The world for me drasrically changed not too long after the day I saw my father and his assistant, Marie, in the office. Things between my mommy and him grew violent, his voice would echo throughout the halls, nothing could block the sound of his fury, nothing could stop the havoc he had caused upon my mother, and I. There would be days when I'd see thick purple bruises laced along her arms, with an occasional flaw upon her once beautiful face. The face my father supposedly fell in love with. Maybe there is no such thing as love, do you believe in love? I don't, because if love exists, then where is it?
I would ask about the fresh bruises each day, a little girl filled with concern, but she'd just brush it off, and change the subject. I remeber when I would fall, and the bruises on my knees, would be kissed away by that of one of my mothers soft kisses. How I long to feel that kiss one last time on a scraped knee. I used to see my father as an amazing being, I was led to believe that both mother and him were bliss. But that photograph of a peaceful family was shattered, and left to crumble beneath debree.
It was late one evening, we had all gathered around the kitchen table. My dad stared gruffly inti his plate of dinner. His eyes darting back and forth across his juicy steak, taking into account any imperfections he notices. Almost like what I do to myself now, he must have saw so many flaws in his food, just like I did in me. The moment I set down my fork, deciding that I was not very hungry, my mother laid sprawled across the floor, and my father was hovering above her menacingly,his fist raised, prepared to strike, like a cobra when it preps itself to strike the defenseless prey. I couldn't bare the thought of my mother being hurt again. So on impulse I darted in between my father's clenched fist and my mom. I hovered over her protectively. Despite the fact that I was so small, I did my damnest to make sure his fist would not harm a single hair on her body again. I wasn't sure what was going to happen since I intervened with his violent response, and I had hope he wouldn't hit me like he had to my mother. In the end, his hand grasped the roots of my hair, and threw me like a piece of garbage in his way. I sobbed, and so did my mother, I was hurt terribly bad, but emotionally, I was at the beginning of my distress, and my father was the end of his fuse.
Not too long after that day my father went on a rampage. My father disappeared in a red Ferrari, along with a younger model of my mother. My father became a ghost, I could hear his voice whispering too me, such awful things. My father was no longer there to be a fatherly figure to his only daughter. He left me to play house with a new toy, a woman he cheated on my mother with. Times like these bring back so much sorrow, I blame myself for my father leaving. It is my fault, and it forever will be mine, alone.