First story in the Lizbeth series. The curious pre-teen sneaks a cigarette from her dad and nearly burns the house down trying to smoke it. Something else will be burning when her father finds out what she did (ha ha ha... i know, that was dumb, but I couldn't resist).
Lizbeth Home Alone
by Breanna Carter
The piercing sound of the smoke alarm scared me more than the flame itself. I guess because I knew it was loud enough to be heard throughout the duplex that I was staying in with my father, and at any minute, his friend, who just happened to be off of work, would run into the room and see that I'd stolen one of my father's cigarettes and somehow managed to set the curtains on fire. But I had no idea what to do. I was just one scared little eleven year old, and I stood there, sobbing.
I heard the noises from next door, then someone pounded on the door. "Lizbeth? Lizbeth! Let me in!" he said.
I wiped a tear from my eyes and ran to the door, swinging it open. "It's a fire!" I wailed.
Javier moved past me, muttering things in English that I couldn't understand. Sure, I knew some English, but not the cuss words, which is surely what Javier was saying. All I did was cry more. I'd only been in America for a little while, and already I was causing trouble.
But the fire was out before I knew it, and the loud noise ceased. "What were you doing?" Javier asked, coming back into the room, cigarette in hand.
"Nothing," I replied, blushing.
He shook his head at me. "This is no good," he told me.
"Come on," he ordered, taking me by the upper arm and practically dragging me to his side of the duplex. "You can stay over here and watch tv until your father comes home."
I bit my lip. I didn't know my papa too well, but I knew he wouldn't be pleased with the fact that I'd smoked one of his cigarettes. Well, tried to smoke it. I didn't get much farther than lighting it and sticking it in my mouth before I nearly choked on the damn thing and dropped it. I'd only seen my papa angry once, and that was when I was only three or four years old, the day he'd left us in Mexico. And I don't even remember that day that clearly... I remember my mama sobbing in the corner of the room as he packed his things, and I remember begging him to stay. But he said he couldn't handle living with my crazy mom and he was going to leave, never coming back. Even so, he still called me all the time, always in a good mood, happy to talk to me. The coolest thing ever was when he called on my eleventh birthday and invited me to spend the summer with him. How could I turn that down?
And I'd gone and screwed it all up.
It was already close to nine when Javier had dragged me out of my part of the house, so within an hour or so, I heard Papa and his roommate pull into the driveway. Javier peeked out of the window, then turned back to the tv. I just stared at the window in anticipation. Another car pulled into the drive. I heard voices, then felt them walking up the steps. With each step my heart skipped a beat. Sweat formed on my brow. I gulped. They were at the last step...
There was pounding on Javier's door. "Who is it?" he asked.
"It's Santa Claus!" the voice said.
"And your girlfriend is here, too," another said.
There was a pause, everyone was waiting for the girlfriend to speak, but she didn't.
Javier got up and answered the door, Papa shoving him out of the way and giggling, then his roommate, Alberto, slapping him on the back, and behind them, a pale girl, clad in the same uniform as my father and Alberto, shirt untucked, red hair fallen down past her shoulders. She couldn't have been older than 18 or 19. She gave Javier a hug as Papa and Alberto made fun of them and she just rolled her eyes.
She looked at me. "You must be Lizbeth," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Katrina."
I smiled and shook her hand, thankful that I knew English, because otherwise, I'd be screwed. "Nice to meet you," I said.
"Likewise. I've heard tons of good things about you."
"What's she saying?" Papa asked me in Spanish. He was the one who needed to learn English, not me... he actually *lived* in America.
Javier shut the door and took Katrina's hand and led her to the couch to sit next to him. Alberto took a seat in a chair across the room, and papa on the other side.
"She said that she's heard good things about me," I repeated, blushing more.
"Because you're a good kid," he answered, grinning.
I looked at Javier and he looked back at me, both of us obviously thinking the same thing.
"Well are you going to tell him?" he finally asked me.
I shook my head.
"What?" Papa asked, getting confused.
By this time, everyone's attention was adverted towards me. I couldn't help but blush more and bury my head into my hands. I felt Katrina's hand on my back, and she rubbed softly. She didn't have a clue what was happening, due to the fact that she couldn't speak any Spanish.
"What is it?" she whispered in my ear.
"I smoked... the curtain caught on fire... I didn't know what to do..." I whispered back, hearing Javier explain the story to Papa.
"Oh man," she said, putting an arm around me. "It'll be okay. I'm sure he won't be too mad."
She said that right before he started yelling at me. "Lizbeth! What the hell do you think you were doing!" he said. "Smoking a cigarette of mine! You're eleven years old, not even remotely close to being able to smoke yet!"
He waited for an answer.
"Look at me Young Lady!"
