The Other Side of Normal.

Chapter 9: Getting Out of This Hell Hole.

Warm water cascades down my body, taking away with it dirt and grime from the past five days. I turn my face up to the gentle stream, letting myself get lost in the rejuvenating sensation. As soon as we got home, Taya laid down in my bed and began softly snoring. Finding myself with the rare opportunity to shower, I jumped at the idea. I go days on end without this delicacy (ew, I know, but can you really blame me?). It is like my own special haven, where nothing else in the world matters except the here and now.

I lather shampoo into my scalp, relishing in the clean experience and basking in each tingle that takes away the oil and filth hostage and dragging it away to the unknown down in the drain. My side burns from where the water hits my wounds, but in a strangely satisfying way. I look down at the floor of the shower and watch the pink-hued water wash down the drain. Reaching over to the side of the shower, I grab the conditioner unwillingly, since I know I will have to get out of the shower soon.

All of a sudden I feel two hands grab my waist and pull me back. I stifle a gasp, fearing Ill wake up Taya. My back is pressed flush against someone's chest. Thankfully, I feel wet cloth creating a barrier between our flesh.

"That's some pretty patchwork there." Hot breath hits my ear and over the perfume of my shampoo I can make out the stench of alcohol. Bile rises in my throat as my father's fingers stroke along my stitching. I push his hands away and try to create as much distance as possible between us, but his hands just grasp me tighter, twisting me around to face him.

"Stop that, Anita. Stop fighting." Anger laces his drunken state, and as he says this, he pulls at my stitches, causing me to press closer to him so that he'll stop pulling. Through hazy eyes he looks at my body and lets out a guttural moan and brings his face to my chest, biting and sucking at my skin. With every touch of his mouth and hands, it leaves behind a burning feeling on my skin, like acid is eating through my surface of flesh. My entire body is crawling with disgust and I turn and spit a combination of bile and blood from where I bit my cheek.

"Get off, I'm Natalie, not Anita. I'm your daughter, let go!" At this he stops his attack on my skin and looks up, the briefest amount of realization lighting in his unfocused eyes. I don't waste any time, I push him off me with all the force I can muster and run through the open bathroom door. I cross the distance between the bathroom and my bedroom in a matter of seconds and close the door behind me, I lock both locks on my door and lean against the frame.

My skin is revolting against my body and the burning has me itching at my skin. I feel too bare, too exposed. Far too vulnerable. Running into my closet I put on as many layers of clothing I can, blindly grabbing at articles of clothing and adorning them, one after the other. I fall down into a ball on the floor and hold myself in a vise-like grip, because I'm afraid that if I let go even the slightest bit, I'll fall apart, shattered on the floor. The feeling of his hands on my body replays over and over, as if on a reel, in my head.

He had called me Anita. I had been told I was the carbon copy of my mother, which was true. I had seen pictures and videos of her when I was littler. Her golden hair matched mine perfectly, but her's was straight and she kept it cut to her shoulders. The hue of gray/blue matched in both of our eyes, and we shared the same features of our body and face. As much as I hate my father, especially after what just happened, my heart feels for him. My mother had committed suicide years ago, when I was four. The loss had devastated him, making him fall back on alcohol as a crutch. In a way, I blame her, she was the one who made him this way, and I can see why he could have come on to me, in his intoxicated state, I could easily be mistaken as Anita. I understand his side but I don't pity him, nor forgive him. From the actions he takes now, he deserves all the suffering he's in.

Hot tears run down my face and my body convulses in violent shakes due to fear, anger and adrenaline running through my blood. I quickly wipe away the tears, steeling myself from the horrors of my life. But I can't quite stop the tremor in my hands and knees.