it’s stupid. I hate it! Acting like that, thinking you’re so fucking superior, is why no one here likes you!”

    My mouth flops open and closed like a landed trout. “I-I-I...I’m sorry I-”

    Mirian huffs and goes to the fridge pulling out a beer and cracking it open. She drinks deep from it and comes up, sighing heavily. “Take her to the shooting range, show her it isn’t a toy, and punish her for not minding you.”

    I nod. “I will. I promise.”

    “Good, you need to change your attitude with her and with me. I’m growing tired of it.” She sits down at the table with her beer.

    I sit down beside her. “Do you like me?” I ask.

    I laugh and rolls her eyes at me. “I love you Jacque, and I always will, you know this. But sometimes I don’t like you at all.”

    I smile at her, taking her beer and stealing a drink. “That’s fair.”

    The next day, I take Bridget and the gun to the shooting range. Well, that’s a very liberal term for it. Really, it’s a field in the middle of fucking nowhere a friend owns. It’s full of hay bales that, if you give him some cash and beer, he’ll let you shoot em up.

    Bridget is visibly excited. She’s bouncing and giggling and entire way to the range. I sit her down and give her earmuffs and goggles. “You stay right here,” I tell her. “If you move you will get spanked and grounded.”

    She nods excitedly. “I promise! I won’t move!” She fidgets with the ear muffs. “Do I have to wear these, Dad?”

    “Yes,” I tell her. “Keep them on at all times. These are loud.”

    “Like fireworks?’ She gasps.

    I shake my head. “No, hicot, not like fireworks.” I turn away and ready the gun. It’s a 44 revolver, much more than most people in this tiny town have ever seen. It has enough stopping power to end a rhino in its tracks. I aim, preparing myself, it’s been a while since I’ve shot this thing, I’m hoping it won’t rip my hand off. I shoot, and for a moment I feel like my old self. I feel a rush of powerful and youthful excitement. The bully rips through the hay bale, knocking it over and making hay explode everywhere.

    I’m grinning, but when I turn around to check on my daughter, all that youthful energy drains from me like piss from a scared dog. Her usually tan cheeks are pale, all color has drained from her face. She looks so scared. I set the gun aside, and I go to her.

    “It’s ok, hicot,” I tell her. “It’s ok.”

    She starts to snivel and whine. She throws the goggles and earmuffs aside and cups her hands around her ears.

    “I’m so sorry,” I whisper to her over and over.

    I take her to her favorite ice cream parlor. I know I had promised Mirian that I would punish her for not listening to me, but after that, I didn’t have the heart to do it. After she’s calmed down, I take her to a movie and then to the toy store. That’s how bad my guilt is. I’ve never seen my little girl so scared before.

    The next day, I rent a safe at the bank and have the gun stored there from now on. I know Bridget will probably never try to search for the gun again, but I’m not taking any risks. Mirian was right, and it shouldn’t be in the house. 

    I was hoping that, when Bridget grew up, she would start to resemble her mother more. Hell, I would even prefer it if she started to take after her nasty grandmother. But no, the more she grows, the more she turns out like me. Although, unlike my parents, I am prepared for what’s the come.

    One evening, Mirian and I get a phone call from Bridget’s school, she’s around twelve, and she’s much more precocious than we’d like. Anyways, her school calls, and it’s a familiar conversation. Bridget is bright, but she isn’t being stimulated in school. She’s not on the same page as the rest of the class, in fact, she’s several chapters ahead. As such, she’s bored and acting out. We agree with her teacher that an extracurricular class would help. It was something I wish had been offered me rather than me being a shit.

    “Maybe she would like chemistry like you did,” Mirian suggests.

    “Fuck no,” I gasp. “I want her far away from chemistry. That is exactly what got me into a heap of shit dancing trouble.”

    “Shit dancing?” Mirian snorts. 

    I look over the suggestions the teacher gave us, class the school offered as well as special classes at the community college. “Hey,” I say, pointing to one. “I could do this with her.”

    “Car repair?” Mirian scoffs.

    “She’s so smart,” I say. “And she likes building things. She’s always watching those drift race things. Why not let her see what makes them first hand?”

