A young girl struggles to cope after the trauma and abuse she has endured at the hands of her Step-father, as events transpire and she is placed in the care of her 4 older brothers. We follow her journey as she navigates this new world of Family, Lo...
I can remember a few things about my early childhood. Most of those memories are good. My earliest memory is of my oldest brother pushing me on the swing set in the backyard of our property. I loved that swing set, my brothers had put it together for me that weekend for my birthday, I had just turned five. I had four older brothers, I wish I could say I remembered them well but I didn't, with the exception of my oldest brother Dominic or Dom as I used to call him. Dominic was 12 years older than me, he was my protector and I remember sneeking into his bedroom at night if I was frightened, he would lift up his covers inviting me in and hold me close as I snuggled up to him, those were some of the only times I felt truly safe, loved and happy.
Dominic - Eldest Brother, 17 years old Elijah (Eli) - 14 years old Nicholas (Nick) -10 years old Noah - 7 years old These where their ages the last time I saw them.
I don't remember my father much just that he was tall, strict, and he and momma would yell at each other sometimes and it would frightened me. I am scared of load noises, and yelling will usually trigger my heart to start racing and my chest to feel tight and breathing becomes difficult for me. I know all too well what that is called, a panic attach, I've been having them since the age of five. I know something happened to me but for the life of me I can not recall what happened to cause them to start, I have a feeling I'm better off not remembering.
I should introduce myself, my name is Isabella Thompson. I know Thompson is not my real last name but it's what my mom put on my birth certificate which I'm pretty sure is fake. She is hiding something, I just know it, anyways more on that later. I am 13 years old and I'm only 4' 5" tall, I weigh 58 pounds. I've always been petite with a small frame but my growth has been stunted by inadequate nutrition throughout most of my life. Most people think I'm no older then 10 because of my size. I am very self conscious and insecure about my size and prefer to wear bulky clothes to hide my skeletal frame. I guess you could say I'm a late bloomer because puberty has barley started, I'm still mostly flat chested, I usually just wear a sports bra, not that it serves much purpose yet but I hate being bare chested, I just feel too exposed.
So, my life took a dramatic turn after I turned five. A few days after my birthday my mom woke me up late at night and told me we were going on a trip and she began quickly packing up some my clothes. I told her that I didn't want to leave but I had no choice she picked me up while I was screaming and crying for Dom to help me but he wasn't their and nobody came to stop my mom as she left our home with me that night.
I have often thought about that night and "what if's", what would my like have been like if my Dad or brothers were there and had stopped us. Why weren't they there? Where was everyone? These questions still pop up whenever I think back on that night.
My mom, Catherine, told me after countless hours of me crying for my brothers, that my Father told her to leave with me and never return, she said my brothers felt the same and said they never wanted to see us again. "It's for the best sweetie, your father is a dangerous and cruel man and your brother's are just like him. We will be safer, without them, you should try to forget them. It's just you and I now", mom told me.
We bounced around from state to state for a several years, it seemed like mom was always worried about staying in one place for too long. We finally settled down in northern Florida, when I was 9. Soon after my mom met my soon-to-be step-father, Sam. Things seemed okay at first, mom seemed happy and Sam acted friendly towards me in front of her. He was strict about rules and wanted to control me. He convinced my mom that I needed discipline and she gave him permission to take over my punishments.
Sam loved to find reasons to spank me or he would lie about me to my mother making her believe I was out of control, I started to resent her for always taking Sam's side and never trusting what I said. The belt is Sam's weapon of choice but sometimes he would slap or backhand me across the face. I learned immediately that I had to call him "father" or I would be punished. I always keep my eyes down, and don't speak unless I'm spoken to, I just learned to keep quiet and never draw attention to myself because it never ended well if Sam's focus turned to me. He hide his physical abuse towards me from my mom and made me use concealer to cover bruises on my face, neck or arms. My whole body is an open target for his heavy belt. Life for me only got worse after my mother's death a year and a half ago. I am slowly losing hope and the will to survive, there is only so much pain a body and a soul can handle.
This is me, Isabella
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A/N: The next chapter will be graphic *Trigger warnings, violence, physical & sexual abuse Thanks for reading 🙂 Let me know what you think so far! Btw Pics are not my own
