MY SO-CALLED LIFE [SLOWLY BEING EDITED]

CHAPTER 1

"You little bitch! What took you so long to get home?" I flinched as my so-called father yelled at me.

"Didn't I tell you to go straight home from school? You little whore! Were you taking customers from the road again?Where's the money? Give me the damn money!" he screamed venomously at me.

"I don't have any money. I came from school, dad." I said in between my sobs.

He clearly didn't believe me because he then grabbed my hair and took my backpack from me.

"Please dad!" I begged him.

"Bingo! What did I tell you about hiding money from me?" he said  while holding the small amount of money I had inside my bag.

You see, I just came home from picking up my last paycheck at my last part-time job. I used work as a janitress from one of the local diners in our area. They had to let me go since they said that economy had affected their business pretty bad so they had to let their part-timers go. I'ved worked their for the past 6 months and every money I get, I put it in a savings accounts. I was saving my money, so when I graduate next year, I can finally leave this hell-hole place I called home.

After my dad took my money, he shoved me down to the floor and started kicking my stomach.

"Next time, don't hide this things from me. Got it?" he asked while giving me one full hard kick on my stomach then he left.

I know most of you are wondering why do I have such an abusive father. Well, let's just say that once a upon a time I used to have the perfect life. Two caring parents, a loving older brother, trustworthy friends, but once my mother committed suicide, everything just slipped away.

When I was nine years old,  my mother had a miscarriage. She slipped and fell while rushing out the door trying to get me to school on time. Of course, I was blamed for that. Her mentality started going down hill. Depression took over her health and she decided that it's better for her to take her own life. My father, being the high school sweetheart that they were, couldn't take the loss of my mother. He began to drink alcohol. After a month of my mom passing away, my dad used to come home drunk and that's when the abuse started, that was eight years ago.

Eight long years of abuse. I couldn't tell anyone about what goes on inside my own house. My dad used to be the Chief of Police, but right after my mom died his career also detiriorated. He left the police station, but even though he ended his career then. He still remained contact with everybody from the station. And that's the reason why I can't tell anyone specially the police.

I'm sure, If I open my big mouth and tell someone about it, my father will sure find out. No matter how bad things go, those people will remain loyal to him..

Before my mom died, my brother Patrick and I used to have a very close relationship. Despite of our almost eight years age gap, we remained closer than ever. He used to take me to movies, carnivals, and eat out. Even though he's much older than me, he never treated me like one of his annoying little sister.

But after my mom died, he left. He packed all his things and took off with his girlfriend. I remember begging for him to take me with him, but he promised me that he'll come back for me. Yeah right! Eight years later, and here I am, still on the same hell-hole place where he left me.

A year after he left, it dawned on me that he's never coming back to get me. That he completely forgotten about me. He probably already have a family of his own, with a decent job, a nice car, married with kids. Of course, I will never get to see that. Who knows if he even remembers me.

Looking at my arms now, I'm pretty sure it's going to take a good a week to a week and a half before these bruises goes away. I still have the bruises from the last time he beat me up. I guess good thing I did my laundry, I'm gonna have to use my long sleeves again for the next two weeks just until the bruises are gone