brielle's pov
i stumble down the shoreline of santa monica pier hoping to regain some sort of consciousness. the drug that was secretly slipped into my drink is trying to take control over my body, trying to take my life as well. i'm way too young to die. i fight and continue to stumble.
it's hard to make out where i am in the pitch black darkness of the night. i vaguely see a tall moving figure coming closer to me. i panic for a second. what if they are going to kidnap me? i'm a young girl with skimpy clothes on. some men take that as a sign that us women want sexual attention so they rape us or force us into sexual acts. just as the figure starts approaching closer, my vision starts to blur. i collapse. i am unable to move at this point. i prepare for death but the figure stops me...
the build up of how i got into this position then flashes before my eyes and i think back to when it all started when i was a child. i start to make fun of myself from an outside perspective. "this bitch just talked about dying from a drug that got slipped into her drink and how she's fighting life or death on the middle of a damn beach in california." that's a very valid thing to make fun of, i agree. hear me out, this will all make sense if you listen to all of my words closely.
backtracking to what i was saying, when i was a child, i'd often find myself being overly attached to my father. my father was the greatest father ever. i adored that man. adored as in past tense.
my father would buy me anything i asked for no matter the cost or price. he would take me on daddy-daughter dates, braid my hair before bed, bake with me, take me on car rides, and even took me to disney just because my fish died.
that's how a normal father should act. a normal father should be treating his kids like they're god damn royalty. my dad did just that. it wasn't until i was a teenager that everything suddenly changed. he became distant. he wouldn't reach out as much or even talk to us. it was like we were all some sort of burden to him. we couldn't understand why he was pushing his own family away.
he stopped showing up to school functions or sporting games. he would barely even talk during family dinners. he even would go on frequent "work" trips. it didn't click with us what was happening until a month after my seventeenth birthday.
my mom got a call from an old friend of my father. he started rambling on and on about the truth and how my mother needed to know it. he'd apparently been cheating on my mother with a nineteen year old girl in new mexico.
my mother was stunned. she fought with my dad for what felt like eternity over it but she decided to stay because of his wealth.
continuing on, the reason why i bring my father up is simple. daddy issues. is it wrong of me to blame my irrational and impulsive behavior on my raging daddy issues? perhaps it might be but we do not care. not to mention that my ADHD doesn't do me any justice with the whole impulsive behavior bullshit. let's get to the real point instead of missing it each time.
after all of the crap with my father went down, i started to rebel and act out. i started smoking weed, i started hooking up with a lot of guys, i broke a lot of laws. i did a lot of crazy shit that i wish i could take back but i don't want to. those days were the time of my life until i met what's his face.
jack curran.
