"Just because I can't explain the feelings causing my anxiety doesn't make them less valid."
- Lauren Elizabeth
Today was the day that I had been dreading - my dad's return from his trip. I had spent the entire day preparing for his arrival, trying to make sure everything was perfect. But as the time drew nearer, my anxiety began to rise to unbearable levels.
I paced around my room, my nerves frazzled and my palms sweating. I knew what was waiting for me when my father came back - the constant fear, the insults, the beatings. It was a routine that I had grown accustomed to, but it never got any easier.
As I tried to keep myself together, I felt a panic attack starting to take over. I pulled at my hair, hoping to ground myself, but it only made things worse. I collapsed to the ground, feeling like I couldn't breathe.
That's when I remembered a breathing technique that I had learned from a book I was reading. I closed my eyes and focused on my breaths, in and out, slow and steady. It wasn't easy, but with each breath, I felt a little more in control.
Slowly but surely, my vision cleared up and my heart rate began to slow down. I felt a sense of calm wash over me, and I knew that I could face whatever came my way.
With each breath, I gathered the strength and courage I needed to stand up and face my father, no matter how scary it seemed.
But even with my newfound courage, I still struggled with a destructive habit - pulling at my hair during panic attacks. It was strangely comforting at the moment, but it always left me feeling ashamed afterward.
Despite my best efforts, the urge to pull persisted, and I knew that I had to work on breaking this habit. But for now, I had to focus on preparing for my father's return.
I checked every corner of the house, making sure everything was spotless. My dad was always particular about cleanliness, and I didn't want to give him any reason to be angry. My anxiety began to rise again, but I took a deep breath and pushed it down.
I decided to distract myself by reading a book that I had been meaning to finish. The story carried me away, and before I knew it, I had fallen asleep.
But my peaceful sleep was short-lived. I woke up to the sound of the door shutting, and my heart started to race. I quickly composed myself, trying to make my appearance presentable before opening the door.
To my surprise, my father was not alone. Standing behind him was Henry - a man who used to visit regularly when I was younger.
Henry always made me feel uncomfortable, touching me in places I didn't want to be touched and trying to convince me to be his girlfriend.
I always fought back, and my dad found out one day. I hadn't seen Henry since then. But seeing his face now, I knew that was about to change.
What made things worse was that Henry was checking me out openly, his eyes lingering on my body. I felt a wave of disgust and fury wash over me. I refuse to let him or anyone take away my body without my consent.
I feel a shiver running down my spine and I feel disgusted. All those memories come back and I remember after every time he touched me I will shower with hot water trying to get his germs and touch off me burning myself in the process.
Overwhelmed with emotions. Rage and sadness mixed together, churning inside me like a violent storm. I wanted to scream, to lash out, to make sense of the chaos inside me. But don't even know who I should lash out at my so-called father, Henry, or even myself.
But then, something shifted.
As I stand here on the stairs, staring at both of them. A strange sense of clarity washed over me. I realized that there was nothing inherently wrong with me - I wasn't the problem. It was my dad who was messed up.
For years, I had blamed myself for the pain and turmoil in my life. I had internalized the hurt, believing that I somehow deserved it. But now, as I stand there, something shifted. It was like I had found the missing puzzle piece, and suddenly everything clicked into place.
I smiled to myself, a small but significant victory. It was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. The anger and sadness were still there, but I know all this is not my fault.
"Hello, Father and Henry" looking at both of them with a cold voice. I'm even shocked at how I sound. I lead them to the table and plate the plates for them I grab some cold beers from the fridge.
As I sat down at the table, I spooned a small serving of everything onto my plate and began to eat.
My dad watched me with thinly veiled disgust, his expression a clear indication of his disapproval. I knew that he was only concerned with how his friends perceived him as a father, so he tried to act like the best dad ever when they were around.
"Is that all you're going to eat?" he asked, his tone laced with contempt.
"I'm not that hungry," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. I poked at my baked potato with my fork, trying to avoid eye contact with my father.
After finishing my meal, I cleared the table and did the dishes, while my dad and Henry sat on the couch drinking and watching TV.
