Mike saw the look of pure terror in my eyes, and rushed to try to comfort me. It was too late, I was already beginning to panic. My breaths were getting shorter and shorter by the minute. I buried my head in his chest and cried.
I hadn't spoken to my father since I was 16. He was the man that was supposed to make me feel loved or special or something but instead he made me feel like trash. Something disposable, unwanted, unloved, unlovable, disgusting, and he didn't keep these thoughts a secret. For as long as I could remember, it was either those words or beatings. He would push me down the stairs, break bottles over my head, slap me, hit me, punch me, kick me. He used to lock me in my bedroom, but little did he know that wasn't a punishment. When I was away from him, I was safe. That's why I started sailing in the first place. I busied myself with things to keep me away from home. My sailing coach and Brett helped me escape the crap going on at home. Sailing saved my life, and that's not an exaggeration. After I turned 16, I left home and lived with my sailing coach, Toby, who had raised me as his own since I was 4. His daughter died as well as his wife in a tragic car accident, and he'd always wanted a daughter. He wanted to take care of me, and he loved me by choice. My father never did that. After I left, I would get threatening phone calls 40 times a day. I put out a restraining order against him, but that didn't stop him from the threatening behavior. Then when I was almost 17, the police finally arrested him for neglect, abuse, assault, and stalking. I hadn't heard from him since then. Until now.
YOU ARE READING
Waiting on the waves
Novela JuvenilA tale that hits close to home to me, about understanding, accepting, cherishing, loving, surviving, living, and more. When we feel like we can't hang on any longer, we find there is always someone to catch us as we wait for the wave.
