𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 - 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝘇 𝗕𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘀

CHAPTER 1

𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬
-𝗟𝘆𝗹𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗘𝗿𝗶𝗸 𝗠𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝘇

The gentle wind whispered through the open window, caressing my skin and sending a shiver down my spine. I sat on the window sill, looking out at the cityscape of Calabasas, a place I had recently made my home. It had been a month since my arrival, but the unfamiliar surroundings still felt alien to me. Despite the change in scenery, my life had mostly stayed the same. My past, the secrets and memories locked away behind closed doors, remained unchanged. The only difference was the city that surrounded me.

I heard a soft knocking on my bedroom door, immediately recognizing it as my mother's. I left my perch on the window sill and opened the door to find her standing there, her hand resting gently on her 1-month-pregnant belly. She gave me a small smile and spoke softly. "Your father is about to leave," she said. "You should come say goodbye."

A mixture of emotions washed over me as my mother's words hung in the air. There was a stiffness in my body, but I couldn't deny the small sense of relief I felt as well. My father, Antonio, was a Lieutenant, having spent most of his life in the military. PCS, or Permanent Change of Station, had become a familiar part of our family's life, forcing us to uproot and start anew in places like Iowa and now Los Angeles. Antonio's orders had come in, and he would soon be leaving once again to lead his platoon. As I followed my mother down the stairs, my footsteps faltered as I approached my father. Antonio stood by the front door, his imposing figure almost obscured by the haze of the moment. A duffel bag hung from his hand, a constant reminder of his impending departure..

I approached my father with slow, measured steps, his steely gaze fixed on me. As I looked up into his dark eyes, I addressed him respectfully, "Sir," I said softly. It was a term of respect that my father had always preferred I use, a gesture of formality that reflected our complex relationship. There had never been a moment of true connection between us, just an endless cycle of distance and detachment.

My father's stern voice broke the silence, his gaze still fixed on my face even as my eyes remained stubbornly averted. "Alexandrea," he said firmly, "I need you to take care of your mother. Got it?"

"Yes sir." I speak softly

I could only watch quietly as my father said goodbye to my mother, Kika, their sweet farewell kiss belying the darkness that lay hidden behind his facade. As he turned towards me, his voice cold and commanding, I kept my gaze firmly lowered, following his every move silently. When he grabbed my arm forcefully and pulled me towards the car, I didn't resist, my steps reluctantly following him out of our grand home..

My father's voice was steely as we walked down the driveway to his car, his grip on my arm still firm. "Alexandrea, I need you to listen up," he said, his tone stern. "I expect nothing but your best behavior while I'm gone. No drinking, no smoking, and no fucking around! you understand?"

"Yes sir. I understand" I replied

His grip on my face was tight and uncomfortable as he held me firmly in place, forcing me to meet his intense gaze. "You better understand," he said, his voice even more stern and menacing now. "Things are different here, you're not in Iowa anymore. If you mess up, if you do anything to disgrace the family name, you won't know what hit you. Trust me, you'll wish you were better off dead."

"I understand sir." I say, my voice shaky

His eyes locked onto mine, and his voice was cold and authoritative as he issued his warning. "If I find out you've been involved in any tomfoolery shit, you know what's going to happen," he said before letting go of me. He placed his bag in the trunk of the car, and I stood there frozen, watching as he got into the car. He gave me one final look before reversing out of the driveway, the metal gates closing behind him as the taillights of the car faded into the darkness of the night.

My heartbeat steadily returned to normal as I let out the breath that had been trapped in my lungs, trying to steady myself. It wasn't the first time this had happened, and I knew it wouldn't be the last. I slowly made my way back into the house, finding my mother in the kitchen making tea. She looked up at me as I entered, a hint of concern in her eyes. "What did your father want, dear?" she asked softly.

I forced a small smile onto my face, feeling a pang of guilt as I spoke. "He just gave me a hug, apologized for being so grumpy," I said, the lie easily rolling off my tongue. "Said he'd miss me while he's deployed."

My mother's face lit up with a warm smile, her love for my father etched clearly in her expression. "That's nice, Alex," she said. "You know he means it. Things have just been stressful for all of us, especially him with all the transferring." I nodded and forced another fake smile, feigning agreement. "That sounds good, mama," I responded softly, the lie bitter on my tongue.

I bid my mother goodnight and made my way upstairs to my room, feeling a sense of anticipation for the hot shower awaiting me. As I removed my clothes and stared at myself in the mirror, my eyes lingering on the faint bruises that still adorned my arms. The pain in my shoulder served as a constant reminder of the last time I had upset my father, back in Iowa at our family tennis training room. I had lost the match, and his ire had been unleashed upon me. It was our final week there, and the pressure to end things on a high note had been intense. And let's say i would have rather gotten hit and endured a hundred pelting tennis balls than what my father had put me through that time.

The hot water cascaded over my body as my mind filled with the memories of the past. This had started when I was a child, my father was just a stern man, bitterly disappointed in having a daughter instead of the son he wanted. He'd ended up with a worthless no good daughter as he put it. It wasn't often things happened. But it always was my fault. And he would "fix" that just as his father did to him growing up. My father had told me that since I couldn't endure the same thing men go though, like a real military man. That he would show and make me live that life in another way.

My mother, my poor mother, she was blissfully unaware of the truth. Every bruise on my body was easily chalked up as a result of an accident during intense tennis training. While tennis practice could indeed be brutal, my tennis coach demanding and unsparing, the injuries didn't always come from that alone. But my mother loved my father, and I had no intention of burdening her with the truth. As for me, I chose to keep quiet, telling myself that it wasn't that bad... it really wasn't...

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