pain
that's the first thing my mind registers. the pain is always the worst of it all. Pain shoots through my body as I lay on the kitchen floor. Blow after blow my father keeps on kicking and hitting me. I lay on the floor letting the pain fill me rattan that the hate and anger I had toward my father. I have grown accustom to the hard cold kitchen floor sense I have been in this position for s many years now.
it all started when my father would hit my mom, at first it was simple slaps; then it grew to more. he would leave her bruises and broken ribs. I remember the day perfectly, I was five years old. I walked into kitchen to find my father hitting my mom again, but this time I had promised I wouldn't let him hurt her anymore. I stepped in front of my dad thinking he would never hurt me. I always believed he loved me and he wouldn't tough a hair on me.
I was wrong. I stood in front of her and he started hitting me. that was how it began. he stripped abusing my mom and started hitting me instead. my mother always looked the other way, I guess she thought it was better me than her.
I was the only child of this broken family. I hayed my life and if it weren't for my best friend James I would have ran away from home years ago. James was the only one who actually new about the abuse. I made him promised never to tell anyone. he had tried many times to get me to report him but I always put a sense into him and reminded him that my father was lawyer.
so here I lay on the kitchen floor taking all of the hatred and anger my father had toward me. I don't even know why he does it. he comes home drunk and I know its time for him to hit his human punching bag, me. no one would ever think that my father was the type of guy because he is well known and respected lawyer. no one had any reason to think he was the abusive type. is house hasn't been my home in so many years, and i don't know how much Lange to can take it.
my body screams in pain.
my father had walked away probably to go drink more. I slowly got up form the floor. I winced as I took a step, my side was hurting really bad. my lip was bleeding and my head was throbbing. I took slow and cautious steps to my room. the pain grew with every step I took up to stairs. I could hear the voice inside saying how unworthy I was, that I should fight back. I knew better not to; I had tried a few years back but he had over powered me and I came out worst that ever. I knew never to fit him.
I sat down on my bed taking slow and deep breaths, trying to fight the tears firm coming out. i had to be strong; I couldn't let anyone see me crying. I don't want any one to see my week side. I failed in trying to keep them back and I felt a cold tear roll down my cheek. I herd a knock on my door and quickly whipped away my tear.
my mother come in and looks at me. she quickly looked down toward the floor; she has stopped making eye contact with me a few years back. I guess the guilt was getting to her, yet she never did anything to stop it.
"Lainey, dinner is ready." she said in a small voice
"I'm not hungry." I say looking out the window instead of at her.
"you should eat something, honey." she said still not dating to look at me.
anger rushes over me. how can she pretend like she cares?
