This story is based on the song, "Backseat of a Greyhound Bus"
Sung by Sara Evans. It is NOT my normal story. Please check the
codes. I don't want to hear you were shocked. You've been
warned. If you can't vote, get the heck outta here. It's my
story, for better or worse, so ask if you want it, after all, it
IS copyrighted.

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Too Late (Mf, inc, rape, viol)
By Dryad

She sat tiredly looking out into the darkness.  Her head rested
on the windowpane, her hand at her stomach. 

Not much of a town to look at, a one stoplight town.  It must
seem serene-- backstreet America at its finest-- but she knew
better. Even small towns could hide big secrets. She felt
herself get misty-eyed and cursed the hormones running rampant
through her system. She was glad to be leaving! She was finally
escaping!

It took careful planning. No, they didn't like her, but they
didn't want her gone. She felt the tears slide out beneath her
clenched lids. No more self-pity, she thought, her hand rubbing
slowly against the tight confines of her dress.

Her father bought it for her to wear when they went to church
each Sunday.  Everyone thought it was so nice how her father was
taking care of her. She laughed to herself. They never heard him
yelling what a cheap slut she was, just like her mother, his
face purple with rage. Never heard the joke he'd make when no
one else was around.

"Fucking slut. Closest you'll be to cherries from now on!" and
he'd laugh maniacally. She'd blush and turn away.

She knew the story though no one thought she did. Her mom ran
away right after Connie was born. By the time she was 13, Connie
knew why and sure as hell didn't blame her. 

Her father was well respected in town. Martin was an elder at
the church, ran a fine business. She guessed he was handsome in
his way: tall, dark hair and crystal blue eyes that could charm
the southern ladies even when she always saw their cold depths.
The old ladies would say, "My, imagine, raising that little
girl, all on his own!" as they fanned themselves while sitting
on the park benches. He was the golden bachelor and even with
Connie, women lined up to try and drag him down the aisle.

Not that it worked. Everyone thought it was because he was
heartbroken. She snorted to herself. They obviously never heard
his ranting about her mother. No, her father had a secret.  Mom
didn't leave because she was a tramp, as most of the town
thought. Mom left because she was scared. Hell, she ran just
like Connie was running now.

Connie pulled herself out of her reverie suddenly. A sharp
pain, but then she'd been feeling those Braxton-Hicks forever.
It was long enough to see they were out in the middle of
nowhere. She stood up and headed for the bathroom, squeezing
just barely through the door. Ever since entering her third
trimester, she'd needed to pee incessantly.  Her father thought
it was amusing, "pushing out the sin" so she could be clean
enough to bear the bastard child.

Like he had any room to talk. 

After sitting back down and ignoring some older women's stares,
she closed her eyes again.

It was her thirteenth birthday.  Her dad had given her a cake.
She couldn't be sure but she thought she'd gotten a new bike
that year. But after she had gone to bed, and the lights were
off, he came to her.

"You look just like your tramp mother, Cunnie." He chuckled. It
was the first time he used it but it was far from the last. "My
guess is, you'll be just like her too. You like to fuck?"  

Connie kept her eyes closed, hoping it was just a bad dream and
it wasn't really her daddy talking to her like this.  A sudden
harsh slap against her face let her know that it wasn't.

"You answer me, cunt, when I talk to you!" His eyes glowed in
the near darkness.

"I don't know what you're talking about Daddy!" She cried, her
hand coming up to touch her face.

"Well then, I guess you're about to find out, aren't you!"  Her
underwear were ripped down her legs. Her father bruising her
thighs as his fingers tightened on her skin.

She shuddered in memory then opened her eyes to dispel the
memory.  He had taken her ruthlessly and violently, always
making sure any marks he made were easily hidden.

Her stomach clenched in another Braxton. It's because I'm
upset, she thought to herself. 

It went like that all through high school.  Her father let her
be active. He did, after all, have a reputation to uphold, but
nights….nights were where he would wreak his vengeance on the
last piece of her mother he had.

She thought she would escape when she went to college. Her
grades were good and it wouldn't look right if Martin's daughter
didn't attend college. Excited, she started applying for
schools, good schools, as far from home as she could get.

