Chapter 13: Memories

Looking at the man that cause me so much heartache and pain throughout my childhood. The eyes that hold so much hatred since I can remember. The traumatizing memories I buried in the graveyard of my mind. But no matter how strong and fearless I made my exterior self to be, those memories creep up on me, taunting me in my dreams.

I have never been a person to fear the typical "monsters" per-say. They exist, but they are not fury but can be hairy. They don't live under your bed or in the closet, but they can be under the same roof as you. I know this all too well because for years I lived with a monster. In fact, I loved him as any child would their father.

My monster didn't have sharp claws. The only thing sharp about him was the broken beer bottle that made this gash. My monster wasn't blue, green, or purple. Blue was his unlucky color, green reminded him of puke, and he didn't even like purple; That's why he decorated my body with those colors. My monster didn't come out and scare me after I had fallen asleep. No, my monster only scared me when he stumbled home. My monster gave me bad dreams too though, so I guess there is that. I didn't have the luxury of defeating my monster as a child and growing up as a confident human being. No, my monster was brutal he made me leave.

Nine Years Ago

How was I to know? I was so young. Naïve. Innocent. What did I do to deserve such treatment? It was another late night, and my father wasn't home. It has been over a year of my father's neglect, but today was different. I heard the backdoor creak open and that disgusting smell I grew to hate so much invaded my nostrils. I watched as he stumbled from the kitchen to the living room. I was only nine years old, but I knew something was wrong. I tried helping him to the sofa, but he shoved me away. "Keep your fucking hands off me. You are disgrace. A curse. A fucking plague that came into my life and took away everything I ever loved."

I didn't know what those words meant, but I felt a pang in my heart. Why does he look so broken? So empty? I ran to the kitchen to get him a glass of water "Here you go dad this will help you feel better?" what he did next was unexpected.

He pushed me to the ground and threw the glass right next to my aching body some of the shattered glass pierced through my skin "The only thing that will make me feel better is if your life can replace the life of my wife and son. God how I wish I never accepted that deal." He rubbed his hands down his face sobbing into his hands "It should have been you!" he yelled and then he looked at me with so much anger.

Something told me to run, get out of there, it's not safe, but I couldn't move. He pulled me up by my hair and held me in the air. I kicked my little legs trying to free myself. I screamed for him to let me go but he just smiled, that was the first time I have seen him smile. He didn't do much to me that night, but as time went on his rage got worse and so did his beatings. One thing that remained the same was the smile that etched onto his face. It was the only time I saw him smile. Does my pain make him happy?

It was until she was in middle school, I learned that what my father was doing to me wasn't right or health. It was Health Class, topic of discussion, types of abuse. My teacher talked about how the abused sacrifice their smile, their happiness, their life to their abuser or abusers thinking if they just endure it will stop. It is an unrealistic sacrifice. Most victims realize that their abuser will never change when it's nearly impossible to be free or it is already too late. They have become dependent on their abuser. They fear freedom.

I didn't want that for myself. I couldn't see a future of myself being caged like a captive bird and displayed like a pet when I should soar the world with my wings spread catching the shift of the wind.

It was another usual night. I took a shower after spending hours cleaning the house and doing my homework. My father was out on another one of his late-night adventures. I grew accustomed to being alone. I no longer question his whereabouts I honestly stop caring. I sighed hearing the door slam shut. He came home drunk again this time a woman accompanied him. "Livia, get my guess something to drink and make it quick."

"Do it yourself she is your guess." I snapped back.

He glared at me "What did you say?"

I don't know where the courage came from maybe it was because I had finally reached my breaking point "You heard what I said? How long will you be like this? How long will you drown yourself in this pitiful sorrow? How long? HOW LONG? ANSWER ME!" I felt a sharp sting across my face.

"Who are you to question me you whore?" he sneered.

I chuckled sarcastically "Look in the mirror maybe you will find your answer."

I looked her up and down. What right does she have to judge me? Her face was caked with makeup. A smoky eye, unnecessarily large false lashes, and a bold red lip. She was wearing a tight fitted red dress that barely covered her ass and unreasonably tall high heels. "Is that what happened to you. Judging by the skimpy clothes you're wearing; I say your parents didn't raise you well and my father calls me the whore."

She jumped up from her seat and stormed over to me "Do you think you are special. With a pretty face like yours it's only a matter of time before your laying on your back for different men."

I smirked "I am not a mirror. I am not you. Don't speak as if you see yourself in me. I am thirteen years old, and I know my worth. You look like you are in your late thirties, but you sold yourself so much you are now worthless. You suit my father well."

"LIVIA! How dare you speak to her that way? You need to be taught a lesson." The last thing I remember was my father dragging me to my room. He beat me and left me to die all for a woman who will be in another man's bed by tomorrow. I don't know how long I have been laying here, but I somehow mustered up the strength to run out of the house ignoring the two peopled laid up on the couch calling out my name. I kept running and running and running to wherever my legs will take me. The saddest part today is my birthday. Happy birthday to pitiful little me.

I smiled looking up to sky "Never again. I will never let another person hurt me ever again." I made this vow the same day I met the eight people they gave me the strength to keep that vow.

I'm not that child anymore; I grew up many years ago because the man kneeling before me. Despite all he has done to me in some ways my life improved because of him. Because of him I have thick skin. Because of him I learned how to be strong and not show weakness. Because of him I don't shed tears over useless things. Because of him I was encouraged to become a better me. Because of him I look forward to the future and work hard in everything I do.

One day I will be a parent. I will be a better parent than my own I vow to be everything they weren't and give what they did not - security and unconditional love. I hope and pray that I will have the strength to the funnel the love I longed for to my children.