Most people's definition of fear is being scared of something or someone... but I have a completely different definiton... my definition of fear is.. My father. Hell.. I don't even know if I can call him that.. My name is Eliza Monroe Brooks. I live in South Chicago with Joseph my "father". I lost my mom when I was 7.. my dad became a raging alcoholic and drug addict.. and now I'm 14 and he's the same way. All his rage is pointed towards me.. my brother left last year with his best friend and left me behind.. knowing what he left me with. My father used to only occasionally yell.. send me to my room.. simple stuff. But as the years progressed it's gotten much worse.. hell throw things at me, punch me, kick me, slam me into the table.. things a 14 year old girl shouldn't go through... but my best friend Alex has helped a lot. I've known Alex for about 5 years.. when he moved next door.. usually I run there to escape my father's wrath.. but he soon realized where I went and I had to quit going over there... Alex all ways told me to tell the police or a teacher.. but trust me, it's way easier said then done. I hate most is, that I still love my father. Even through all the pain and suffering he puts me through.. I still have a dying hope deep down that he'll change.. that he'll realize what he is doing to his daughter.. and get help. But another part of me, knows that won't happen..
Well here's my story of my fearful father...
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Short chapter, yes. But it's my first story and only like a intro thingy. I'll try and update every other day.