    “I would like having someone in the family who could change my oil for free,” Mirian smirks.

    I grin at her, giving her a big kiss. “I’ll see what she thinks. We can go visit a class before we enroll so she can make a choice.”

    “Ok,” Mirian sighs. “As long as it keeps us from visiting her principal anymore.”

    “Why?” I look her over. “Don’t like him?”

    She grimaces. “He used to eye fuck me as a teenager. Now he’s gotten more direct with it.” She wretches and sticks out her tongue.

    “You want me to scare him for you?” I inch close to her, kissing her neck.

    She snorts. “I think he hasn’t done anything because he is scared of you.” She slips her hand over my crotch. “If he did touch me, what would you do?” She moans.

    I kiss her ear and pull her hair away from her face. “If he ever laid a hand on you, I’d cut his fingers off.”

    She giggles and unzips my pants. “Ooh yeah? Oooh so sexy,” she teases with a fake pornstar voice. 

    I snort and kiss her. “Never ever use that voice again. You’re too good at it.”

    “I perfected it before I met you,” she purrs as she pulls my cock out, stroking it slowly. “I kept it in case I ever needed it.”

    I groan as she squeezes me and pumps her fist over my cock. “Say something sexy then.”

    “Oh yeah, that’s so good, you make me so horny stud,” she says in that forced, fake voice.

    I stand up and tuck myself into my pants. “Ok, I’m going soft, you need to just leave me alone.” I walk away from the kitchen and head towards the bedroom.

    “No, don’t stop,” she says as she chases after me. “Oh Daddy, harder.”

    I turn and shake my head. “Never, ever, say that word to me if you ever want me hard again. Got it?”

    She snorts and tries to hold in her laughter. “Ok, Mr. Officer sir, but what do I do with my panties?”

    “I’m going to facefuck you to get you to shut up,” I snarl as I throw her down on the bed. I kiss her over and over while she giggles.

    Bridget agrees to the class and seems iffy on it. She’s not been impressed with school for a while now, so she’s not too enthused with it. We go to the community college to sit in on the class. When we walk in her jaw drops. The car they’re working on is just like one of the drift cars she loves to watch on TV. I can barely hold her back. Luckily, the class doesn’t seem to mind having her underfoot throughout the class. Needless to say, it was a big hit for her, and we signed up to join the classes the following day.

    Thankfully, Bridget starts to even out. She’s much better behaved at school and is excelling beyond our expectations. She’s a good kid, but she happens to be sassy like me. This was never more apparent until the science fair. Now, being like me, she was something of a show off when it came to how smart she was. So, for her project, she rebuilt and engine by herself. I helped her bring it in, along with a couple of guys from the college garage. As we’re getting it set up, her teacher, who I would absolutely love to punch in an ally, comes over with her nose all turned and twisted in the air.

    “Oh my,” she huffs. “Now, what is this, Ms. Bridget.”

    It’s a bad thing when me and Nadie can both agree a person isn’t worth their weight in salt. This teacher had been riding Bridget’s ass for ages, all because Mirian had given her some flack when she was in school. 

    “It’s my death ray,” Bridget says without a pause. 

    “I'm so proud of her. “Now, hicot,” I tell her. “We can’t call it that.”

    “Then what’s the fucking point, Dad?” She scoffs.

    I snap her a dirty look, but I know we are both inches from busting a gasket. “Hey! Young lady! Don’t fucking cuss. It’s a bad habit.”

    To our pleasure, the teachers stomps away.

    “I’m not gonna win this,” Bridget tells me.

    “Hey now,” I pat her back. “We both know this is first prize material, but this is a dumbass middle school science fair project. They're going to think I built this for you. But we both know I don’t know a gasket from a filter to save my life.”

    She grins at me. “I know, Dad.”

    “I’ll buy you a trophy if these idiots won’t,” I kiss her forehead. “Let's get home, hicot.”

    Around the same time, Nadie is putting on a powwow, both Mirian and Bridget are going to be dancing in it. I’m excited to see them. It’s been ages since I was even allowed to attend these things. Nadie usually chases me off, but since Bridget asked she has to let me join. 

