2 It's getting Dark in Here

I focus more on my grandparents, completely ignoring my dad's face. We both refuse to look at his wife while nana is talking about mom. Nana is talking about going on a vacation this summer and wanting me to go with them. My heart is racing and I am too nervous to look at my dad. If I appear too anxious he will say no immediately, but if I play it just right, he may say yes. 'Please allow me to go, I've earned a vacation away from this shitty home' crosses my mind.

Nana and Papa have a beach home that they go to every summer. When mom was alive we would go there with them and stay. Dad would stay home and work while I had my mom all to myself. Those summers were my best memory. Surfing with the locals, fishing with my Papa, going to cooking classes with my mom and Nana. On occasion they would spice things up and we would travel to other states and their national parks before making our way to the beach. Those were always longer vacations, once we stayed away the entire summer.

Now that mom is gone, I realize that dad didn't visit us even on his day's off because summer's meant he could play house with his mistress. I don't understand how he could prefer this woman to my mom. She is crass, vulgar, and loud during their sexual time. I swear she gets louder so that I can hear them. I hate to talk about a woman's looks, but she is night and day from my mom, who was bright and bubbly. I know I'm biased, but its also true.

I bring my thoughts back to the conversation, too scared to voice an opinion on the summer vacation idea, so I decide to give an ambiguous answer. "That sounds nice Nana, I'll let you know later" I answer in hopes that this will appease my dad and give me an opportunity to go. I still refrain from looking at him, tbh, I don't want to jinx anything. At my words my grandparents look over at my dad, mention how it's been two years since mom died and that I had yet to go on vacation with them. Papa plays his trump card mentioning how they won't be around much longer, the thing is, papa's trump card means nothing to my asshat dad. Dude is heartless.

My grandparents finish their tea, and mention how late it is. I walk them to their car, give them a hug and a kiss on the cheek and watch as they drive down the block until they turn right and leave my sight. I head towards the house in hopes that the asshat is not upset with anything. My hand is on the knob when I hear my step-bitch-mom complaining about me to my dad, and going as far as to mention my mom. She will only be satisfied once I leave or give in to her demands, and I refuse to have sex with her...and I still have one more year of school, then I turn eighteen and can legally leave this hell hole. I turn the knob and enter the foyer. I try sneak in, but that's not happening.

Dad is looking over at me, but he doesn't seem mad or upset, more like he is ignoring her.

"Hey son, come over, I need to talk with you" I feel a nervous jittering in my stomach as I walk over to the couch. The last time he called me son was...two years ago. "I got something to show you, it's a good one" he continues, with a strange look on his face. Something is off, he's acting weird. "Hey Donna, watch with us, you'll like this film." I know for a damn fact that he has never asked us to watch a movie together. I'm flipping through tonight's events, but I can't pinpoint anything concrete, but I can't shake off this feeling of doom.

Donna and I sit back down, me on one side of the couch, her on the other, my dad moved in between. He never sits in the middle cushion of the couch, he prefers his recliner. My doom and gloom gut feeling is getting worse. My dad pressed play on the remote and the tv screen turned into my bedroom. My bad feeling turned worse and my step mom's face went white. My brain feels like it's stuttering, when did he install a camera in my room?

On the screen we see her enter my room barely dressed in a thong and bra. I'm asleep in the bed and roll over when she sits on the bed. As a family, we are watching my step-bitch-mom grab my privates and begin flapping me off as I am trying to get her off of me. My face is covered in shame as I am humiliated. I can't even stand up, my legs feel weak and my stomach is hurting more than it ever has before. This was from last night. This was the very event that disrupted my sleep and caused me to feel sluggish and out of sorts all day. This is a continuation of a horrible nightmare.

I don't know when he installed a camera in room, and this could literally be any night that he worked late, but seeing the boxers I am wearing, and the shirt I have on, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to know when it happened. I am trying to find my voice, but nothing is coming out. I look over at the stepmom and her eyes are glazed over-I am sure she is feeling the same kind of fear that I am. My dad is watching the tv with rapt attention, barely paying us any attention.

This scenario is making me feel as if I've done something wrong, but I haven't. I fought her off every time she molested me. In fact, if I was just a little stronger, had just a little more muscle...but instead I have a runner's thin frame, and yes, I have muscles, but this bitch is large.

We watched her leave the room and my dad turned off the tv. He then turned his dead eyes on me. My mouth is dry, but I feel tears leaking down my face.

Again I tried to find my voice, but nothing would come out, I don't even know what I would say in any case. Like a fish out of water my mouth kept opening and closing, step-bitch was sitting there comatose. He watched me flounder for a bit when his face turned red. I saw his fist raise up, before I could block it or move I felt my jaw shatter. The pain was intense. I see spots in my vision as he hits me again. I finally move my hands over my head, but it's pointless.

Dad was a big man, worked in construction his whole life, even now that he owns his own construction business, he still goes out and works. He says it's to keep him in the know. At 58 year old he's not out of shape, he's in his prime. The laugh lines around his eyes and the sprinkling of grey in his hair creates a reliable and steady impression. But if you only know his outer appearance and judge him based on that, then you would lose every time. Dad is a fighter, always has been. When his left fist shattered my jaw, his right fist busted against my temple. He followed through by standing up and hitting me over and over again, until I felt myself fall to the carpet. My vision is red, but luckily I don't feel any pain anymore. I try to move my hands over my head again, but they won't move. I finally passed out, blissful sleep.