Chapter 1

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Edited!!!

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Chapter 1

To say I come from a broken home would be a lie. Broken suggests the object or situation can be fixed with superglue or duct tape. I come from an annihilated home with no chance of repair. Many people in this world live with a happy family, a supporting mum and dad, an affectionate sibling and maybe a much loved family pet. But, I am one of the exceptions that do not. My family is broken and in need of serious repair however, I don’t think help will ever come and save me from the abuse and torture inflicted on me most days.

7 years ago

It was July 22nd, a day before my birthday and while my 11 year old self looked out from my front door, she could see her mother walking away; bags packed and ready to leave. “Mummy, please don’t leave, I promise I’ll do anything, I’ll help more around the house, I’ll tidy my room more often, and I’ll even do the washing up for you! Please don’t leave me!” I shouted frantically at the thought of never seeing my mother again. I was crying.  She didn’t even look at me as she carried her suitcase down the steps and the driveway to where a cab was waiting on the other side of the suburban street.

Even though the fighting between her and dad had gotten worse, I didn’t think she would leave me while I was still under the age of eighteen. I was only a child, her child. I kept my eyes on her while my father was nowhere to be found. Her eyes were as hard as stone as she walked out of the house however, you could see the remainder of her mascara on her cheeks from where she was crying earlier this morning. She had been yelling at my dad and I’m sure the neighbours had heard them.

She finally turned around to look at the house and the 11 year old on the floor crying. She would never come to see me again I knew this much, it felt as though she were dying. I could tell her eyes were full of darkness through her robot like gestures and as the taxi drove away, she didn’t look at me, she couldn’t bring herself to look at me, her daughter, as she left me forever.

My dad was inside the house. I think he knew this moment to be coming soon unlike me. I believed that my mum would never leave me and would always love me until now. She obviously didn’t love me. Not enough to stay anyway.

I stayed crying on the floor of the driveway for another 10 minutes. The neighbours that had come out to watch the show disappeared back into their own houses and left me there still sobbing. I sat there for a long time. My legs were a bit shaky but I forced myself up and inside the house.

 I got up and went back into the house without anymore tears. I walked in to the kitchen and saw my dad wobbling around in an unstable manner with what seemed like an almost empty bottle of vodka in his hands. I had never seen him this drunk before. Normally if he was out at the pub he would have maybe two beer’s but nothing this extreme, he had told me once that he was to muscular to be drinking too much because he was scared he would get angry and violent. I guess he got over his fear.

 I started to tear up again because the situation I was in had just hit me. My mother had left and my father was drunk. But then dad heard me whimper. He never liked to see me cry, he said it was a sign of weakness. Before another tear had a chance to fall there was a smash from a glass bottle being thrown across the room and smashing on the wall. It shattered near me a few shards hitting me and causing me to bleed. As I was only wearing shorts my legs were exposed so open to get hit by the flying glass. I screamed in pain and my dad turned around and watched my movements. He began to move towards me with an evil smile spread across his face. It was terrifying, his pupils were dilated and his eyes were bloodshot. It took 6 staggered steps for him to reach me across the kitchen and when he did he looked psychotic.

“Valerie, now...now, come on. What have I told you about crying over stupid things? What are you crying because your whore of a mother left us? Are you wondering if she loves you anymore?”  He paused as to let me answer although I knew better because he asks a lot of rhetorical questions when he was angry with you. I didn’t answer; instead I wiped my eyes and looked at my dad again. I was wrong, the questions weren’t rhetorical.

“Why didn’t you answer my question?!” he said spitting the words at me standing a little too close for comfort his breath reaching my face. I could smell the alcohol on him and it was not pleasant.

“I’m sorry dad!” I shouted at him but before I could finish he back handed me across the face with full force knocking me to the ground where I stayed in shock. It was such a bolt from the blue I couldn’t comprehend his actions. Sure my dad had smacked my behind once or twice if I’d done something really bad but never with this much force. I held onto my face where it was stinging so badly it had gone numb before the pain returned to it while my body shook uncontrollably out of fear. I was still holding my cheek as I tried to get up even though I knew my father was standing above me. It was a bad move. Before I could get fully off the floor my father had pushed me back down and had kicked me in the stomach. I felt as though I was going to be sick the pain was so intense. ‘Please let this day be over, hopefully I will wake up and this will all be a dream’ I thought to myself. I dared not look at my father as he stumbled out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Why was he doing this? Does he not love me anymore? I kept asking these questions to myself but they all came back with the same answer. ‘He’s just drunk’ and ‘he still loves you.’ But as the years went on and the drunken violence continued I learned that even though he was now drunk almost all of the time he didn’t love me anymore.

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CJWebber

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