PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER 2
Life was never tedious in my house. No, there was always some sort of drama going on. Most of the time it was "bad" excitement rather than "good" excitement, though. Ninety per cent of the time it had something to do with my father. He was, most often, the cause of stress in our home. With him gone for weeks at a time it was easy to forget about him and just go on with our lives. We never really had much to worry about. He made good money and we never wanted for anything. We had clothes enough for three different families and we always had food in the house. We had it pretty good that first half of the year we lived in Wisconsin. But we remembered him well enough when he came through that front door, after being gone for a month, and started yelling and ordering us to do this or that. He always had something to complain about. It didn't matter if it was the house not being clean enough or how much money my mother spent while he was on the road. It almost felt like a boot camp. At any moment I expected him to hand me a toothbrush and tell me to clean the bathroom with it. After doing this for so long, you would have thought that my younger siblings would expect it and not be so excited about his coming home. Yet, every time my mother would announce that she was going to pick him up from the truck stop, they grew excited and would wait by the front window to see our van pull up the driveway. They may have been expecting kisses and hugs every time, but not one of us ever got that from him, unless he was purposely doing it to antagonise us. I never expected it from him, though. I dreaded it every time he came home. I didn't want him there! He hated me! He may not have shown affection to my siblings, but he certainly acted as if he cared about them. I was such a disappointment to him, I guess. He expected the best from his children. He expected them all to be healthy, respectful and obedient. I was, unfortunately, "d. none of the above". When I was younger, I had always wanted to impress him. I wanted to show him that I was great and just as good at things as Celeste. He never would see that, though. He favoured Celeste. I would never be as wonderful. But that was only because Celeste had a way of kissing up to people to get her way. I was much more demanding. I could never be something I was not, even if it did mean getting what I wanted. I had my own ways of gaining whatever it was I had on my mind to get. I often would sit in my mother's room, listening to the radio and watching out the window, dreading the moment the van would pull in. I didn't want him to come home. His homecoming would mean my punishment. He would come through that door and send the other kids to play. Then he would come in his room, see me and start yelling. It was my fault this time. Maybe I did deserve his harsh words. After all, it was partially my choice not to go to that horrible high school where I wasn't accepted or liked. Normally, being unaccepted by other teenagers wouldn't bother me, but I hated Wisconsin so much that I refused to even make an attempt. As long as we lived there, I would not graduate school. I hated it so much. I sat in the room, my arms wrapped around my legs, my head resting on my knees. I stared out the window, on the verge of crying. I could almost feel his wrath, already. I could almost hear the words he would scream at me. A storm was starting outside. It was just days away from Thanksgiving and it was snowing heavily outside. The snow was beautiful to most people, but to me it was just a blanket of ice that killed the flowers, grass and any other plants beneath it. It was dreadful to me. Or maybe I just hated it because it was part of this wretched state that I hated. Whatever the reason, at the moment it had me trapped in. I couldn't leave the house and escape my punishment for even a few more short hours. I tensed as I watched my parents pull into the drive. I could tell, even from the second floor window, that he was already yelling at her. Oh, great, I thought, the kitchen sink is half full of dishes. Now we'll both get it even worse. I glared down from the window, almost wishing that he could see me. As they walked up the path that lead to the front door, my mother stopped in the middle and began flinging her arms in the air dramatically, as if yelling at him about something. Then I heard her scream "I hate you!" and rush into the house. My father stood there, his eyes following her into the house. I worried for Mama's safety for those eyes, even from a second-storey window, were deadly. He followed her into the house in an eerie, calm manner. I heard the door slam a second time, telling me that he was no longer even pretending to be calm. He had acted that way for the neighbours. But now he was in the house and more than ready to do battle. I could hear the screaming, now. It came up through the floor to assault my ears. The worst part about the fighting was the fact that it was, yet again, about me. I tried my hardest not to cry. If I cried he would have what he wanted. He wanted to hurt me. So, forcing myself not to cry, I listened to the battle make its way up the steps. "It is your fault, Karen. If you wouldn't give that little bitch her way all of the time she'd actually go to school! But, no, you believe her when she says she doesn't feel good, she can't breathe right and you let her stay home! You're so damned stupid and gullible!" My father's voice kept coming closer and closer and