Love, Rosie

Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

I'd like to say I know you.

I'd like to say we know each other like the back of our hands. Like we have this close father daughter relationship that many envy.

But what we have is something far from being envied.

Although we haven't held a real conversation since I was 12, I've always known about your exploits, your afternoon rendezvous and your sexual escapades. I don't know where you are every hour of the day but that just makes it worst. Not knowing whether or not you're out drinking and having sex with anything that breathes or just in the living room watching baseball drives me insane. I can never know with you.

We weren't always like this.

We used to have a lovely mediocre family of four. Just you, just Mom, just Jonathan and just I. I don't know exactly where the mediocrity ended. All I can see are blurry lines that separated the good from the bad. The lines that distinguished the good memories that I want to remember but can't from the awful memories that I'm still living today.

There are memories that stand out to me. Like the time you helped me tie my hair up for school because Mom was at work. Or the time you hit Jonathan for the first time.

My head is clouded with jumbles of a child's laughter and a child's cry.

I see bright skies, white clouds and fresh-cut grass as I ride on my bike, but I also see the glint of a belt buckle, Jonathan's face and something else that is freshly-cut, but it isn't grass.. it's skin.

Jonathan isn't 8 anymore, he's 18. I think you stopped the beatings when Jonathan stopped responding to the blows. When the only response you would receive would be spilled blood and purple bruises. I think you stopped when you finally broke him. You broke my Jonathan. You are the reason Jonathan hates Harry. Jonathan won't let me near another man because his eyes are branded with your hands. When he thinks of me with another guy, he only thinks of what could of happened if you hadn't chosen him for a punching bag.

I think about that a lot.

Why didn't you choose me?

I was the lesser of the family. I was weak, naive and innocent. I was a much easier target. Do not give me the "you're my little girl" bullshit. Your said little girl didn't deserve to see her older brother beaten to a pulp by her drunk of a father. No little girl deserves that.

I wanted to feel his pain all the time. I wanted to take his place and rid him of the unhappiness. At that age, I thought boys weren't supposed to cry. But the first time I saw Jonathan cry, it broke me. After that, every time someone in school would say, "Boys don't cry, they can't." I would become so incredibly angry. Boys can cry. I've seen it. I've seen the tears of my brother pour out of his eyes as his lids clenched to withstand the buckle of a belt to his back.

I've seen it.

I've seen a lot actually.

I've caught you in bed with multiple women, multiple times.

I've even caught you in bed with my best friend.

Did you know Jade and I got into a fight?

Did you know that after she ran out of the bed once she saw me catch you two she begged for forgiveness? She told me you drugged her. I would have believed her if it weren't for the stench of vodka that seeped through her deceiving lips but her purely sober eyes.

Of all the people you slept with, you slept with Jade. I used to rant about you to her, she would just nod and say, "Things will get better."

I should of noticed though. I should of noticed the distance between us after the party at Dylan's. I remember you stumbling into Dylan's house screaming my name, saying that I would regret leaving the house without permission. I remember her face when she set her eyes on you. The lust that emanated off of her was so strong I don't understand why I hadn't noticed.

Jade and I don't talk anymore. I can't bear to even speak to her because I don't want to know how many times her lips have been doing something else other than talking with you.

While you're out somewhere playing tonsil-hockey with a bartender or a college student, I was home, with Mom and Jonathan, barely getting by. It's a miracle you haven't spent all our money on booze, it's a miracle we can afford the house, it's a miracle we're still standing.

We lived two different lives in one household. For every night you were out and found pleasure in different girls with bottle-dyed hair that weren't mom, I found solace in Harry.

Love, Rosie

x x x

this is late. I have no update schedule sorry. I hope you guys liked this..? I dunno I should be doing school work but I just can't. I like this chapter, I hope you doooooo! Love ya guys!

Love, Sam x