Heading upstairs to my room. I knew that I couldn't lock my door, so I pushed a chair against it to create a makeshift barrier.
Sitting on my bed, I couldn't help but feel a sense of isolation and loneliness. It was like I was trapped in my own home, unable to escape the toxic environment that my dad had created.
I longed for a way out, a chance to escape the constant judgment and criticism that had become a part of my daily life.
As I lay in bed, I made a vow to myself - I would do everything in my power to create a better life for myself, to break free from this house since it doesn't hold any good memories.
With the money I will get after working, I felt a sense of possibility and hope that I hadn't experienced before. I knew exactly what I wanted to do with it - go to college and find a good job. I was determined to make something of myself, to create a future that I could be proud of.
As I thought about my future, my mind wandered to the possibility of finding love and starting a family. It was a distant dream, but one that I held onto with quiet optimism. I imagined a future where I had a partner who loved and supported me, and little kids running around the house, giggling and playing.
My hand unconsciously reached to pull up my top and expose the permanent scars and bruises that marked my body. As I looked at myself, I couldn't help but feel a sense of shame and disgust.
I was too thin, too pale, too broken. I wondered if anyone would ever be able to love someone like me - someone who had been through so much pain and suffering.
The scars on my body were a constant reminder of the abuse and trauma that I had endured. They were a testament to the fact that I had survived, but they also made me feel like damaged goods, unworthy of love or affection.
I lay in bed, exhausted from the day but unable to close my eyes. The fear of Henry barging into my room while I slept kept me on high alert. I couldn't shake the feeling that he was just waiting for me to let my guard down.
As the hours ticked by, my anxiety only grew. Every creak and rustle in the house made my heart skip a beat, and I kept my eyes trained on the door, waiting for any sign of movement.
But as the night wore on, exhaustion began to take its toll. My eyes grew heavy, and my body begged for sleep. Still, I fought to stay awake, unwilling to let my guard down for even a moment.
As the first rays of sunlight began to filter through the window, I realized that I had made it through the night without incident. Despite my fears, Henry had not come to my room.
I gather some fresh clothes and remove the barrier from my bedroom door, making my way to the bathroom.
I ensure that I lock the door before shedding my clothes and stepping into the shower. The warm water washes away the dirt and grime from the day, and I take the opportunity to wash my hair and scrub my body.
After I finish my shower, I step out and dry myself off with a towel. I grab my blue jeans and a matching hoodie that I had picked up from a thrift store.
The hoodie looks a little oversized on me, but that's just because I'm small. Regardless, it's warm and comfortable, and I feel a sense of relief as I pull it on.
I cautiously open the door and startle when I see Henry standing there, a disgusting smirk on his face. My heart races as his eyes roam over my body, and I feel vulnerable and exposed under his gaze.
The air between us is thick with tension, and I instinctively take a step back, hoping to put some distance between us.
Henry takes a step closer, and I instinctively move back, my heart pounding in my chest. "Oh, how I wish we could have showered together," he says dreamily, his eyes lingering on my body.
I feel sick to my stomach at his words, and a sense of revulsion washes over me.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, my voice shaking with fear. "Nothing yet," he responds with a smirk. "Just let me go, please," I plead with him, my heart racing.
"What are you talking about? This is the first time I've seen you in three years, and this is how you welcome me?" he practically yells, his nostrils flaring. I shake my head, tears filling my eyes.
"No, I just have to go to work," I say, trying to sound as calm as possible. But before I realize what's happening, I feel a sharp sting on my cheek. The pain jolts through me, and I stagger back, clutching my face.
"You know, I bet I'm not the only guy who shows interest in you. I bet you sleep with every single man on the street, so drop the act," he sneers, his words dripping with venom.
"Is it because I'm old?" he asks, his tone shifting from angry to vulnerable. Still clutching my cheek, I shake my head no, too afraid to say anything.
Suddenly, he pulls me closer and presses his lips to the spot where he just slapped me. I recoil, feeling sick to my stomach.