I sniffled and looked at his disappointed face. He was no longer leaning back in his seat, but hunched forward gazing at me. The look in his eyes was enough to make a few tears stream down my face.
"I'm sorry Papa!" I cried. "I just wanted to try it! I didn't know anything would happen!"
"You know you're not supposed to do that. It's no good!" he said, pointing his finger at me. "You're getting a spanking, and that's all there is to it."
I gasped. "But Papa! No!"
"Yes, right now. Get over here!"
"Not in front of everyone! Javier's here, and Alberto, and Katrina!"
"I don't care. Come here, right now!"
"Pleaseeeeee, Papa! Please don't spank me!" I'd never been spanked by Papa before, but I knew he would spank harder than Mama. Number one, he was definitely stronger than Mama, seeing as he worked out everynight. And number two, he was much angrier than Mama had ever been at me. Of course, I'd never done something so stupid before.
"Lizbeth, if you don't get over here right now, I'm going to come over there and get you, and believe me, you will not like that."
I began crying harder, burying my face in my hands, but shakily standing up and ambling towards him. I knew that all eyes were on me. Alberto probably pitying me, Javier the same, and Katrina confused as could be. But I couldn't look at them. I had to hide my face.
Somehow, I made it to the other side of the room where Papa was sitting, and I realized that everyone was going to have the perfect view of my spanking. I was still crying when Papa removed my hands from my face, putting them down to my side and looking up at me.
"You know that you are not supposed to smoke, much less steal cigarettes from me, much less while you're home alone. If you wanted to try it that badly, you could have asked one of us and we would have let you have a puff of ours, and you know that."
The sad thing was, I did know that. It was the advantage of living with a bunch of 28 year old Mexicans... they didn't mind letting you drink a sip of beer or have a puff of a cigarette. "I know, Papa. I'm sorry. I won't do it again."
"You're still getting a spanking, Lizbeth Marie."
I winced at the use of my middle name. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that it's deep trouble when the middle name is used.
He moved his hands from where they were still holding my arms at my side to the button of my jean shorts.
"Papa!" I squeaked. "No! You can't pull my pants down!"
"Yes, I can, Young Lady, and I am."
"Nooooooo," I cried, trying to push his hands away. But it was useless, he was too strong and in an instant he had my jeans unbuttoned and unzipped and was throwing me over his lap. I kicked for a minute, trying to get up, but he held onto me tightly and smacked my rump with all his might. "OOOWWWW!!!" I shouted, breaking into a sob and stopping struggling for a moment.
"Stop it!" he warned, tugging my shorts down to my ankles, then pulling my panties down to join them.
"Papa!!!!" I begged. "Pleaseee!!! There's people in here!"
"And you sure are putting on a good show for them!" he replied, smacking my barebottom really really hard.
I squealed in pain and bucked up a little, kicking my legs.
"Stop squirming!" he shouted, landing another smack, right on my sitspots.
"ACHHHHHOOWWWWW!!!!" I cried, moving my hands to cover my bum. "Please Papa! No more! I'm sorry!"
"I haven't even begun yet," he answered and hit my hands with not nearly as much strength as he had my bottom. "Now move your hands."
Tears stung my eyes but I moved my hands anyway. I knew that keeping my hands back there would just earn me a longer and more painful spanking, and I could already feel the eyes of onlookers. I didn't want it to last longer than it already had to.
He positioned me over his lap to where my feet weren't touching the ground, and the tips of my fingers could reach the floor. I kept my eyes closed. At any moment I knew that I'd feel his large hand crashing down on my poor little bottom. And I was embarrassed that everyone was seeing me get it. I guess I wouldn't have been as embarrassed if Katrina wouldn't have been there, but she was, and that made it so much worse. I'll bet she never got a spanking before!
"Lizbeth," Papa began, slapping my rear. "I'm disappointed in you." He landed another smack and I squealed in pain, eyes still closed, fists balled up. "I can't believe *SMACK!* that you'd steal a cigarette from me. *SMACK!*"
"OOOOWWWWWWWW!!!!!" I howled. He was clearly leaving a good impression on my rear end.
"And I can't believe that you were so careless that you almost burned down the house! *SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!*"
"OWW!! OWW!! OWW!! I'm s-sorry!!"
"I know you are," he replied, landing another one, and another, until finally he got a steady rhythm and I was bobbing all over the place, attempting to dodge some smacks, but not succeeding.
"Oooowwwiiiiiieeeesssss!!! Ouch! Ouch!" I howled. "I'm s-OW-sor-OWW!-ry!"
He just kept up the spanking, whacking away at my poor bottom, he covering my entire bottom. And it was hurting so much... I couldn't help but kick... and I couldn't help it when I reached back to try to get him to stop.
