Running From Reality

Fights and Battles Have Begun
Post Song: Butterflies and Hurricanes – Muse

It wasn’t like I didn’t want to do everything I could to please Alexander and Freddy. I did. But I couldn’t. Telling people what happened in my house late at night when no one could find out, was seemingly impossible. I couldn’t even dream of what my father would do. What my mother would say. And despite all the hate I felt towards my father, I didn’t want him to be put in prison. I didn’t want Justin to blame me for the fact that his father figure was out of his life. I didn’t want my mother to suffer because of my father.
Because of me.
I couldn’t tell. I WOULDN’T tell. It just wasn’t going to happen.
I got home late that night, as always. I tried to postpone, delay, the nightly occurrences. Sometimes, if I was lucky, he would already be in bed by the time I got home. But some nights I just couldn’t stay out that late.
I tiptoed across the front hall, glancing into the living room. The light was off. The television was off. I literally crawled up the stairs, leaping nimbly over the creaky step. I made it into my room safely and closed the door. I stripped my clothes off in the locked safety of my bathroom and yanked on gray sweats and a tank top. I pushed my arms into a giant hoodie and then snuggled down deep in my comforters, grateful that I had escaped my nightmare.
I was nodding off when the knock came. “Andibear.” My father’s voice came from the doorway.
No. Please dear God. No. Let this be a nightmare in my head. Not in reality.
But when he sat on the edge of my bed and put a hand at the top of the covers, under my chin, and whispered my name again, I knew that a good night was too good to be true. I knew it wasn’t going to be a sweet night twice in a row.
“No. Sleep. Go away.” I mumbled, pulling the covers up.
“Bear, come on. Daddy loves you.”
Translated? - Daddy wants to fuck you.
He pulled the covers off until they were bunched at the foot of the bed. I curled up into a ball, knees at my chest and arms wrapped around them. My face buried into my shoulder. He tugged at my arms until I had to finally give in. He wasn’t going to go away. I didn’t have a choice. I let him peel my clothes off and drop them to the floor. His followed too quickly. He kissed my forehead.
“I love you Andibear. Now just relax.”
He was raping me, again, and telling me to relax. Ironic?
My breathing came quick and my insides tightened up. His fingers slid inside of me. “Bear, loosen up or Daddy can’t get in.”
Tears fell down my cheeks as I turned away. I forced myself to ‘loosen up’ so that it would over with sooner. When he was satisfied his fingers went in and out rapidly in circles before they were out of me. He gripped my arms tight over the bruises that had already formed from two nights ago. Pinned down, I was crying. “Take a breath Bear.”
“Please, no. Stop.”
“Andibear. Its okay, remember Daddy knows what he’s doing.” He kissed above my breast, then massaged it with his mouth and tongue while he pushed into me. He didn’t even ask me what I could handle, he pushed as hard as he could.
I screamed and a hand covered my mouth. “Sh. Baby. Its okay.” Tears now poured down my face and sobs made my chest heave. He pulled his head away from me and pressed down with his hands on my chest. I shouted in pain but he slipped a hand back over my mouth.
“Andibear.” He said before rearing his head back and moaning in pleasure. He came in me and all over my stomach. Tears fell quicker down my cheeks. Why would my own father do this to me? The same question came at the same time every night. He pushed as hard as he could in, then pulled back out. Then his fingers went back in again. “You’re tight again Bear.”
Then find yourself a looser sex mate! I wanted to scream.
He moved his fingers inside of me for a few minutes before forcing himself back in. “Daddy loves you Andibear.”
No you don’t. ‘Daddy’ is just a pervert.
Twenty minutes later he rolled off of my bed and pulled his clothes on. “Night Andrea.” He snapped, and closed me door. A second later he opened it again. “And I better not catch you running tomorrow morning like your mother did today. Its inappropriate.”
He was an ironic man, my father.
He closed my door again and was gone.
Sobs took over as I ran for my shower. I turned it on and it was scalding immediately. Like it knew the drill. I scrubbed as hard as I could over every inch of my body. From my forehead to my toes. My skin was red and scratched from my fingernails. Bruises were already forming, overlapping older ones.
I fell to my knees, naked, on my bathroom floor. My crying racked my body. I reached for my razor as it sat on the side of the bathtub. I flipped my wrist over, and sliced the blade along the scars and scabs. Blood filled the space between skin and I repeated the action above and below it until my anger and sadness had been taken out on myself.
It was my fault.
I should be trying harder to stop him.
I should be telling someone.
But I can’t.
I wont.
I didn’t bother to wipe the blood from my wrist. I put on a clean bra and underwear and then a giant t-shirt of Alexander’s. I pulled an old comforter from the top shelf in my closet, flipped the lights off, and curled into a corner on the floor under my sweaters.
I pressed my bleeding wrist to my chest and cried myself silently to sleep…