for the life of me, I couldn't help but let the tears break free of their prison behind my eyes. I buried my face in my knees, wishing it not to happen yet knowing it was inevitable. "She doesn't pretend to have those breathing problems, Michael Parish! Your daughter has been sick her entire life! It has nothing to do with being gullible, she is sick. You just choose not to pay attention to her! What do you care if she can't breathe, especially when she goes out into that ice cold weather outside? Are you the one who spends nights at the hospital with her!?" The door was shoved open just as Mama got the last word out of her mouth. My father seemed not to worry or care about anything she had just thrown at him. Instead he looked at me, his black eyes looking at me as if he wanted to choke the life out of me. I wanted to shrink away. I wanted to find a way out of the room and run! But I was never the type of person to run from an argument. I was brave and I took the cruelty, and managed to give it back. "You had better be ready in the morning, because you're going to school whether you can breathe or not. You can't give me the 'I can't breathe' routine. I don't believe you for a second." He did not raise his voice to me, though I had. He sounded so evil in this calm, authoritative voice. "I'm not her and I will not sit by and let you ruin your education. I don't feel like going to jail because you don't go to school. I honestly don't care if you become nothing but scum. But if you don't plan on being scum at this moment because I won't be criticised because I have a worthless daughter." Any fear that I had when he walked into the room flew out the window. I was up on my feet so fast it, near literally, made my own head spin. I stood on the bed and was able to make eye contact with him without having to look up, but rather having to look down. My hands were on my hips and I glared down at him from my perch on the bed. "You don't have to believe me, Daddy dearest. I don't really care if you believe me or not. I'll never be scum, not like you. You may think you're high and mighty just because you keep a roof over our heads, foods in our mouths, and clothes on our backs but you are worthless scum as far as I'm concerned! You have the nerve to go around and treat your family the way you do while we all have to pretend we're a happy little family when somebody steps through the front door or we meet somebody on the street. Now, Daddy dear, tell me, who pretends the most!?" He didn't answer me. He just stood there, glaring at me and shaking his head in disgust. I decided to give him the answer. "You are one to push off judgment on me for pretending. I never fake a sickness! But you always fake the role of the good father. The one who takes his children out and has a dandy ol' time with them!" My own sarcasm rang in my ears. Sarcasm was my one true weapon. It was my sword against the world. "But do we ever have a completely fun time!? Of course not! I certainly never do, because at some point during our wonderful family outings you find a way to punish me for something or other. You find a way to chastise me when I have done nothing wrong. You always find something wrong with me and I'm tired of it!" "You need to shut up and you need to shut up now, Phoenix." His voice was deadly. "If you don't I will beat the hell out of you." "Go right ahead and do it!" I screamed. "It's not like you've never done it before!" "Phoenix!" my mother gasped. She finally said something and made an attempt towards stopping my father from taking that one fateful step forward. We both knew he would do just as he threatened. He would smack me, pinch me, scratch me and the finally be done with me. During that time all I could do was cower when he hit me. "Get out of here, Phoenix," my mother said to me over her shoulder as she vainly held my father back. I did as she said. If I didn't her playing as shield wouldn't last long. I couldn't help crying as I left. I couldn't stop myself from wondering what I had ever done to make him hate me so much! I didn't think I was so horrible. But maybe I was wrong. If my own father hated me then I was, more than likely more horrible than I even knew. When my father was gone I slept with my mother. There weren't enough rooms in our house and I didn't have a bed so I slept with her. But since he was there I had to sleep out on the living room floor. I lay there, long after everyone had fallen asleep, thinking about everything that had happened. I just couldn't seem to figure out a reason why he hated me. I could have blamed it on the fact that I didn't go to school very often, but that was an impossible reason. He hated me long before we had moved to Wisconsin and I stopped going to school. So, what could it be? Soon, my eyes were too tired to stay open and my brain was so tired it had a block up to stop my thought process. I knew it was late. The sun was probably just waiting below the hills for the roosters of the world to wake it up. Wait for them to make their morning call so it could rise and rise above the world to give us its light. What haunted my thoughts just as sleep claimed me was why didn't I ever get to see a completely sunny day? I didn't get much sleep. About four hours later my father was forcing me to get up. I didn't know why. School was cancelled that day due to all of the snow. Yet, he was making me wake up. "Why?" I demanded as I sat up from my makeshift bed. I groaned and rubbed the small of my back. I hated sleeping on the