Abuse

A Story

Abuse

It was happening again. I woke up to the sound of loud noises of breaking glass, and it was only 2:00 AM. I slowly sit up and look around my room, feeling mad and irritated. Why does he do this over, and over? I thought, shaking my head. I climb out of bed throwing on a hooded sweatshirt and I head downstairs. When I finally get to the kitchen I see my drunken dad throwing plates, stumbling over his own feet.

“What are you doing down here? Get back to bed!” He screamed at me like I was the one caught with the alcohol.

I looked at the bottle in his hands, and shook my head. When he gave me a stern look I knew it was coming.

I woke up to the sound of my alarm. My head ached like a brick was thrown at me, and I felt as if I could pass out anytime. I slowly got out of bed and threw my red hair up into a bun, and headed over to my dresser throwing on my clothes for school. Today started the last week of my junior year. I had one friend, and that was enough for me. (I was living in North Carolina at the time).

I made my way downstairs to see the mess my dad had created last night. I shook my head and cleaned it up before I was late for school. I swallowed some Tylenol, and I made my way out the door ready to finish the day.

Finally making it to school I see my friend Haley right away.

“Hey Bailey. I missed you!”

She greeted me with a big bear hug and smiled. I laughed and smiled at her optimism to see me.

“Hey.”

She looked at me confused. “What happened to you?”

I shook my head at her slowly, “What do you mean? I’m great.”

Haley frowned and dug a mirror out of her backpack showing me my bruised cheekbone.

“Oh, well, I fell this morning getting out of bed.”

Haley frowned, and I could tell by the look of her face that she didn’t believe it. “You dad was drunk again wasn’t he?” She had a disgusted look on her face.

She knew my dad was drunk all the time. Every couple of days a new bruise would appear on my body.

“Bailey! He did, didn’t he?” I closed my eyes and nodded slowly, knowing there was no other excuse I haven’t already told her.

She shook her head and paced back and forth in front of me.

I was prepared for another one of her speeches on how I should tell somebody. On how wrong it was that he was punishing me for all his mistakes. Instead, she just paced in front of me. Then, just stood there. Stood there with nothing but everything to say. She knew I would just stand up for him. Because to her, I never thought of it as his fault. When in reality, I just didn’t want to be one of those kids that gets thrown around to different, broken, insolvable, foster homes. When he’s drunk, he says it was my fault what happened to Mom last year in the car accident. If I hadn’t been there, arguing with her, she wouldn’t have gotten distracted.

She wouldn’t be dead.

“Bailey, you need to stop taking the blame for what happened. It wasn’t your fault, and it does NOT give your dad the right to hit you. For god’s sakes!”

My attention snapped back to the present and out of my thoughts. Haley and I were now heading to our class.

Looking at Haley I said, “Well, what happens if I do tell someone, Haley? Were do I go from there? They’ll throw me into a foster home. I wouldn’t be able to see you anymore.”

Haley looked at me. She looked concerned. “You know, if my mom knew what your dad has been doing to you, she’d let you live with us in a split second. You wouldn’t have to deal with this by yourself, Bailey.” Hearing her say that, to hear someone say that, I smiled. In a way it felt as if everything was was okay.

After school Haley dropped me off at home. It was only 3:06 PM, so it meant my dad was heading to the bar from work. I walked into the house, and what I saw was the worst thing I’ve seen yet. Mom’s pictures were smashed, scattered all over the carpet, and so was her sculpture she won a prize for in the local art contest. It was a sculptor of me laughing, baby me.

That’s when I broke down, right where I was standing.

I couldn’t believe my dad would do such a horrible thing. I picked up a picture that hadn’t been damaged already and ran up to my bed room.

I threw my self onto onto my bed, sobbing while clutching my mothers pictures. That was it.

I was done.

While I was sleeping I had a dream that I was dead. I was at my own funeral. I saw everyone that I knew there, and some that I’ve never met before. Haley and her mom were standing by my coffin. Haley was sobbing into her hands as her mom was holding her and stroking her hair. I looked around and there was no sign whatsoever of my dad. I shook my head and sprinted out the church doors. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t show up. To his own daughters funeral! I was furious, and all at the same time I was sad. Down inside, I had expected that.

That's when I was pulled out of my nightmare. I was being dragged out of my bed by my ankles. I started screaming as my dad threw me down the stairs. “Help! Help me! Please!” I began sobbing, and continued begging.

This is where I die.

“Dad! Dad, please stop! Please.”

Lights out.

That next morning I woke up feeling nauseated from the smell of blood. Then feeling a shooting pain up my back. I looked around and I was in the living room on top of all the broken picture frame glass. There was a large piece in the side of my stomach. I tried to sit up, but it hurt too much. I pulled up my shirt, and what I saw made me whimper in a new pain. Too many bruises and cuts to count. My sobbing hitched as my phone began to ring, it was still in my pocket.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket. It was Haley. She had called me 5 times. “H-hello?” I stuttered into the phone.

“Bailey! Oh my god! I thought you were dead! I’m at your door, let me in.” She hung up and I panicked. I painfully got up and went into the bathroom. I needed to clean up so she wouldn’t see this. That’s when I heard pounding fists on the door. I looked at the glass in my side. I slowly pulled it out, but couldn’t help from crying out. Blood oozed from my opened wound. I grabbed medical wrap and taped it around my waist with gauze. The door opened to the house. Then to the bathroom.

“Bailey! What happened to you!” Haley put an arm around me and led me to the couch sitting me down. “Bailey, you need to tell someone or it will only get worse!”

I nodded. “Get your mom—” Haley was already out the door before I could finish. She came back in with her mom, not even five seconds later.

“Dear! What happened to you?” She looked over at her daughter waiting for an answer.

“Her dad, Mom. Her dad has been beating her. He gets drunk and blames Bailey for her mom's death.”

Haley’s mom looked over to me, concern written all over her face. She pulled out her phone and called an ambulance.

One year and six months later, Haley and I graduated from college. We both were accepted to Harvard on full scholarships for law against mistreated children. Haley’s mom had adopted me after I was taken from my last existing relative (my dad). My dad was convicted of child abuse, and sentenced 50 years to life. I finally faced my monster. Now, I understand that things happen for reasons we may never fully understand, and that keeping secrets could kill you. Trust the ones you love, and love the ones you trust.

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