I sat at the brown crummy table that we own, made of wood with a plate of bacon and eggs in front of me. I wasn’t hungry though I still ate, wanting to be polite, not like that would do me any good. My parents sat at the sides of the table. My dad sat to the right of me, his chair being unbelievably close that made me feel claustrophobic. He stared at me with his green eyes filled with ice cold hate and disgust. His brown shaggy hair looked like a newly bought toupee looking as greasy as the bacon upon my plate. He sat there skin and bones, sipping upon a cup of coffee and smoking his cigarette. To my left, my mom sat almost at the other side of the table. She stared harshly at the table trying to not think about how horrifying our family was. I pick up a piece of bacon on my plate and took a bite, probably only about a fourth of it. I chewed it’s crispiness as best as I could and swallowed. As I swallowed another bite, I saw my dad’s left hand shift from his coffee. It slid under the table and crept to my knee. He softly caressed my knee. He slowly slid it up stopping at my mid-thigh. I looked at him with scared eyes. I flinched, moving my leg away. “Please dad, don’t…” I whimpered at him nervously. He began glaring at me. He took the cigarette out of his mouth with his right hand and put it out in the glass leaf ashtray sitting in front of him next to his coffee. I kept my eye contact with my dad, but out of the corner of my left eye, I saw my mom look up at me, knowing that the reoccurrence was about to happen. She got up from the table and looked at me, trying to act like there was nothing wrong. “Well, I have to go to work now,” She said with a horrid fake smile on her face. My dad quickly moved his hand away from my thigh. My mom walked from her side of the table to his and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a purple t-shirt. She also wore a pair of worn-out brown sandals, revealing a pair of newly painted blue-green toenails. My mother also had newly blue-green painted fingernails. My dad probably had buttered her up to get her to leave. She was leaving the meat to the lion and there was nothing I could do to run and get away. She walked out of the small kitchen, into the living-room and to the front door. She paused for a second and then opened the door. She walked out, not looking back.
My mother, Amy Parker, never stood up for me. Instead she ignored what was happening and tried to imagine that our family was in the most comfortable and perfect spot. She had brown ash silk hair that went down to her shoulders. He eyes were blue. She generally kept to herself and was pretty shy. She never stood up for me or herself. She couldn’t stand up to my dad, George Parker, either. My father was the worst thing in my life at the moment. He abused me every day. He hits me, kicks me, and threw anything in reach. He always attempted to touch me, but I always told him no, to not touch me that way. He never tried to rape me and that was what I was always thankful. My worst fear is that one day he will try and be successful. He was your general tough guy. He had muscle on his arms, with tattoos covering them. He got his way, period. He didn’t like it when people told him no. He drank, smoked and did drugs, as did my mother. My mother also hit me several times on several occasions.
As soon as both my father and I heard the door shut, he put his hand back on my knee. He quickly slid it up my quivering leg, leaving it inches away from my personal space. “Dad…” I nervously blurt out softly. He moved his index finger, beginning to stroke the outside of my blue jeans, in my personal area. “Yes Sweetheart?” He said in a deep voice that left me repeating his voice in my head. I slowly looked and faced him, pleading with my eyes. He didn’t get the clue because he began to put a bit of pressure as he stroked my vaginal area. “Please stop,” I said with all nervousness but in a stern voice. I was scared to death that this was going to be when he took a chance at me. He smiled horridly, revealing stained yellow crooked teeth. “What did you just say?” He said with hatred. I knew I was in trouble. I knew I was going to have to run. I stood up, making him move his hand. I quickly grabbed my plate and walked over to the sink behind him. I heard him turn around in his seat. I knew it because as I placed my plate and fork in the sink, food still on it, he quickly grabbed my waist. He forced my small 100 pound body with a height of 5”5’ into the sink, crushing my pelvis up against it. He had such strength that it was difficult to try wiggling out. Do to half-shock; I finally began having tears in my eyes and shouting no. “No dad, no!” I finally, with all my might, pushed back up against him. He wasn’t prepared for it, so he staggered backward letting go of me. At that very instant, I took off running through the small packed house that we lived in. Every room, aside from the bathroom and bedrooms were connected, meaning the kitchen, living-room and hallway. It literally only took around 13 steps at maximum to get around, but they had to be normal steps. I quickly raced through the white walled, white ceilinged and brown wooden floor room in blue converse. I within 4 steps had reached the door, opened it with quickness and ran out of it. Before I realized it, I had run out the door and down the street, my backpack being a side bag already hanging on me. (I had worn it to breakfast so I could get out of there quickly.) As I ran, not knowing if I was running to school, or to a secret hideout. I quickly looked back as I reached the end of the street to see if he had followed. By the looks of it, he hadn’t. I stopped running and looked forward. I continued by walking, as I decided that I was going to go to school.
