Silent Prayers

“I really need to clean up my damn room.”
That’s the thought that came to my mind as I was backing away from a very angry alcoholic who I call my Father.
Yeah, I was scared, but you get over those feelings after about a year or so.
He’s been doing these things to me since I was ten years old. I’m now fourteen.
But, that’s a secret; a “family” secret.
“Bitch!” He yelled at me as he threw that bottle down on my bedroom carpet.
“What the fuck?” I thought, “What the fuck did I do this time?”
It usually took nothing... he just had a shit load of problems.
His wife had left him, and now he’s stuck paying the bills and “taking care” of me all by himself.
He’s failing... at life.
Miserably.
“Shit, shit, shit.” I thought as he raised his hand.
I closed my eyes and turned my face, getting ready to get slapped, back-handed if you want me to be more specific.
I winced from the pain after the back of his right hand hit my temple.
“God Bitch, you fucking deserve it!” He yelled to me.
I don’t think he truly believed that though... and I sure as hell didn’t.
And trust me, he told me that a lot.
I kept my arms down at my side, telling myself over and over again not to slap him back. That made things worse.
This happens day after day, week after week, year after year.
And he hasn’t gotten tired of it yet.
He probably never will. He never tries to stop himself.
“You’re a whore!”, he continued to yell, “just like your Mother was!”
My Mother wasn’t a whore... I loved her. Then she abandoned me, just like that she was gone. I didn’t even get a goodbye... how ridiculous is that?
I took another step back, looking straight into his eyes. The voice in my head was begging him to stop.
His green eyes were blood-shot.
“You need to quit drinking.” I said to myself as I shook my head.
There was a moment of silence, a glint of peace appeared in my life.
It quickly faded.
He came towards me, and pushed me back against one of my white closet doors.
The overpowering stench of alcohol on his breath made me want to gag.
I would puke after all of this was over; he probably would too.
He pushed his body angrily against mine, making me want to close my eyes and beg him to stop.
I clinched my teeth and waited for the worst of the worst to happen.
But it didn’t.
He spat in my face, and barely moved his body from mine.
“Gross.” I thought, “I don’t want his spit on me.”
He angrily kneed my upper thigh, making me clinch my teeth harder and hold my breath for a few moments.
I wanted to scream from the pain.
He did it again, almost in the same spot.
I could feel my arms start to shake, I would’ve fallen over but his hands were holding me up by my cut up wrists.
“God dammit, leave me alone!” I wanted to yell and push him away.
But, I never won those battles.
I could feel the tears wanting to come out, they screamed at me in anger because I would never let them out of their cages.
I didn’t have the key anymore.
I slowly started to calm down... but he didn’t.
My thigh was numb, for now at least.
-
I looked at him, into his green eyes. He looked like he was about to cry.
Like in the movies, when the tough guy gives up. He puts his face in his hands and cries, spilling out is guts about the troubled childhood he had.
But, of course that wasn’t about to happen here.
-
He lifted his right hand from my left wrist and slapped me across the face. I wasn’t prepared, and that angered me a little bit.
Crazy thing to be angry about right? Not the fact that he slapped me, but the fact that I wasn’t ready.
-
The left side of my face stung.
-
“Now, tell me that you love me.” He said.
I closed my eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I thought to myself.
The tears cried louder. “Let me out, let me out.”
I didn’t say anything.
He pushed me back into the closet door harder, getting his face closer to mine.
He then said slowly, “Tell me that you love me, or I will shove something so hard into you that you’ll scream.”
“I love you.” I quickly said, choking on my words.
I felt like I was going to have an asthma attack.
Thank God that I don’t have asthma.
“You’re just a little worthless bitch.” He told me, “You’re worthless.” He yelled into my face as he dug his nails into my wrists.
I finally let out a scream as I turned my face towards the ceiling.
I knew he felt a satisfaction from that. He dug in deeper.
“Say it.” He demanded me as he whispered angrily into my ear, “Tell yourself that you’re worthless.”
He said it with so much confidence in his voice, the voice that would haunt me forever.
I wasn’t going to say it; I didn’t want to. It wasn’t true.
No one’s worthless.
He stumbled backwards a little, almost making me want to laugh.
He’s just a drunk, he’s the worthless one.
I wasn’t the one who drank and smoked all day, I wasn’t the one who broken the family apart.
He told me again, “Say it.”
Once again, I didn’t say anything.
He continued to push me back harder as his nails dug in deeper.
“I’m worthless.” I whispered.
“Louder.” he demanded.
“I’m worthless.” I stated to him, looking away.
“Good girl.” he told me.
“You’re fucking sick.” I thought, I wish I could tell him how angry he’s made me. His own child. This abusive had taken over my life, and every single day I tell myself that I can’t take it anymore, but I keep taking it almost every single day.
And the scars were there to remind me of it.
He began to slowly let me go, almost loosing his balance.
He turned and took a step, I stood there almost motionless, hoping it was over for the day.
He then turned back to me and kicked me in the shin.
I couldn’t help but scream, all I could do was breath in; then my breathing became irregular.
I kneeled down on my left knee as he walked out of the room.
-
I then looked back up at the ceiling and said a silent prayer.