Forbidden Habit

Chapter 3

  
TW: Abuse, sexual assault

The next morning my father wasn't home. He must have left for work- if he still has one. I got up from bed and immediately felt the pain radiate from my knee due to yesterday's impact on the wooden floor. I lifted my pyjama leg and saw a huge purplish bruise on the right side of my knee.

If only that was the only time...

   He said that he would never lay a hand on me again after what happened the last time. He had sobered up, the only time I saw him sober after his loss. An image of his previous self was left for me to see after what he did, and he seemed quite upset with himself. He promised me that he would be better, he would change and will return to his previous self, he would be the dad I never had and together we would overcome everything. I believed him, I needed to. I was a child after all; a twelve-year-old kid that needed to believe. It was all I could do at that point.
  
     And I did, I hoped every single moment that he would be a better dad for me. I stuck with this thought for days, months and eventually years. My twelve-year-old self became thirteen, my thirteen years of living increased to fourteen, a year later I reached the age of fifteen, and twelve months after that I was a sixteen years old girl who continued to believe.

    The hope died some days after I had my sixteenth birthday. It was the anniversary day of his big loss. Everything flew by as it did every year, I don't know what was different that time. He came home worst than all the other times, high and extremely drunk. One word led to another and before I could comprehend what was happening, I found myself losing my conscience and everything went black.

   When I opened my eyes again the house was cold and dark, no sight of my dad, no sight of what happened earlier. And I would have believed that it was all a dream, a really bad and painful dream, but that option wrecked when I felt the hard, cold wooden floor I was laying in. I tried to lift myself off the floor but a stinking pain in the side of my head made me fall. Trying to get up again, my fingers sank in a thick and sticky substance. The limited light of the house took my chance of seeing what I was laying in.

   I brought my middle and index finger to my nose. A primary smell of iron and metal mixing together produced the smell of rust. You didn't have to be a professor of nuclear physics to understand that this was blood and, considering the stinging pain on my temple, that it was my blood.

   I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before trying once again. After five failed attempts I managed to get up and went to lay on the couch.

   My father had beat the fuck out of me that night and tried to rape me. He had ripped every piece of clothing covering my tiny body except for my panties and bra. I guess me fainting away changed his plans and he wasn't a fond of fucking dead less bodies. He left me there, naked on the cold floor, for god knows how many hours until I woke up having bruises all over my helpless body and even some broken ribs and a serious concussion.

   In case you are wondering, I was the one calling a cub and going to the hospital; all by myself. I was all alone, I didn't even tell my friends. I returned to the house two days later, everything was left the same, meaning that my father hadn't come back. I told my friends a lie, that I fell from the stairs and they believed me.

   That's when I lost my hope, every hope I was carrying since I was a child that my father was going to change.

 
My father will never change and I befriended the idea.

   He promised me 4 years ago, after he had caused such a serious damage to my body that he will change. I tolerated his meaningless assaults over the years, arguing that he was just upset and he didn't mean it. Everything changed when he beat the shit out of me again that unforgettable night. He was a lost cause and nothing could make him change, no one could fix him...