    I show up at the powwow seeing festivities have already begun. I see Nadie in her headdress as she guides out the dancers. Seeing Mirian and Bridget among them makes me excited, so I grab a spot to watch the dance. Bridget and Mirian are wearing matching outfits, the brights colors and tassels flow with their bodies as the music plays. Their hair is braided and adds to the beauty of their dance and outfits. I’m mesmerized and utterly proud, that is until I see Mirian dance up with the Cree medicine man. He joins the dance, signaling out Mirian from the rest of the girls. I watch, my gaze narrowing upon them. I see the look in his eyes and how close he is to my Mirian. I know I shouldn’t concern myself with it, but I can’t help, but feeling an inkling of jealousy boil up inside.

    After the dance is over Bridget goes and joins her friends for dinner, and I grab Mirian. 

    “Jacque! What the hell are you doing?” She scoffs at me. 

    I drag her to a tent that’s not in use, and I kiss her, hard. She moans softly, and her lashes flutter. It’s been a long time for both of us. “Jacque, stop, we can’t-” I kiss her again, and she grabs my face. “Jacque no-” I kiss her again, and she presses her body to me. I hike up her skirts and sit her down on the card table. 

    I reach under her skirts, my fire only stoked higher when I find she’s not wearing panties. I rub her folds, teasing her clit as she starts to moan. 

    “I saw how he danced with you,” I snarl. “I saw how he looked at you.”

    “Who?” She whimpers, clinging to the table. “Oh fuck...yes,” she groans, rolling her hips as my fingers slip inside her. “No, wait,” she came back to her senses for a brief moment.

    I kneel down, shoving my head between her thighs. Her fingers tangle in my hair, and she crows with pleasure. “Oh shit,” she gasps and cups her hand over her mouth. I lick at her, tasting my favorite flavor for the last eighteen years. I suck on her lips and shove my tongue inside her, I tease her clit and kiss it hungrily. 

    I sit up, opening my pants and pulling her hips towards the edge of the table. She kisses me, throwing her arms around me as our mouths open. I push inside her, filling her dripping slit. My hands on her hips were her only warning of my sudden plunge.

    “Fuck!” She cups her hand over her mouth and moans still as I thrust deep inside her. She falls back against the table, gripping the sides as I drive myself into her. She bites her lip to keep her voice down even as she slips her hand between her legs to rub her clit. I watch her fingers swirl around and rub then glance to the angry, desperate expression on her face.

    Her back arches off the table and her fingers rubs harder. I bury myself inside her, slamming hard against her. Her thighs slap to my stomach, and we’re both groaning and growling. She throws her head back, crying out with a choked voice. 

    “Oh fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop.” She grinds her hips in rhythm with mine, pushing me deeper, forcing me to go harder. She tugs me down, kissing me with an open mouth. She sucks my tongue and pulls off my shirt. She kisses my chest, running her fingers down through my body hair.

    I used to be lean and tight, now I had a soft gut, and I might as well be considered an A cup. I know Mirian has complained about her body, saying she’s sagging in place that were tight, and growing in places that were trim. To me though, I still love her body. The stretch marks on her belly from carrying Bridget are a secret favorite of mine. Her hips now have a season sway that is both terrifying and sexy. Her breasts aren’t the perky jewels they were when we first met, but they were still beautiful and fun. I still love sucking her nipples and groping them like I was a teenage boy. Even the fine lines that adorned her face, to me, they were signs of a life well lived. They didn’t take care from her natural beauty, they enhanced it, adding wisdom to an already brilliant woman.

“Jacque!” She clings to me, digging her nails into my back. “Oh fuck! Oh god!” She cries out as her body rises off the table. 

“I’m cumming-” I snarl, bucking hard as I release inside her. I jerk and twitch, sighing deeply. Mirian lays back on the table, eyes closed and a blissful expression on her face.

    A smile twitches at the corners of her lips and she giggles. “You fucking pig,” she sighs dreamily, her lashes fluttering.

    I chuckle. “Sorry, love.” I kiss her. “I couldn’t hold back anymore. When I saw you dancing with the medicine man...and then he looked at you.”

    “You’re an idiot,” she curls her upper lip. “I’d never do anything with him. You’ve been gone too long.” She uses my shirt to clean herself up. She then stands, although wobbly and smooths her skirts down. “Let’s go find Bridget, she’s probably looking for you.” She takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. 

