Untitled~

It started when I was three. It happened on my new little mermaid sheet. That sheet had five little droplets of blood. I counted them, when he left I counted them. He left the light on, told me I looked disgusting and that I should clean myself off and that if I was smart I wouldn’t tell anyone about this. The thing is, he knew I wouldn’t, he made the consequences extremely clear. While it happened I didn’t fight, didn’t even yell. I sat alone with the light on when he left and felt the last bit of childhood happiness escape from me I knew I was alone and I was scared.

You tell me your secrets and I will tell you a lie. My secrets aren’t the same as your secrets, your secrets may be scary or embarrassing but mine are terrifying and horrific. The fact of the matter is that even when I whisper my secrets to myself in the silence of the night I get scared and feel sick to my stomach and if I have had ten year to live with this and I still can’t handle it then how can you handle it. Most of all how would my mom be able to handle it?

When he left I heard nothing but the pounding of his footsteps as he walked away and then his door shut. I laid back and stared at my ceiling, letting the silence of the night washing over my body. This has been his routine for ten years. Not exactly this but this in some degree the only difference about the last five years of it is that my mom moved out, she met a man who “could treat her right”, and my father met a woman two years ago and I thought that maybe when she came his torture would stop but she is druggie and an alcoholic so the only thing that changed when she came is that sometimes he isn’t drunk, sometimes he is high. When he is high it’s even worse.

I can hear my father snoring now, the sound somewhat calming because I know I am safe for now. I sit up and walk quietly, holding my breath, into the bath room. I look in the tiny mirror above the sink and my father was right, I do look disgusting. I look away and look at my body the blue and purple covers my who left hip, and the yellow covers my stomach. I am truly disgusting but who is he to say anything, after all he made me this way.

I turn the shower on and adjust the temperature. I step in and feel the perfect water hit my body. I scrub myself of him. I don’t want his scent on me. I don’t want the feeling of his heaviness to weigh me down anymore. After the shower and I dress for bed I lie on the floor and tilt my head back and see the moon. It is full. I’m not. I’m empty and broken and the worst part is that when I go to my mom’s home tomorrow she won’t see it, and if she does, she won’t do anything about it.