"Better," he whispers, before leaving the room. I stand there, feeling violated and helpless, unsure of what to do next.
I immediately try to wash the kiss off and notice his handprint on my cheek. I sigh knowing I have to cover it before going to work. With my hair I cover my face hiding the handprint.
I go downstairs to make breakfast for my dad and Henry, I leave it on the kitchen counter since they are both watching tv.
I grab my bag and a book before heading downstairs. lastly, I grab my coat and slowly open the door before shutting it. I practically run from the house not wanting to be close to both the men inside.
As I sit down on the bench and open the book, I realize that my mind is wandering elsewhere. I can't concentrate on the words in front of me, so I close the book and look up at the serene scenery in front of me.
I take in the serene view of the lake, watching ducks paddle through the water and an elderly couple sitting on a nearby bench. A few runners pass by, their breaths heavy as they push themselves forward.
Suddenly, my attention is drawn to a group of boys vaping nearby. They're laughing and goofing around, looking like they have no care in the world.
But then, one of them breaks off from the group and runs towards me, holding out his phone.
"Hey there, can I get your number?" he asks, a cocky smirk on his face.
He has a rugged, "high school bad boy" look to him, with unkempt brown hair and a chiseled jawline.
I couldn't help but notice how much the boy in front of me resembles me. Our green eyes were almost identical, and his dark brown curly hair reminded me of my own unruly locks.
"No, it's okay. But thank you." I smile.
"Are you okay?" he asks I look at him confused so he points at my cheek. As I cover my bruised cheek in embarrassment.
His concern catches me off guard, but I manage a small smile and reply, "I'm okay, " I smile.
He seems to pretend he didn't notice my injury and instead asks, "What's your name?" I answer, "Ariella," and in turn, ask for his name.
"Lucas," he responds with a warm smile, and I notice how his green eyes sparkle in the sunlight. "Nice to meet you, Lucas," I say as we shake hands, and I feel a soft, reassuring squeeze from him.
Suddenly, one of the boys shouts for Lucas, interrupting us. "Yo, Lucas! Come on, man!" Lucas turns to me, a small smile on his face. "I think this is my cue to leave. I hope to see you again, Ariella." I wave at him as he jogs off to join his friends.
"Who was that?"
I jump up in fear at the sudden voice and see Alex standing behind me, watching Lucas as he retreats. "Who was that?"
I shrug in response. "His name is Lucas," I say, and Alex takes a seat beside me. We both gaze out at the scenery in front of us, enjoying the quiet moment before I decide to break the silence.
"Is this your spot too? A place to escape from all the..." I hesitate, searching for the right word.
"Chaos?" Alex finishes for me, and I nod. "Yes, exactly."
I nod in agreement. "Yeah, I hear you. It's nice to have a place to come to and just relax for a bit."
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, watching the ducks swim and the people walk by. Eventually, Alex turns to me and asks, "So, Ariella, what brings you here today?"
I pause for a moment before answering, not sure how much I want to share with someone I hardly know. But something about Alex's kind demeanor puts me at ease. "Just needed to get out of the house for a bit," I say with a small smile. "And you?"
"Same," he says with a chuckle. "I guess we're both in need of some peace and quiet."
I nod, feeling grateful for the company. Despite the chaos in my life, being here with Alex and watching the world go by brings a sense of calm that I hadn't felt in a while.
As Alex stands up, I feel a tinge of disappointment that our conversation is coming to an end. "I hope that we meet here again," he says before leaving.
I nod and watch him walk away before turning my attention to the group of boys who are now leaving. I see Lucas looking at me and I wave, to which he waves back.
Feeling a little bit lighter, I head to the nearby bus stop and get on the bus. After a 20-minute ride, I arrive at the stop nearest to Alexandro's house.
It's a ten-minute walk from there, and soon I'm standing in front of the large black gate.
As I greet the guards who don't greet me back I start walking toward the house, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I take it out and see a message from an unknown number.
Confused and a little unnerved, I open it to see the text:
"I can't wait to have you in my bed."
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I want to thank those who have voted and commented on my book!
Thank you, Thank you!!!
-Shey