    As we walk back out towards the powwow, Bridget runs over to us. “You’re going to miss Grandma’s performance!” She gasps.

    “Oh no, what a tragedy,” I grumble and Mirian smacks my chest.

    Bridget drags us towards the center of the crowd so we can watch Nadie. 

    “Did you eat yet?” Bridget whispers to me.

    I smile at her and kiss her forehead. “Not yet, hircot, not yet.”

    After the powwow, I ride home with my girls. In the backseat, Bridget passes out, exhausted from dancing all day. Mirian reaches over, taking hold of my hand and squeezing it. 

    “Everything ok?” She asks me.

    “Better than,” I grin at her. “Or well, things are looking better.” I watch through the light of the headlights, seeing something move at the edge of the forest. I break, and Mirian glares at me, she then gasps, seeing a mother deer come out of the woods follow by a tiny fawn.

    “How did you see that?” She gasps.

    The doe looks at us, her ears twitching and her nostrils flaring. The fawn walks between her legs, makes a whining noise and crosses the road ahead of her. 

    “Jacque?” Mirian murmurs to me. 

    “Just a feeling,” I tell her. Once the doe crosses with her baby, I move again and take us home. Bridget is still asleep so through sheer stubbornness I carry her inside. I’ve never been the strong type, that was always Mirian, but I still feel like I can carry my baby girl. I tuck her into bed, probably the first time I’ve done that in a decade. As I’m turning out the light, she shifts in bed and grumbles.

    “Good night, Dad,” she murmurs.

    I lean down and kiss her forehead. “Good night, hircot.”

    “Daddy,” she grumbles sleepily again. “In the morning, will you make me crepes again?” She reaches out, capturing my hand. “Please?”

    “Sure,” I whisper. “Anything for you.”

    Her hand slips from mine, and I go into the kitchen. Mirian has changed into a t-shirt and is rummaging through the fridge until she pulls out two bottles of beer. “Are you crying?” She chuckles as she opens one of the beers and passes it to me. 

    I wipe my eyes. “Shit, I am.”

    She smiles, kissing my cheek. “Home sweet home,” she sighs, leaning again the wall. “What now then?”

    I sit down and take a drink of beer. “I just wanna see Bridget graduate, walk across that stage in those awful robes and whatever honors banners she has to wear.”

    “Banners?” Mirian snorts. “Do you mean sashes?”

    “Same thing,” I laugh. “Has she gotten in anywhere?” I ask. “For college I mean?”

    Mirian’s smile suddenly fades, and she sighs. “How are we going to afford it, Jacque?” She shakes her head.

    “We’ll find a way,” I say. “I mean...there’s no way I’m not letting her go to school. She can get grants and stuff. What about that Cree college?”

    “It’s not the same, Jacque!” She scoffs. “And it’s…” she grunts. “She’s close to same age I was when-” she clams up and holds her head in her hands.

    “Babe?” I whisper.

    “I don’t want her to fuck up…” Mirian starts to sob. “What do we do?”

    “Your mother always says I should die,” I grumble. “Maybe I could do that.”

    Mirian shakes her head. “Jacque, please, shut the fuck up.”

    “It seems like it would be the best option for everyone. Your mom would be happy, Bridget would have college money, you’d be free and get to live your life-”

    Mirian slams down the can of beer at my feet and storms off to the bedroom, locking the door behind her. I clean up the kitchen and pray that Bridget didn’t hear any of that.

    Another few years down the road, shortly after Bridget starts her senior year, I nearly die. I had always figured I would have a few near-death experiences in my time, but never something like this. With my job as an explosives expert, I had to be careful. No corners could be cut, and everything had to be triple checked for safety.

    Well, anyways, my crew and I were in DeBeers working on a new dig site. I had all the charges set up. “Everything look ok over there Jacque?”

    I wave to the men behind the blast shield. “It all looks good to me. I’m heading back.” It was routine. Nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever. I had done this hundreds of times before, and it was all second nature by this time. 

    The foreman stands beside me, and he holds the switch for detonation. “Blast happening in three, two, one-” He flips the switch.