floor. "Because you're lazy and you don't need to sleep all day," he answered and kicked at me again. "Ow! I'm getting up! Stop kicking me!" I yelled. "Is anyone else even up? What time is it?" I looked up at the clock on the wall next to the TV and groaned again. It was barely seven in the morning! "Nobody else is up, but they don't need to be. You're the problem. You're the one that never goes to school and you get to sleep in all of the time. They never do. So, get your ass up! You're going with me today!" I shook my head as I rose to my feet. I stretched out and pain shot through my back. "If we're going somewhere today can we go out and get me some sort of bed? I have nothing to sleep on when I sleep down here!" I complained. He looked down at the blanket and pillow on the floor that I called a bed when he was home. "Yeah," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe we'll get you something to sleep on. Can't get you a bed, though. Another one wouldn't fit in this house." Then he looked at me. "Get dressed," he ordered and went upstairs. I did as he said and within a half-hour we had left the house. First he decided we'd go to breakfast. It was one of those times in my life where I was relaxed around my father. I wasn't getting into any trouble and he was actually doing something with me. He was talking to me as if I was actually human! I took advantage of it. I knew that sometime during this day he would only start up again on one of his tirades and I'd be caught right in the middle of it. After we left the restaurant we went out to the hardware store. He wanted to get some supplies so he could do some work in the "sun room". It was a room in our house off to the side of the kitchen. The walls of the room were made of glass to let in sun but the floor was hardwood with some place in it rotting. The ceiling was completely starting to cave in and my father wanted to make the room look nice again. When we left there we went, to my surprise, to the pound. He wanted to see about adopting a dog because it had been so long since we'd had one. I had to admit, I did miss having a dog. Unfortunately, the shelter wouldn't give us one because we hadn't lived in Wisconsin a full year. My father left complaining all the way out, making sure to be loud enough for them to hear. Neither one of us understood what living here for a year had to do with getting an animal from the pound and saving it from an inevitable death. By the time we were finished with breakfast, Home Depot, and the pound it was nearing noon. We stopped at a McDonald's and ate. Then he stopped by a bookstore in town. "Pick out a couple of books for you and your mother. I know you two haven't gotten any new books since the last time I was home." I was surprised he would buy me anything. Maybe he didn't hate me after all! I did as he said and chose two books. That day he also bought Mama about six aromatherapy candles, some of her Vanilla Fields perfume that she absolutely loved, and a new comforter and sheet set for her bed. He also bought me a "chairbed". It was just a little cushion that was in the shape of a small chair and folded out into a bed type thing. It had zoo animals all over it and was obviously for a small child but I really didn't care. I finally had something to sleep on. When we finally got home it was late afternoon. He gave Mama everything he'd bought her and showed her what he had bought me. Everything said yesterday had been forgotten. My father had forgiven us for anything we had said and Mama and I had forgiven him. That's usually how it worked. One minute we hated him next minute we all got along and we were happy and laughing again. I didn't understand it but I was happy for the moments when we didn't hate each other. I guess I accepted our way of life. I knew the bad moments would happen, they happened more often than the good. But the good moments would come and all would be forgiven again and we'd go on with our lives. It seemed as if God wanted to tease me, though. It was as if he was dangling happiness on a string in front of me and just when I thought I'd gotten a hold of it he'd yank it away from me and I'd be left there, trying to reach it again. I would always try to grab the happiness that seemed to be right in front of me the entire time. I just couldn't seem to grasp it fully and hang onto it. The day had seemed to go on without me getting into any trouble. That was until he started again that night. I knew it was impossible to go a full day without his constant complaints about me. He just had to say something and ruin it all over again! "Don't be too happy, Phoenix. I'll be here after Thanksgiving and once Monday rolls around you are going to school whether you like it or not," he announced. I deflated like a balloon that had been full of air but never tied at the ends to hold that air in. "I'll gladly go to school. I like going, despite what you think. But you don't know me. You don't even try to know me!" I don't know why but I started crying. Why!? Why did he have to do this!? And, of course, I was lying about liking school. I hated that school with a passion. I had been sick for the first month or so we had lived here and I still did get sick a lot but I could go to school. I just wouldn't because I hated it so much. I just didn't want him to be right about me. I hated when he was right. So I continued to argue. "I do know you, though. You're my daughter. I know you hate school. I'm not stupid! I see when you're healthy enough to get your ass out of bed