𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 - 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝘇 𝗕𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘀

CHAPTER 3

𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬
-𝗟𝘆𝗹𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗘𝗿𝗶𝗸 𝗠𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝘇

flashback -dream
Iowa | 1983 Age 15

I had just finished my final set, adding another loss to my record. As I turned toward the crowd, my eyes instinctively sought my father's face, anticipating his reaction. Sure enough, he was there, anger etched across his features. I swiftly turned my back, intent on avoiding further confrontation, and headed into the changing area. Unsurprised, I could feel my father's presence behind me. The moment I turned the corner, he roughly shoved me against the metal lockers. My racket clattered to the ground as my father loomed over me, his rage barely contained.

My father's Spanish accent thickened with anger as he demanded, "What the fuck was that, Alexandrea?! Huh?!" His voice echoed through the room, each word seething with disappointment.

"Father pleases I'm sorry.-"

My father's voice echoed through the empty locker room, filled with anger and disappointment. "No, you're not!" he continued, his grip tightening on my face. "You're not because you know damn well what you did last night. You were out late, getting shitfaced with those pathetic friends of yours, and now you've lost your goddamn match!"

I tried to speak, my voice faltering as I attempted to apologize. "I know, dad - " The words were cut off abruptly as he struck me forcefully across the face. Pain coursed through my cheek from the impact, the heat intensifying and causing tears to well up in my eyes. I clenched my jaw, refusing to let the tears fall.

His voice was now dripping with a mixture of anger and humiliation. "No, you don't!" my father interjected, shoving me back harder against the locker. "You made me look like a goddamn loser! You embarrassed me in front of everyone out there! Do you have any idea how much your actions reflect on me?"

"Why are you embarrassed-" I'm cut off again

His voice grew louder with each word, anger fueling his every syllable. "Don't you dare talk back to me!" he yelled, his face now flushed with rage. "I got you that goddamn tennis coach to train you like any good father would! And this is how you repay me? What the hell happened?" His finger jabbed hard against my forehead as his other hand gripped the back of my head.

Of a sudden, my head was slammed against the locker, the pain and confusion overwhelming me. The room spun, my vision blurry, and I could feel blood Trickling down my forehead. The world around me seemed to fade as my father's words echoed faintly in my ears, "No eres mi hija Alexandra, eres una pieza de mierda inútil. Eso es lo
que te mereces."

End of flashback dream -
1987 Age 19

I startled awake, covered in cold sweat as my damp silk sheets draped loosely around me. The room was plunged into darkness, the clock reading quarter past nine. I realized I must have dozed off earlier in the day after a headache and the effects of the pills had taken hold. I sighed heavily, knowing that these nightmares – or rather, painful memories – were a regular haunt for me. It was almost unsettling how similar they were to what had actually happened. It seemed like my father's preferred time and place to lash out was the locker room, right after a tennis match. Previous on how I got the bruise on my shoulder.

I reluctantly got out of bed, my headache showing no signs of improvement. I reached for the bottle of headache medicine on my bedside table, but as I picked it up, I realized it was almost empty. I had taken the last pill earlier, and now there was nothing left to relieve the throbbing pain in my head. Frustrated, I let out a groan and hid my face in my hands. Sleep seemed out of the question, and the headache was only getting worse. To make matters worse, I didn't have any migraine medicine at home. We had left most of our stuff, or thrown it away, before leaving Iowa,