It was February when she found out.  She was already three
months along. She knew it wasn't her boyfriend's. She was raised
a good Christian girl, and good girls didn't do THAT.  It took
her some time to reconcile herself to whose it really was.  Many
hours of prayer, begging and pleading.

She couldn't let her child be born into the environment she put
up with for so long. It was then she cursed herself for not
telling someone, for not running away sooner. She steeled
herself. It wasn't her fault but she would fix it.

So she started saving money. She knew it would take some time.
Martin never did trust her. She held off saying anything but she
was about 5 months along when her father noticed the changes in
her body. First, he was vicious, beating her while she curled up
tightly trying to protect herself and the baby.

Then he changed. 
"I said you were a no good slut, just like your mom. Who
knocked you up? Or don't you know, you fucking cunt?"

She refused to answer, refused to give him the pleasure of
knowing it was him.

It was June though, at the prom no less, that her boyfriend
found out. She felt badly. Maybe she should have told him.
Perhaps he would have believed her. She knew he was hurt.

"How could you do this?? I loved you! I can't believe I didn't
know! Who? Who was it!?" but she never said. She cried out she
was sorry, and ran out.

Before long everyone knew. The same old ladies commented that
if Martin had married, perhaps his daughter would've learned
some restraint, and isn't it such a shame about these young
girls nowadays?

The town hated her. She could feel the eyes follow her down the
street until she stopped going out all together. That was, until
tonight. Her father wouldn't expect her to leave so close to her
due date and where would she go in the middle of August?  She
bought herself a ticket and carried a worn suitcase. Not many
things she'd wanted to keep; the memories were bad enough. But
she did bring the baby quilt and clothes the women from the
church had sweetly made for her, praising her for at least
keeping the child. A postcard from her mother, the only thing
she had from her, postmarked Memphis, TN. She knew if she could
find her, her mother would understand.

Another Braxton. She went to the bathroom to relieve the
pressure she felt building. Instead of the urine she thought
would come out, a warm, slightly sticky liquid rushed out into
the bowl. "No, not now!" she cried to herself. She wasn't far
enough away yet. She'd waited too long.

But it was too late, as another contraction bore down on her,
twisting her insides as though a giant hand was trying to wring
the baby out of her.

Connie stumbled out of the bathroom, where a few of the older
women were waiting, having heard her cry out.

"What is it honey?" one gentle grandmotherly type asked her.

"M-m-mmy water just broke."

"Oh my goodness!" She exclaimed, telling one of the other women
to rush to the front and tell the driver.

"Sweetie, didn't you feel the contractions?" the woman asked,
concerned.

"I thought they were more Braxton-Hicks." 

"How close are they?" she watched Connie's face contort as
another contraction took over her body.

"Oh, my! That close! They'll never get here in time!" she
paused then called out without hope, "Is there a Doctor or Nurse
on the bus?"

The Bus slowed and pulled over to the side of the road, as the
driver called back to his station, asking for emergency
personnel.  

"My name is Mona, honey. I know you're scared. What's your
name?" She murmured to Connie between contractions.
"Connie." She answered.
 "Connie, I'm sorry there isn't a doctor here, but I've had 4
children myself and I'm probably the best you're going to get
right now. First, lets lay you out on this back seat. It's the
largest." She held Connie's elbow and arm as she staggered to
the seat.

She turned and called out to the bus riders. "Does anyone have
any blankets? How about water? You guys have seen this enough on
TV, you know what I need!"

She turned back to Connie. "You'll be okay, sweetie."

"Oooohhhh my god! It huuurrrtts!" Connie whimpered.  Mona
stroked her hair, already wet with sweat. She caught Mona's hand
and began to squeeze it tightly. "Don't let my father find me…"
she whispered.

Right then and there, Mona knew what had happened. She didn't
know Connie, didn't have any preconceived notions of her father.
But she knew.

"That isn't going to happen sweetie. Now, I know you're
embarrassed, but I'm going to have to look and see how close you
are. Are you going to be okay with that?"

Connie nodded her head shakily, mouthing "Thank you," as
another contraction hit.

