Curly

Prologue

He threw the door open and it slammed into my brothers arm, connecting it to the wall.

Scream.

Blaken's yelp across the house was a cry for help, and an alert that something bad was happening. There wasn't much we could do about it, but run.

Shelby, my sister, hid in my brothers room while I was in the coat closet. He walked straight passed the closet and slammed open my brothers' door injuring Shelby in the process as she was holding the door to make sure he couldn't get in. Being a small child, she never had a chance against Richard, but she took a chance anyway and blocked the door with all the strength she had in her small arms.

The door whipped into Shelby.

Scream.

It hit her. Hard. She was just a little girl and the most she could do was try to fight back, but fighting with Richard always ended in someone being hurt. Whether it be a rando in the street, my mother, his girlfriend at the time, or even children.

My mom told him to stay away, yet he didn't listen and instead took the abuse to her. He took her into the bathroom.

     Scream.

     We didn't quite see what happened, but we knew she received a blow to her left ear when he stormed out of the bathroom and she followed in pursuit cupping the left side of her head right on top of her ear. No one noticed that it was bleeding until she removed her hand and the thick and sticky, crimson blood was trickling down her wrist.

     I remember her running across the street to the neighbors house wailing because she couldn't hear out of her left ear. Deaf. Not completely, but several days went by before she was able to hear normally again.

I bolted. I stole my moms phone, ran outside, and called my dad. Maybe I should've called the police first, but my dad would respond faster than any cop ever could.

He heard my quiet, but noticeable sobs and before I could even form the situation into words on my lips, I heard keys jingling in the background through the phone's speaker.

He was coming to save us, and he was furious.

Him and my mother had been apart for a long time at this point, but when the woman who birthed his children and his children themselves were involved in something like this, I don't think there's anything he wouldn't have done to save us.

On his way over he called my grandfather, my mother's dad, and they both showed up around the same time.

While my grandfather and dad were loudly arguing with Richard after they arrived, I decided I should probably call the police at this point. They asked what was wrong, and after giving them a brief description of the situation and my address they headed our way. I slowly slipped my mother's phone into my back pocket and walked back around to where my dad was. As I snuck around the corner, I saw them standing in the yard by the entry. I peeked around my dad because he was blocking the view, and tilted my head to the right only to see my grandfathers fist stuck down Richard's throat.

After that he ran. What a 'man' right? He hit my mother and hurt my siblings, but ran away when he was told to pick on someone his own size.

The police showed up not too long after he had left and started asking questions. They took a statement from everyone, but as I was too afraid, they let me talk to them with my sister.

No one could find him. We looked everywhere. Police even scouted the neighborhood in search for him, but everything came up a dead end. The next morning Richard was in our kitchen.

When I asked my mom how, her exact words to me were, "He hid in the creek for a couple hours and when the cops left he hid in the backyard." So what she was meaning to tell me was, the entire time I was horrified to step foot outside, he was already in our home and she was hiding him.

Here again, she put her own kids in danger for a man that I thought would only be around for a couple years, and ended up being there for a little over half of my childhood.

Seeing him again in the kitchen that morning churned my stomach like nothing before. It broke my heart to actually see him there. I should've expected it because my mother always let him come back. He didn't physically hurt me, but he hurt my family, and I watched it and that itself, was enough for me to be done.

Watching someone I loved and cared for turn into someone else after they got drunk and higher than the clouds, was painful. Yes, I did love Richard, but when he started hurting my family, that loved dwindled because I thought that he was apart of our family until he committed these insane acts that were torture to my eyes.

No, this was not the first time he had acted out like this. Not the first time he put his hands on someone in my family. Not the first time he got high and acted liked a completely different person. I was just younger and completely delusional to it at the time. I was in my own little bubble worried about what I wanted and how I would get it. Yet, what little girl isn't?

Because I was finally realizing what kind of person he was, I started absorbing the fact that he just simply was a very repulsive person. From then on, a flower of hatred bloomed inside the deepest parts of my heart towards him.

     I never tend on going back to being the delusional little girl that doesn't pay absolutely any attention to what is going on around her.

I will still always be that girl with the bouncy personality and the curly hair, but I will never disregard my surroundings again because I will not, I repeat I will NOT watch the people I love be hurt by people they thought loved them. Period.

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Hi Readers,

     If you have managed to get all the way to the end of this without quitting on me, then I appreciate it, a lot. I put a lot of trust into my Coach which just so happens to my English teacher this year. She knows everything about me, and when I was thrown into her English class and she got a taste of my writing, she told me to start writing because, and I quote, "You have a lot to say that could potentially help other people," and that hit home because I've always loved to help out. I know it's not the best, but I intend on getting there, and everyone has to start somewhere.

Yours Truly,

Curly