"Plllleasseeeee stoppp!!" I begged, hands covering bottom.
He didn't miss a beat, though, just grabbed ahold of my hands with his left hand, pinned them to my back, and gave me four extra hard smacks right on my sit spots and scolded. "I told you not to reach back!"
My cries didn't phase him a bit. He just kept spanking, and spanking, and I felt like I'd spent hours over his lap. I'm sure I was crying like it! His spanking was nothing like Mama's were... sure, she spanked really hard, and I cried even when she only spanked me with her hand. But Papa... geeze... his spanking hurt more than getting whapped with Mama's wooden spoon! And it didn't take much until I was bawling like a baby and kicking and struggling and trying to do anything possible to make him stop. I tried begging and pleading, I tried apologizing, I tried to stop struggling so much, but nothing worked! He just kept on spanking, and before too much longer I figured I'd never sit again! Then he gave me four sharp smacks on each thigh and let go of my wrists. I was bawling so hard I couldn't even heard him stop. Surprisingly, my hands didn't fly to my rear end as I'd thought they'd do, but they flew to my face, and collected my tears and hid my shame.
Papa let me lie over his lap for a little while to regain composure, but I wasn't sure if I was actually going to regain it. I guess he felt the same way, because after a few minutes, he lifted me himself, but I just kept my face covered so I wouldn't have to look at him or anyone else. He gave me a hug and rubbed my back a little, and I debated on whether or not to collapse into his arms and let him hold me the rest of the night. I didn't debate long, because after a few seconds of hugging him, I felt someone else's hands, and I knew instantly that it was Katrina. Maybe it was the smell of perfume mixed with pizza, or maybe it was just the gentle way that she touched me. She stroked my hair and picked me up from under my arms, carrying me like a baby over to the couch. She sat down and held me in her arms, my face buried into her chest. She rubbed my back and rocked me back and forth.
"Shhhh, baby, it's okay," she said in a soothing voice. "It's okay, honey. It's all over. Calm down, baby."
I couldn't help it, though. All I could do was cry. My bottom ached and I'd let my Papa down.
But she still held me, no matter how long I cried. She held me until my tears dried and I was nearly asleep in her arms.
"Is she going to be okay?" I heard Papa ask her.
But she didn't understand, and I knew she was looking around to figure out what he said. So finally, he said it in shorthand English, and I'd have giggled if I wasn't in so much pain.
"Oh, yeah, she's fine."
I smiled a little and lifted up, wiping the dried tears and my nose. I saw that three pairs of eyes were staring at me, worried expressions on their faces. "I'm okay," I assured them.
Papa sighed with relief and came towards me, hugging me gently. He ruffled my hair. "You scared us, kid. What if the house would've burned down? I don't care that the house is gone, but if I'd have lost you, I don't know what I'd do."
I smiled weakly. "I know, Papa. I'm sorry. I definitely won't do anything that stupid again."
"Good. But I was thinking... maybe you should have a babysitter while you're here..."
I gulped. "But, Papa..."
"Katrina offered to stay with you."
My eyes widdened. "Really?!?!" I looked at her, her arms still around me, and she looked like she was looking at a calculus problem, that's how confused she was. "You want to watch me?" I asked.
She smiled. "Yup, sure do!"
"Yay!" I exclaimed, hugging her, then hugging Papa. "It'll be fun! We can go shopping together and listen to music and, yay!"
She giggled a little and kissed my cheek. "We sure can. I still have to work some nights, though. Only three nights a week. But I can watch you during the day time everyday. And those three nights that I work, well one of them will be your dad's day off, and the other'll be Alberto's, and the other'll be Javier's, we hope."
I smiled. "Sounds like fun!"
"It will be."
I looked at Papa. "I won't smoke again, Papa. I promise. I didn't even like it."
"Good," he said, ruffling my hair once more and yawning. "I'm going to take a shower. You can stay over here if you want."
I nodded, wanting to spend more time with Katrina. I hadn't realized how much I missed having a girl around until I met her. It's hard living with a bunch of guys when you're used to living with a mom and a little brother.
I watched Papa walk out of the door then I sat up a little.
"Ouch!" Alberto said, giving one of those faces like he'd just touched a hot stove. He moved towards me and felt my rear, then shook his hand out, insinuating that it was really hot. Everyone laughed. Javier then proceeded to feel and see how warm it was, then Katrina. I just rolled my eyes at them and pulled my panties up, deciding that my shorts could stay on the floor. I squeezed in on the couch next to Katrina, slowly so I wouldn't hurt my backside too much.
"You really wanna go shopping?" she asked.
She smiled. "First thing tomorrow when I get here, k?"
"Okay," I answered, and watched tv with them until I fell asleep on her shoulder.