The Hollywood Family

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"The perfect family". That's what they called us. Everyone looked up to us and wanted to be us. To the public, we were flawless. A happy, rich, caring family. 

My parents were successful actors, so they were rich and well-known for their movies. My older brother, Josh, was a singer. An upcoming music star. For my younger sister, Liz, she was "Hollywood's' Sweetheart", a famous model. Her looks could have anyone on their knees.

As for me, I was the middle child. I wasn't like my siblings who wanted the whole world to know about them. I loved listening to music and sketching. I was also a fashion designer, but I haven't shown them to the public yet. So, everyone knew me for my drawings. They were sold for a high amount of money, but my family didn't care.

My mother tried to get me into modeling since I have the body for it, although I refused each time she brought up the idea. I didn't want to be like everyone else in my family. I enjoyed being alone, in a quiet environment.

My parents hated the fact that I didn't follow their footsteps or wasn't as well-known as my siblings were. Hating that I wasn't "normal", according to them. My family started putting me down. Calling me a "Disappointment", "Family rat", "Screw up", "Useless", "Worthless", and so much more. They seemed to adore degrading me. Feeding off my hurt expressions like a fucked up sadist. They were the Supremes of the house. Using every moment to remind me that I would never amount to anything more than a failure.

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Around the beginning of February, in the new year, my father struck me for the first time. I was so confused and held my cheek in agony. I had done nothing wrong. I was nodding my head as my father spoke, telling me that I was useless and that I messed up the family's reputation by not having my own career success. I guess he did not appreciate the reaction I had; for it was not the reaction he wanted. Therefore, he smacked me. The impact was so harsh that you could hear it loudly across the room... That left me a bruise that stayed for a solid week.

My mother was the first to notice the mark; later on my siblings. They did not care one ounce. It was as though that bruise gave the silent approval that from there on out, anyone in the household was allowed the right to belittle and harm me at any chance they got.

I couldn't even comprehend what I did to deserve this. I was told after the first beating from my father. That if I ever as much as breathe a word to the public that I was being abused, he would guarantee it that they- being my mother, father and my siblings- would make my life more than a living hell and would make sure that the last beating they give me, would leave me lifeless in a ditch.

This went on for a month. I was spending a fortune of money on beauty products and finding the best ways to cover up every injury.