and go but you say you're sick. I'm tired of that and I'm tired of your mother allowing you to get away with it!" The sound of his voice was really beginning to annoy me. "Phoenix, just stop," Mama said before I could even get the words out to argue back. "Please, no fighting. Just stop!" she begged, her eyes pleading. I literally had to bite down on my tongue to stop myself from saying anything else. I got up to leave just as the phone rang. I answered it and, if my father hadn't been in the room that was next to the kitchen, I would have shut it back off. But he would have heard the beep the phone made and would demand to know who it had been. It was Zack was on the other end of the line. "What do you want?" I whispered viciously into the phone. I needed to take my anger out on something or someone and at the moment I didn't care whom. Besides, Zack seemed like the perfect person to shove off my anger to. "I just wanted to talk. What's wrong with you?" he asked. He actually sounded concerned and that was nearly enough to make me calm down. I didn't answer him right away and made my way up the stairs, thanking God for putting the man on earth who had created the cordless phone. "Don't worry about it," I finally answered. "It's nothing for you to worry about, so why do you care?" I snapped. "Whatever made you angry I know, for a fact, that it is not my fault this time. You can stop being rude to me at any time now." He was obviously annoyed by my attitude. "Well, you have given me plenty of reason to be angry in the past. Besides, if you're so annoyed then why don't you just hang up on me?" I was being rude. There was no way he was going to stop me from having my attitude. His voice was softer when he answered me. "Because I know something happened and I want to be your friend and, at least, try to help you through it. We used to be friends." His concern about my problems made me want to cry. But I held back the tears because of his last comment. It wasn't my fault we weren't friends any longer! He had no right to say that! "Yes, we used to be friends. That is until you decided to ignore me and make future plans with my mother," I said sarcastically. "How many times do I have to apologise for that?" he asked, becoming frustrated with my refusal to forgive him about my mother and his online romance. Online or offline, it had still been wrong and it had still hurt me. "As many times as you like. I doubt I'll ever forgive you," I said nonchalantly. Let him think I didn't care. Though I did. I cared a lot more than he would ever know. Showing him my misery wouldn't get me anywhere. I didn't want his pity. I didn't want him to care about me out of sympathy. That would be exactly what would happen if I let my guard down and showed him just how miserable I truly was. I was tired of it all. Tired of people only pretending to care. Where was there someone who honestly did care? That person seemed to be close to not existing. I would have given up all hope of a trustworthy person if I hadn't run into someone who was willing to give me the friendship that I needed. Victoria Landyn was an amazing person. That was all there was to it. I met her online, too. Only this was different than any other online friendship I'd ever had. Victoria was three years older than me and needed someone as much as I did. Her life had had its ups and downs; she had gotten into the party crowd and had become a drug addict and an alcoholic and then managed to get herself out of it all. She was seventeen years old when I met her. I loved it. I finally had a friend that was truly my friend. Though she did talk to my mother she was my friend. She didn't forget me because someone older and "better" was talking to her. I sometimes wanted to cry because I was so happy that I had someone to run to when things became bad and unbearable. She wasn't very fond of Zack; that was for sure. She said that he had a bad attitude and if he could easily ignore me because of my mother he was an idiot. Suddenly I was able to forget about my feelings for Zack. I began to ignore him and this time I didn't start talking to him again. My mother stopped talking to him, too. Zachary Brackford was out of our lives and he could stay out of mine. I didn't need someone who wanted her. I was happy without him Victoria was right; he only made me miserable. Victoria and I made our little online world fun. We would go into chat rooms to torment people. We would laugh and have ourselves a grand ol' time. Though we were never able to find anyone who would willingly talk to us past one night. We didn't really care. We had each other. Real friendship was something neither one of us had ever had and now that we had it we were going to make sure it wasn't going to go anywhere. She became my best friend in every way. We sent pictures of ourselves back and forth and it was almost as if she was really there. That it wasn't just online. I was content and happy that when things got rough and tough I had someone who would help me stay strong. I wasn't alone and that was the most wonderful feeling in the world. We had lived in Wisconsin for about six months when my mother's nephew, my cousin, Josh came to live with us. I hadn't really known him except for the few times he had visited my family with his mother. My mother's sister Kelly was far too caught up in herself and Josh still had a year of high school left. So, she sent him to live with our grandmother, Lillie, who said that she couldn't handle a teenager. I talked to him and