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Lorraine Maddox was not made to be a mother. Twenty-five, working at a nearby night club, living with five other women from the club, and having the absolute time of her life. She had just moved in with her long-time boyfriend (a total sleaze) when she found out she was pregnant.
Not by him.
She was not made to be a mother. Yet there she was, twenty-six years old with newborn twins. Apollo made her smile. He came into the club often, and he only seemed to be smiling at her. Yet when she got pregnant he disappeared.
Typical for a god.
At first, Lorraine tried. Her two beautiful babies made her the talk of town - 'gosh, Lorraine, look how sweet those two are!', 'gosh, Lorraine, you're so lucky!', 'I bet they'll be lookers, just like their mama!'. As the months passed the questions warped, still flattering the babies beauty but beginning to center on the absence of their real father - the babies looked nothing like her sleazy boyfriend.
Where is their father, Lorraine? Who is their father, Lorraine? How can you keep them from their father, Lorraine?
She became bitter. The twins became the focus of attention. Apollo never came back.
Lorraine wished she never got pregnant.
Klein Maddox was six years old when she cut her hair with those shitty little kid scissors. Choppy, uneven chunks that forced her mother to try fix it up with a pair of just as inefficient kitchen scissors. Six years old when her mothers boyfriend gripped her by her long blonde ponytail to lay a better hit.
It wasn't the first time he had hit her, but he'd yanked her backwards so hard and the girl realized that the beautiful hair her mother always fawned over was only a weapon for others to use.
Lorraine Maddox cried as she evened out her daughters hair, a choppy bob cut that fell above her shoulders. She cried not because her boyfriend had gone after her daughter, but because her daughters beautiful hair was ruined.
