"CREE, GET BACK HERE!" my father yelled from the living room as I tried to make my escape.
As I ran up the stairs cradling my broken wrist, I could hear my fathers taunting footsteps gradually getting closer and closer.
But I knew-I knew from years of torture that he would not come after me just yet.
He liked to wait a few minutes, before coming after me, in what he likes to call his favorite game.
See, this is one of the sick little games he likes to play with me after one of my "lessons".
He loves the chase. He loves giving me the false hope that my "lesson" was over for the day.
But, I have come to realize that this sadistic game of cat-and-mouse my father loves to play with me is not over until one of three things happen.
1.) My mother comes home early from her daily mayoress duties.
2.) He beats me to the point of unconsciousness.
3.) He forces himself on me, and uses my body until he himself is satisfied.
But never-never will it be over if he gets tired, because if I have learned anything from the last four years of this abuse is that my father whether he is drunk or not will never get tired of ruining me.
With no time to spare I quickly make a dash towards my room, and slam the door shut. Before I can even catch my breath I hear his thundering footsteps coming towards the staircase.
Without a hint of hesitation I quickly lock my bedroom door and run over to my dresser and hurriedly push it towards the door.
Panting heavily, I quickly scan my surroundings for something else that could stop him from entering my room.
Immediately I dash over to my bed and forcefully push it towards my dresser praying that this is enough to stop him.
As his footsteps become louder, I realize that I am running out of time. Without delay I swiftly make my way towards the window.
With a deep breath I tentatively place one leg out the window on the ledge, and as I shift my body preparing to do the same thing with my leg, I look down and see that the bushes that sat underneath my window for years are gone and are now replaced with...concrete.
A soft knock on my door snaps me out of my thoughts and mercilessly shoves me back into my nightmare filled reality.
"Cree-honey...baby come on out. Daddy just wants to play with you that's it. Now come and open the door for daddy...okay honey". My father tauntingly called out to me.
A pregnant pause fills the disheveled room. The only noise being my heavy breathing, and rapidly beating heart.
It wasn't until a loud BANG.BANG.BANG filled the room that I realized at that exact moment what I was going to do.
"CREE-CREE YOU FÚCKING BITCH...OPEN THE FÚCKING DOOR BEFORE I BREAK YOUR OTHER FÚCKING WRIST YOU WHÓRE! OPEN THIS MOTHERFÚCKING DOOR SO I CAN SHOW YOU WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DISOBEY YOUR FATHER YOU FÚCKING BÍTCH!" He screamed at the top of his lungs.
YOU ARE READING
Capable Of Murder...But Not Love
ChickLitThis is NOT your average cliche love story... No, this is the story of Cree Goodman. A young girl who grew up in a broken family and was abused in every sense of the word for a majority of her childhood...up until the day she killed her abuser. This...