Grandma Lillie online and it turned out that it was Josh's idea to come live with us. I was excited, finally, more family! I introduced Josh to Victoria online. Josh fell for her the moment he met her. Which was ridiculous. Victoria wasn't like that and she did not like him. We would make fun of him. She said that she didn't like the way he treated me. She said he acted as if I was "more than family". "There is just something about the way he talks to you, Phe," she told me as we talked on the phone the night before he arrived. "It's almost like he has a crush on you. It freaks me out. Be careful around him," she warned. "I'll be careful. I'm careful around everyone, Victory. You of all people should know that." I always called Victoria Victory and she always called me Phe. People always thought we had strange names when they met us. We always used our nicknames to introduce ourselves to other people. She sighed. "I do know that. I'm just worried about you. He seems weird to me." I agreed with her and promised her that I'd be extra careful. We finally got off the phone around four in the morning. The next day my parents left to pick up Josh around seven in the morning. I was left in charge of my younger siblings, who seemed to grow horns once my father left. They were innocent angels around him but once he left they were demons. They were especially bratty for me! Lila and Celeste were really the worst. Celeste was in her teens and since Lila was nine and almost "double numbers", as she called it, they thought they didn't have to listen to me at all. Which only got on my nerves. Andrew was six and Katie was seven and they were pretty easy to deal with. Celeste was good for the first two hours my parents were gone and then she decided to be cruel and start her usual taunts. "Look at Phoenix! She's so fat and ugly! God! No wonder she's never had a boyfriend. No wonder boys never pay attention to her! You better dig yourself and hole to hide in, sister dear!" she laughed. I was on the attack instantly. "At least I'm not a little slut like you!" I screamed at her. Her laughter stopped immediately. She glared at me and, if looks could kill, I would have been six feet under. "I hate you! I hate you! I wish you were dead! I wish Daddy would just beat you to death! You'd deserve it!" She was suddenly charging me. I was taken off guard when she collided with me and we fell to the ground. We rolled around on the ground, her pulling my hair and kicking me in the side. She had the advantage of height. But I had the advantage of strength. I was a lot stronger than Celeste when I was ready for the attack. I pulled her off of me by her hair and threw her away from me. She came charging at me again, only this time I was ready. I grabbed her by the hair with both of my hands. She tried punching at me but I threw her against the couch. She screamed and came back at me punching and kicking. I started clawing her. Lila, Katie, and Andrew stood there, their eyes wide. Katie was crying and Andrew was trying to comfort her. I thrust Celeste away from me one more time, only this time she fell against the stairs. She let out a scream so loud I thought the people two blocks away from us could here. But it was easy to see why. She had landed the wrong way. Her arm was broken. "LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID!" she shrilled. "My arm is broken! Daddy will get you for this now!" "I'm sorry, Celeste. I didn't mean to break your arm, I swear! Please! Don't tell on me!" I begged her. I did not want to get into trouble. I never meant to break her arm and this wouldn't have happened had she not said such mean and nasty things to me. I wouldn't tell her that, not if I wanted her to side with me and make up a story about how she broke her arm. "It hurts, Phoenix!" she wailed. "It hurts so bad!" "It will be all right. I'll call an ambulance." I got up to do that and she wailed even louder. "I hate hospitals! Don't make me go to no hospital!" she screamed at me. "It needs to be put into a cast. You have got to go to the hospital, Celeste!" I was becoming irritated with her and trying my best not to be. I needed to stay calm if I wanted her to not be angry with me. "But it will hurt when they put a cast on it, won't it?" My sister acted much younger than she actually was. I felt as if I was trying to keep a five-year-old calm. That's when I got the idea. "It may hurt, Celeste, but if you allow me to call an ambulance I'll make sure Daddy doesn't know what happened today." I spoke to her as if we were becoming allies against the same cause, when, in actuality, it was my fault. "Really? You won't tell him? Okay! Call an ambulance!" she exclaimed, the pain in her arm forgotten for a little while. When the paramedics arrived and realised that we were all there by ourselves, they didn't know what to do. They never got to make a choice, though, because just as they loaded Celeste up into the ambulance my father drove up. Fear snaked up my spine at the sight of the van pulling up. My heart pounded fiercely through my veins, making my head begin to ache. "What happened!?" Mama cried. Her door had flown open before the van had even come to a stop. Which my father began to cuss her out for. I had to make up a story and quick. Which I was able to do. "Celeste and I were wrestling around in the living and I accidentally knocked her into the stairs too hard. Her arm is broken." There. I hadn't exactly lied. It really had been an accident. "Oh my God! Is she all right?" She ran to the