    Nothing.

    “Three, two, one-” Another flip of the switch.

    Nothing.

    He grumbles, and I shake my head. “Ok men! Let us get these things off and grounded. You ok to go out there and see what fucked up?” The foreman asks me. 

    “Yeah, whatever,” I sigh.

    After a while, I’m cleared to go out. As I’m looking over the explosives a cold, gripping feeling rises up in my gut. I feel dread, and then I notice the explosives aren’t grounded like they should be. 

    The next few seconds feel like years, and yet it all happens in an instant. I feel the heat on my back as I try to run. I’m knocked down and then blown to the side. I wake up, hearing beeping and crying.

    “Oh my god!”

    “Daddy!”

    Everything is a searing ache. My vision goes to a pinpoint and goes dark again. When I come to, the doctor tells me I’m lucky to be alive. I’ve gotten broken bones here, there, everywhere, blah, blah blah. I’m missing a good deal of my forehead, I’ve got lacerations on my chest, yak yak yak. Part of me thinks it would have been better if I just died. The explosions should have killed me. Like Nadie has always yelled at me, since the day she met me, I should just die. I should die and give Bridget and Mirian the life they want. But I can’t even do that right. 

    The accident left me in the hospital for weeks. Mirian and Bridget were always by my side. Sometimes, Mirian’s grandmother Keme was there. She was always knitting something. It was a skill she taught to Bridget, who excelled at it. She had tried teaching me at one point, but I sucked at it. 

    “It’s nice,” she tells me one day.

    “What is?” My voice is still weak and hoarse.

    “Seeing someone younger than me dying,” she says with a soft smile. “Makes me feel like I could see my great-great-grandchild get born.”

    “You’re a ice cold bitch, Keme,” I groan. “Thank you.”

    She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Don’t think so a second I’ll let you leave. If I see even an inch of that soul try to snake away, I’ll fight you dammit.”

    “I know you will, Keme.”

I healed up just fine physically, mentally was another issue. I had never been great mentally, so this only pushed me to a dark area of my mind that kept me awake at nights and blurred what I knew of reality. I suffered from horrible PTSD afterward. When I did sleep, I would wake up in cold sweats. Sometimes I would sleep walk and would find myself outside in the cold. But that didn’t bother me half as bad as seeing Bridget in the mornings when she looked exhausted. I knew it was me keeping her up at nights.

    “You need to get help, Jacque,” Mirian tells me one night. She holds my hand and rubs my knuckles. 

    “I am,” I grunt. “I am getting help.”

    “No!” She laughs. “You’re not! That group isn’t doing what you need done. And I know you’re scared of taking medications, but maybe with me and Bridget-”

    I pull my hand away from her and stand up, pushing the chair back hard. “I can’t!” I snap. “Not with everything-” I scoff and shake my head. “Not with everything that I am capable of.”

    Mirian sighs and watches me with pity in her eyes. “I found a good therapist who specializes in this sort of thing,” she tells me. “Let’s give him a call and-”

    “No!” I bellow. “Absolutely not! He’s just going to try and shove drugs down my throat. I won’t do it!”

    “Jacque! Please!” Mirian seems at wits end. I want to stop but I can’t. I want to reach out for her and accept her help but I can’t.

    We fight like this regularly, and I know it’s hard on Bridget. She’s smart, she knows what’s going on. I don’t want her last year of school, and her chances at amazing scholarships pass her by. It’s another fight, but Mirian and I agree I need to leave for a while. I find a camp in the US that’s for people coping with PTSD a lot of people there are ex-military, but there are also abuse survivors and the like there.

    I bid a tearful goodbye to Mirian and Bridget, promising to be back in time for Bridget’s graduation and birthday. For some reason, I take my gun with me and my pharmaceutical kit with me. I them it out of the safe I put it in back when Bridget was eight years old. I can remember the face she had after I shot the gun as clear as day. The look of terror and real fear. I had promised back then I would never see that face again. Now, sometimes, when she looks at me, I see the fear in her eyes. Not for herself though, but for me. Once I arrive, I find myself in this strange, dusty old bar. I sit down at the counter and check my phone, seeing it ring. I don’t answer it, and I order a drink.