12

One night, my dad came into my room, he was really drunk, more than usual. I started, my eyes turning cold at the memory of my father.
I continued anyways, not looking up. I was the only one home, my brother was at this party and my mum had ran away to her boyfriend’s house last week. My mind went back to the day she left, her expression still ingrained in my mind. Guilt, sadness, and fear.
She had apologized everyday after the incident, but I’d never forgive her. She knew what she was doing as soon as she decided to leave my brother and I on our own.
My mother was a coward, that’s why she married her boyfriend, who had served in the army before. I’m pretty certain she only did it for the feeling of security and having someone to take care of her. Something she had never been able to do herself…
Anyways, he came into my room and started yelling at me. He was always yelling at me, saying I wasn’t his daughter, calling me a monster, just anything really to get me to cry and breakdown. But that day, he took it too far. I took in a deep breath.
He would usually leave me alone after getting a few slaps in. I opened my mouth to continue, not realizing how easily the words were flowing out of my mouth to this stranger, but was interrupted by a loud bang.
I jumped in my seat and looked up to see the kidnapper looking distraught and… enraged ?
That fucking bastard. No man should ever lay his hands on a girl like that. You should have sent his ass to jail, regardless of his connection to you. He said, his eyes slightly red, burning with intense emotion. My eyes fell upon his right hand which he was trying to hide behind him. It kind of reminded me of a young kid who was hiding his report card from his parents…
I was a bit taken back by that. I assumed he had punched something in anger, and wasn’t sure how to respond.
Clearing my throat, I continued on. Well in the beginning I never tried to fight back, and it was simply from my own fear. My brother would always be there to protect me but it’d always end up in a huge fist-fight, most of the time resulting in trips to the hospital. My mother would always say it was just him getting into fights at school to avoid any questions. It just kept getting worse and I couldn’t keep seeing my brother’s face all battered. So I stopped telling my brother about getting hit. It was easy to hide the marks, and it was worth it once I got to see him live the carefree life he should have been living. That’s why he was at a party. He thought I was completely safe, otherwise I knew he’d never leave the house, and never get to live a normal life. It was driving him into a dark place and it hurt too much to watch.
I looked down, thinking back to my brother who had basically raised me. I didn’t even want to think of the current state he’d be in right now…
Anyways, that night I saw a broken bottle in his hand and freaked out. I thought he was going to throw it at me so I tried to run past him and out the door. He ended up grabbing my arm and stopping me and just got more pissed off at me for trying to run away. I closed my eyes for a moment, the horrible images flashing in my head.
It had been three years since I’d let myself think about this. I had just kept it all bottled up in the back of my mind, trying so hard to forget it all. It would haunt me some nights still, and sometimes I’d get faced with flashbacks, but I had been doing my best to keep it boxed up somewhere unreachable.
That was why I found it so hard to bring it back out after all those years.
He dragged me back to the room and locked my door, cornering me with the bottle raised above his head. I shuddered as I remembered his expression, his eyes were burning red with anger and he was giving me the most horrifying smug look. It had been a terrifying calm look in his eyes, a decisive look in his eyes.
I still wasn’t giving up, so I saw my window five feet away, my last piece of hope. I sprinted to it and managed to get one leg out. He managed to grab my left leg and I toppled over the ledge and ended up dangling upside down, twenty feet above the ground. I realized a few tears were brimming my eyes and I quickly blinked them back.
I had the need to finish the story.
He suddenly gained some common sense and realized it was not the best thing to throw your daughter out the window. He was still drunk so he was pretty strong. Strong enough to dislocate my leg. I stopped abruptly, taking in a sharp breath as I remembered that horrifying pain. I had felt the ligaments painfully tearing apart and my whole leg had felt like it was on fire.
It was an indescribable experience and I’d never wish it upon anyone.
His hand had slipped from my ankle at one point. At that moment I was sure I was dead. But at the last second he grabbed my foot and ripped my leg right out of its socket. I whispered, shuddering at the memory.
I heard him take in a sharp breath and looked up finally.
His eyes were even more red now and full of anger mixed with sadness. His hair was sticking up in different angles, showing that he had probably been running his hands through them.
Skylar stop. He said, his voice sounding strained. You don’t have to finish it. He said softly. I am so sorry for forcing this story out of you, and I don’t want you to relive this because of me. His voice sounded guilty and hurt.
I shook my head, I knew I had to finish it. I had never talked about it and I thought after letting it all out, it might help me get over it.
No, I need to finish. I said, wiping away a few stray tears that had escaped and taking a deep breath.
He just stared at me but I quickly blocked out his face by hanging my head down and staring at my hands again.
My brother had finally come home, and had stopped my father from doing any more damage. He practically ran to the emergency room with me over his shoulder in less than ten minutes, he was the star quarterback and all. I smiled with tears in my eyes, remembering my brother sprinting through the night to help me. The thought made my heart ache. He was never the same after that night…
The doctor practically scared me to death when he told me I couldn’t walk properly again. I shook my head, remembering how my entire world seemed to crash down in a matter of seconds after hearing those words. It had ripped so violently that they were doubtful it could heal properly. Then my brother ran straight out of the room and came back with the biggest smile on his face and lifted me to cloud nine when he told me I would in fact be able to walk normally again. His friend’s father was one of the best doctors in America, so he flew all the way from Phoenix to perform surgery on my leg. A small smile took place on my lips, and it was again, because of my brother.
After seven hours of being unconscious, I finally woke up with a working leg. Then I went back home with my brother, never saw either of my parents again, and lived happily ever after. I finished.
I felt as if a weight had been lifted off of my chest as I realized I had gone through the whole story. Without bursting out crying like I thought I would too.
It was relieving and in a way, made me feel stronger.