ambulance and the paramedics let her in to see Celeste whose wailing began again, loud and clear, the moment she saw my mother. Please, don't contradict my story. Please, please, please. I mentally begged God to get me out of this one, to save me just this once. My father ignored me as he went from the van to the ambulance that carried my melodramatic sister. My cousin Josh got out with a duffel bag over his shoulder. He raised his eyebrows and looked at me questioningly. I decided I would tell him what really happened later. Right now I watched the ambulance apprehensively, feeling unusually weak. I just knew she would tell everything. That thought made my stomach do flip-flops. I knew the moment my father stepped out that she had told everything that had really happened. His anger showed in his black eyes as he looked at me. His glare was deadly and filled with promises of a later-to-come punishment. He didn't speak to me as he got back into the van to follow the ambulance to the hospital. As soon as both were gone from sight I began to cry. I ran into the house with tears pouring down my cheeks. "What happened?" Josh demanded. I shook my head and wiped vainly at the non-stop tears of fear. When I was finally able to catch my breath, I told him. "It was an accident, Josh. I didn't mean to but she made me so angry!" I moaned. "Now I'm going to be in trouble because I couldn't keep my hands to myself, yet again." The look on Josh's face wasn't very comforting. It was sympathetic. He knew what was to come from my father wouldn't be a strict lecture. It would be worse. I had harmed his princess. "I wish I could help you, Phoenix. But we both know that if I even began to defend you today he'd send me back to Grandma within the hour." Which he was completely correct about. Nobody ever defended me and should they start now the man would have a royal fit. While my other siblings left to the school to play on the snow hill, before it melted completely, that had been formed there, I waited, miserably, for my father to return. How was I going to make it through this? I didn't think I could. Within an hour I had taken three breathing treatments. "Calm down, Phoenix, it will be all right," Josh tried to comfort. I sent daggers from my eyes. "Don't tell me to calm down. It's not you on the receiving end of my father's wrath, if you recall." My nerves were on edge and he was dangling from my last one. He was definitely annoying me. Three hours later my parents came home. A cast was wrapped around Celeste's arm and she had been drugged up by pain medication. She didn't say a word as she made her way to her bedroom. My mother also went upstairs. She sent me a look of pity before making her way up there. She must have been yelled at herself, even though she hadn't even been there. I was angry that he could blame anything on her when she was with him the entire time. As if she knew that something like this would happen. I was also angry that she would leave me to deal with him completely on my own. My anger helped the fear pumping through my veins as fast as lightning. I was able to ignore it. I wouldn't show him that I was afraid of him. I wouldn't go down that way. Not now, not ever. I turned my eyes toward him. He stood in the kitchen doorway looking like death himself. I could feel his black gaze burning me from the short distance between us. "What the Hell were you thinking?" he growled. "Oh, yes, Daddy dearest, I planned on breaking my sister's arm. It was the first thing I thought of doing the moment I knew I'd be left in charge." No longer was I afraid. The fear disappeared the second I had to face him. He angered me more than he scared me. Smack! I was sure the neighbours had heard the loud noise as he backhanded me across the face. No tears. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't! It was so hard to hold the tears back and keep the tremor out of my voice. So painfully complicated to bravely look him in the eye and looks undaunted by his huge hand that had sent my mind reeling. I should have been ready for it. Yet, I never was ready for his abuse. "Go ahead!" I cried. "Smack me! It won't change anything. She still has a broken arm. I hope you feel better!" I screamed and turned to run upstairs to my mother. He roughly grabbed me by the arm and stared me in the eyes. "Don't even think about talking to me like that and having it go unpunished," he snapped. "I always expect to be punished, Father. I expect nothing less from a brute like you. In fact, I hate it when you even bother coming home to us because I know that there is never a truly happy moment when you're around." I was so deadly calm when I said this. But my honesty got to him even more. Once again the back of his hand came in contact with my face. This time it was harder and I fell to the floor. I didn't bother even rubbing my cheek or giving him the satisfaction of seeing that he had put me through any pain. I'd cry when he wasn't around. "Get out of my face, right now. I don't want to even look at you." Suddenly, I felt like laughing. And that is exactly what I did. "You don't want to look at me?" I asked incredulously. I laughed even harder. "Trust me, Dad, the feeling is completely mutual!" Then I ran upstairs and into my mother's room. I lay across her bed and began to bawl. As I cried myself to sleep I couldn't help but wonder if it would ever end. Would he ever just leave me alone? What had I done to deserve what he did to me? I fell asleep with these troubling questions on my mind.