"Guys! I'm gonna need some shoe laces, some sort of knife, and
if you've got it, some liquor, the stronger the better!" Mona
hollered out.

"Whatcha need the liquor for, lady? The blood too much for ya?"
Some smart ass commented.

"Just don't you go looking at it, Harry. You're for sure gonna
pass out, and I've got my hands full. I need it to sterilize
whatever we find to cut the cord with."

"Ma'am, here's my Swiss army knife. Is that good?" A blushing
younger man answered as he covered his face on one side with his
hand.

"That would be perfect, young man. Thank you. Come on, Harry,"
Mona badgered the older man who was giving her a hard time. "I
know for a fact you have a pint of the Colonel with you. I'll
buy you more when this is all over."

"Damnedest thing you ever were woman, for sniffing out liquor
on a man." He muttered a he got the bottle out of his coat and
grudgingly handed it over. "Now don't you go wasting it now,
Mona!"

Some of the other women brought some blankets, some the kind
you would find on an airplane, some children's blanket, and a
half knitted afghan.

Mona draped Connie's legs, and flipped her skirt up.  After her
water broke, Connie hadn't bothered with her underwear, as they
had gotten soaked.

"My goodness! The heads crowned!" she looked at Connie, then
called to the driver, "How long before help comes?"

"Another 45 minutes is what they said. There's been a huge
wreck on I-40, a bit north of here."

"This baby ain't gonna wait that long!" she hollered back. "Do
you have any of those fancy heat retaining blankets? Those
silvery space looking things?"

"Yeah. YEAH! I have one in the first aid kit. Lemme get it."

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" Connie's scream interrupted.

"Okay sweetie. I know you don't feel like you can but you need
to breath. This baby isn't going to wait. So when you the next
contraction hits, you need to push, push as hard as you can,
okay?"

Connie nodded, panting in pain.  One of the women brought over
a water bottle, soaked a handkerchief and began to wipe down her
face.

"Thank you." She said, breathless.

Connie was squeezing someone's hand when the next contraction
came and panting, she pushed. She could feel the pressure then
it released slightly.

"Okay sweetie. Now you're baby's head's out. We're gonna turn
it slightly. Make it easier to deliver its body, and clear out
some of the liquid."

"Where are the shoelaces guys? I'm gonna need 'em here in a
minute!" Mona hollered out.

"Thank you." Connie managed to get out before her next
contraction. Her eyes gleamed in the half-light that the bus
afforded.

"One last big push, sweetie, and you'll have your new little
baby."

"Miss Mona, would these ribbons work? I took them from my
little girl's hair."

Mona sighed in relief. She knew she had to cut the cord, and
without something to tie the ends, she was going to have trouble.

Just then, the baby slid out, warm and wet and slimy.  Connie
groaned as the final push relaxed her.  

Mona caught the baby, and smiled at the beautifully formed
little thing. "Connie, you have a beautiful daughter! Now the
part I hate." She picked the baby up and swatted her bottom. The
little girl gave out a lusty cry of outrage. "I'm sorry
sweetheart, but you need to get the liquid out of your lungs…and
I don't have anything to suction it with." Quickly, Mona  laid
the baby in her own lap then used the ribbons to tie off a
section of the umbilical cord. One of the women poured the good
Tennessee whiskey on the knife and cut it. Mona wrapped the baby
in the silver foil before handing her to Connie.

In the mean time, Connie was working on ridding her body of
what was left and watching her baby. She WAS beautiful.  A full
head of hair, not hugely surprising, since she was told she had
had one as well. Still crying her woes to the world, she stuck
her fist in her mouth, muffling the sounds. Connie reached out
her hand to touch her baby's hair as she was being taken care
of. 

Then, suddenly, she was laying in her arms. "Hi Emma. Welcome
to the world." She whispered, her eyes shining brightly. 

"She's just beautiful. Just like her Momma." Mona answered.
After all the times she'd heard how she was like her own mother,
all the horrible insults, the cruelty, here was something pure,
something wonderful.

And she smiled.

The End

Copyright Dryad (gbbjg@yahoo.com) 2003