I Am

Chapter 11 - Briella's POV

The next FIVE chapters will be written from Briella's POV!

I slowly undressed myself, hardly recognizing my own body. The night before had not been good. I had come home to find my dad, drunk as ever. My mom was not around, but she had been home a little more while he was locked up.

My dad always became aggressive when he drank. Last night was no different. He was angry because he had gone to jail for two days. He was relentless in his anger.

I climbed into the hot shower and stood there, the water hitting my sore, bruised body.

I thought about praying, but I couldn't do that. I was dirty. God wouldn't have wanted a dirty person like me praying to him.

I looked down at my body. It didn't feel like mine. It felt like a strangers body. A stranger who had been through more. Who knew more. A tear rolled down my face.

I got out of the shower and looked at my naked body. I could see every slap, every grab. There on my body was the proof. I relived the pain of each moment.

The visible wounds all hurt, but the other pain was much worse. My father had touched me in ways that no father should ever touch a child. My father did more to me than bruise my arms. He had completely broken my trust. I could no longer look upon him as my father. Now he was the predator and I was the prey.

I dried myself off and walked through the door leading into my bedroom. I slipped my nude body under the cold sheets. I didn't feel like putting clothes on any more.

I decided that I would not cry over this anymore. I would not tell anyone and I would not cry over it.

Deciding that made me cry more.

I told Peter that I didn't want to go to church because I wanted to be home before my father. I thought that if I was home before him, I could avoid the abuse.

I also didn't want to go into church the way I was, dirty.

***

The sun was filling my room with light. I was so thankful. Bad things happen in the dark, evil things. The light means safety. Sometimes I can just pretend it didn't happen when the sun's up.

I got out of bed and started to get dressed. I realized I'm bleeding, but it wasn't not my period.

The night before hadn't worked out like I had hoped. My dad had come home at about 2 AM, after the bar had closed. He wanted more of what he had gotten the previous night.

He had barged into my room, knowing exactly what he wanted. He came over and started touching me and grabbing me. I couldn't stop him. He was too strong.

Then he did the unforgivable. Now I was bleeding. It had been the most painful thing in my life. But he wouldn't stop.

I put on nice clothes, so people wouldn't suspect that there was anything wrong with me. I tried to choose clothes that would cover the bruises, but in this warm weather there was only so much I could do.

I washed the tear stains off my face and applied mascara.

Now people would think I was ok.

I heard Peter pull into the driveway. I grabbed my bag and ran out the door.

"Are you ok?" He asked as soon as I got in the car. How could he have noticed.

"I'm fine," I replied.

"No, you're not," he insisted, "Briella, tell me what's wrong."

"I said I'm fine," I repeated, more insistently. He had enough to worry about already, with Avery having Leukemia.

"Briella," he looked into my eyes. He looked so concerned. "You can tell me."

I just looked away. I was not going to talk about this with Peter.

Peter started to drive.

***

We were almost on campus when I felt the tears start to well up in my eyes. I could barely walk because of the pain it caused me. My father had not been gentle.

I tried to look away so Peter could not see the tears, but it didn't work.

"Come with me," he said as he pulled me behind a building so people couldn't see. "Is that a bruise on your arm?"

I nodded.

He just took me in his arms and held me in a big hug. There were no words needed. He understood.

I laid my head on his chest and let the tears flow. We stood like that for awhile.

I heard the first bell ring in the distance, but Peter didn't move. After the tardy bell rung, he picked me up bride style and toted me back to the car.

He didn't tell me where we were going, but I trusted him.

After about 15 minutes of driving, we pulled into the driveway of a yellow house with a blue roof. It wasn't bright like you might think, it was more pastel colors. They went quite well with each other.

Peter got out of the car then came around to my side and opened the door.

He didn't tote me to the door, but he put his arm around my waist.

He knocked on the door and a man came to the door. The preacher from his church.

"Hello, Peter," he said. "Why aren't you in school?"

"We need to talk to you," Peter answered.

The man understood the urgency of the situation.

"Come on in," he said.

The house was very modest. Nothing looked very expensive. It looked normal.

"Penny," the preacher shouted, "will you come here, please."

At his request, a lady who was about the same age as the preacher, probably in her 40s, came into the room from a doorway to the right. She had medium brown hair to her shoulders and wrinkles around her blue eyes. She was quite petite.

"Hello, Peter," she said, "and you must be Briella."

"Yes," I smiled at her.

Peter went over to the preacher and had a private conversation with him. When they were done talking, the preacher had a private conversation with Penny. Then Penny gestured for me to go with her.

We walked through the door on the right, which led into the kitchen. We sat down at a small kitchen table.

"Jody tells me that your father has been a bit rough with you lately," she said. I noticed she had a slight English accent.

I didn't want to answer her question so I just looked down. She reached her hand over and placed it on top of mine.

"It's ok, dear," she said tenderly, "you can talk to me."

I showed her the bruise on my arm and the one on my shoulder and then lifted my shirt to show her the one on my stomach.

"There's more," I said, "he touched me and..."

I couldn't get the words to come out, but she understood.

"Not all fathers are like that," she said, soothingly.

I didn't know why she was telling me this. Did it matter if all fathers were like mine? It didn't to me. I couldn't trade fathers.

"You have a father in Heaven," she contined, "who loves you. He would never do something like this to you."

"He wouldn't want me like this," I replied.

"He wants you just like this," she said. "Bruised and broken. He will rebuild you and make you strong. He will take this away from you."