Harlow's Haven (Ch. 2)

HER was succumbed to a mental ward, everyone fearing for the unborn flesh that was growing inside. I was placed in a foster system till the age of seven. Like a rag, thrown from house to house, although the family’s promises were all the same. The euphoria never lasted, they didn’t understand why I couldn’t play a theatrical role of “big, happy family,” even though my caseworker pleaded with them to give me a chance. Her name was Bertha. Anyways, my “stays” never extended a month… as I was quickly labeled the problem child. What did they expect? Most of them failed to understand their own kids were vile. One time I was at a house and the kid told me if I did not leave, he’d tell his parents I’d stolen from him. The audacity! That was not the worst bit though; at another house, the kid threatened to stab me in my sleep. Therefore, I threatened to punch his face and he went crying to his mommy and daddy, he was such a little witch. One day, I was staring at the ceiling... I always loved how it just stayed there. It was faithfully constant. The only thing in my life that was. That I could depend on to stay the same. Enough of that sappy story—we will get back to that soon. Bertha was just about to take me to my fifteenth house when she received a call that would again change my life forever. HER was out of the psych ward, and doing very well. HER had a place in Austin, Texas where she lived with my sisters and my new stepdaddy. HER had finally made the call to get me back. HER moved on too soon. I never forgave HER for that. But as I got older, I learned that people grieve differently. Bertha and I both flew down to Austin that weekend to visit. And there HE was. HE was so charming. HE promised everything, a place to go, to take care of my sisters and I, to honor my mother and us in sickness in health. I thought I’d finally get my fairytale ending like you see in the movies. So cliche, I know. Without any hesitation, as soon as the case work files were doled out, Austin was finally going to be home. And it was for a few short months that I finally had the childhood I so desperately ached for. But there was always a storm a-brewing, and it is dumb to think a perfect family exists.

Where did it all go wrong? I believe casual drinkers are the most dangerous there is. One drink turns into another, into another until you are three drinks in, then what’s another? But, they never admit they have a problem, even when they are blue in the face. HE liked to drink. In fact, that’s what HE did everyday when HE came home from work. I get it, work was depressing him. HE made that very known, as he’d open up a beer and throw out every obscenity under the sun. And when HE came home to dinner not ready or something out of place, HE lost his shit. The second day of making myself at home, I had to witness my mother turning a blind eye to endless punches thrown… with my baby sisters at the table looking on, as this was our normal.

My first abuse was at eight. HE came in my room one night, the room I shared with my baby sisters at the time. HE made me choose between me or them... At first, I thought it was a silly game. "It’ll be fun," HE said. "Don’t tell your mother," HE said. "Let’s keep this a secret between us two..." HE said. It started with just simple touching… the touching then progressed to him touching me, and then when I turned ten, HE noticed my introduction in womanhood, and couldn’t stop himself then. It was then that I started realizing that this was not the way a father should love his daughter, and started fighting back every drunken night he’d come into my room. HE would then threaten to kick my mom and my sisters out, like we were worth nothing, if I did not do what I was told. So I laid there for endless nights… complying with his wishes, blocking out reality, wondering when someone was going to come in and save me.