Prolouge
There are some things you'll never be able to understand in the world.
Like how a mother will do anything for her child. Even after the painful delivery she has to suffer through to bring the child here.
That's where I begin my story.
Seventeen years old, blinded by the thought of love and it's real exsistance in life. My mother and father had recently finalized their devorce and he was packing his bags into his truck. I hated my father, from a young age, so seeing him go. Was probablly my favorite part of our short relationship. I had a boyfriend, and we were going to be moving in together after graduation in May. Mother loved him, said he was perfect for me. Told me stories of how my Dad was before he started drinking. My boyfriend, Tyler Yates, was a great guy. Treated me right, respected me, and knew I had morals and beliefs. He never pushed me into any uncomfortable situations.
Life was perfect. Or so it seemed on the surface. The night before graduation, Tyler took me to a party at his friends house. A celebration of our last night as highschoolers. Stero-typically, there was alcohol at the party. I for one refused to drink. Tyler on the other hand, loved to drink. He drank himself stupid-more so than usual- and I had to carry him back to our small apartment. I helped him to the couch and left him there to sleep. Only, three hours later I awoke to him climbing over me on our shared bed. No to say we hadn't slept together before would be a lie. But this was different. He was drunk. His motions were rough and painful, not his gentle touches I loved and craved.
By morning I was a mess. Tangled and matted hair, eyes bloodshot and puffy from crying, my underwear were nowhere to be found and the shirt I had managed to keep on my torso was ripped several times. I was curled up in a ball under a stack of towles in my bathtub, the door to the upstairs bathroom locked. Tyler's relentless knocking on the door and aopologizing went on for who-know's how long. I stayed in the bathroom the rest of the day, letting the moonlight seep through the curtianed window on the left wall. Not bothering to remove the ripped shirt, or remove the towles from the tub. I twisted the knob to the left and cold water streamed from the shower head above me. I burrowed back down under the ever-wetting towles, letting my head stick out and rest on the side of the tub. The cold water seeped through my skin, chilling me to the bone. After what seemed like an hour, I turned the water stream off and simply sat in the cold wet towles.
I remained like that for the night and into the next day. That made a full 48 hours in the bathroom. I had turned the showeron several times and tried to wash my body. But, my eyes would find a bruise or scabbing wound and I would shut the water off and burrow myself once again.
Late in the afternoon on the second day, I heard the front door open downstairs, and what sounding like shouting. My name. That's what was being shouted. My mother had gotten worrid after I hadn't picked up the phone for 2 days. I heard her running up the stairs, nearly creaming my name, Tyler's footsteps following her closely. She rammed her shoulder into the locked door, once, twice, three times before the deadbolt broke under the pressure. Her worried and tired brown eyes took in my position. Dirty, scarred, and unclothed. She quickly called the police and rocked me in her arms.
Tyler was arrested for accounts of underage drinking, rape, and domestic violence. A charge given to him by my mother. I was taken to the local county hospital, where they discovered I was indeed pregnant. But it was not from when he raped me. I was over 3 weeks pregnant. And I was alone. Tyler was sentanced to 3 years in prision and 4 years on poroll, not to mention I had a restraining order filed against him. He's not allowed within 75miles of me or my newborn.
When I returned to my apartment 2 weeks later, I discovered my mother had removed all the furniture and had it replaced. Which I was glad and very thankful for. My mother would spend most of her time at my apartment, making meals for me, then heading home after we'd watch a movie. For at least 6 months, I never ventured to the second floor. The doctors said I was having a beautiful baby girl, and I had begun decorating a room on the first floor for her.
Three years have passed since then. It took a while but I finally started using all of my home. My daughter, Megan, now three, is my biggest reason for living. The day she was born, I went upstairs. I foud bravery and courage when I brought her into the two story apartment that first night. She's my rock, she's my everything. She's why I stay. Because with her, I'm Needed here.