It happened again. Abused, used like a rag doll. I am nothing to him, I am an object, a toy, a mere stress reliever. He did the same to Mom; hurt her, bashed her, raped her, yelled at her. I can still hear his roaring voice beaming through the hallways, Mom would fall to the floor, coil in her misery and cry her heart out as he viciously, repeatedly hit her over the head with a wooden spoon.
'Daddy please stop!' I would always say, but he ignored me and just hit her harder, I didn't know what to do. The school psychologist told me to leave it be, go in my room and let them deal with their difference because I am too young to understand; I suppose he was right, I was fourteen at the time.
A couple of months later things shifted. Daddy had left my mother alone, I guess he was bored of tormenting her, or maybe they had fixed things, I wasn't sure but I knew I was next on his list. Every time I was in the shower I'd hear the door creak open as it usually used to do, startled I'd stealthily peak, and I could see him touching himself and moaning. Naturally I was frozen but I ignored it and did not speak of it to anybody.
As time progressed things got worse. Daddy would barge into my room late at night:
'Take you pants off now!' He'd say as he would unbuckle his belt. Whenever he'd open his mouth to speak, the scent of alcohol would linger in the room for a very long time. At this point, I'd feel sick, my own father doing this to me - my stomach would descend from its regular place and tears of desperation and vulnerability would stream down my face.
'Daddy please stop,' I would say, pushing him off me. I always hated pushing him off me, I could feel it, it was hard, wet; I was repulsed. Every night, I'd scream, I'd cry, I'd lose my virginity; I say that because that's how it feels. At school, everyone would notice a new bruise or a new cut on me on a daily basis. I got bullied; called "emo", I couldn't take it anymore. I had a plan, I set up my webcam on the computer to record all day and all night in my room - I left the computer screen off and covered the lights with black paper.
That night I heard footsteps, footsteps that were in sync with my heartbeat; fast and loud. It happened again, but something changed that night. I didn't cry; I was smiling - finally, proof of what a monster my father really is. No one believed me, so I started with my school psychologist, I showed him the video recordings, he was appalled, baffled. We took it to the police, however it was not sufficient evidence to lock my Dad up.
I waited months, and it just kept happening till finally the police decided to arrest him. At that point I felt weightless, like a feather; all the torment, the stress, the depression it was all gone - he was gone. And now I can finally fly. I'm staying at a shelter for women until the police investigate whether or not Mom was in on it. I doubt she was, but I'm not complaining. I am safe here.
© 2013 Justin Leonard Sacco.
