Monsters

Part One

When we are born we are suppose to be loved by the ones who brought us into the world. They hang the moon in the sky at night, keep us safe and sound, check for the monsters under our bed. 

But, what if, they didn't?

What if they ripped the moon from the sky, caused us harm and pain, were the monsters reaching for our throats?

The day I was born was the worst day of my parent's life and they reminded me that every single day of my life. Who does that to a small child? 

My mother was constantly medicated or sloshed out of her mind. She use to be beautiful with long raven hair that framed her angelic face with bouncing curls. Now she looked like every other junkie that you saw laying across the sidewalk. The sparkling light that once lit up her face had died long ago and according to her I was to blame. 

The one person who treated me worse than that witch was the devil himself, my father.  From a young age, I became his personal punching bag. He was smart enough to keep the bruises away from my face and any place someone would see the abuse. If I put up a fight or tried to tell anyone what was going on at home then it would be an even worse punishment for me.

One time when I was four he had bought me a cheap little kite as an apology for kicking me so hard he bruised my tiny ribs. I was allowed outside for a small period of time to fly the kite. He usually didn't allow me outside, saying the neighbors were too nosy, they didn't know how to mind their own business. The kite was beautiful with pink and purple flowers decorating it. The string had tiny little rainbow colored bows attached to it. 

I was having the time of my life. In the short four years I had been alive, this was the happiest moment I had ever had. The sun was shining bright, warming my face and causing a startling gleam to sparkle in my dark eyes. 

Everything was perfect until my wonderful kite got caught in one of the many trees in the back yard. I knew I couldn't reach it or pull it down. The back door flew open to reveal my hulking father.

"What happened?!" His voice boomed across the entire yard.

"T-the wind blew my kite into the tree," I whispered to him.

He looked up at the kite and then back down at me. His dark eyes, the ones that matched mine, grew into an angry scowl. He was pissed beyond belief. 

"You stupid little bitch," He seethed. "This is the thanks I get for buying you a new toy? You go and break it."

His hand tangled in the back of my long raven hair. He literally drug me behind him while I reached up trying to get him to release me. The pain was excruciating and I couldn't help screaming out to him. He rattled me violently, trying to get me to quiet down, the neighbors would hear my cries.

"I'm sorry! Please let go," I sobbed. His grip just tightened and he picked up his pace. My poor little legs couldn't regain their balance no matter how hard I tried. 

When he finally pulled me into the house he threw my against the door frame between our kitchen and the family room. The pain was worse than when he was dragging me by my hair. My tiny body shook with the pain radiating threw it. I couldn't keep the sobs from racking my poor body.

"I feed you, buy you new clothes, buy you new toys and this is the thanks I get?" He screams at my pathetic form. His shadow loomed over me crumpled on the floor. 

"I-i'm sorry!" I beg him to not hurt me anymore. 

He would have killed me that day had my mother not stepped in and caught his attention. Of course she didn't do it for my sake. She needed more to smoke and knew my dad would give her the money she needed for it. They screwed each other loudly while I laid on the floor waiting for the pain to end.

This was normal for me in my younger years. There were so many times I wondered if this was what everyone my age had to deal with. They all seemed so happy and playful but I couldn't be happy when I was constantly screamed at for doing wrong; couldn't be playful when my body hurt to move. If this was the normal then how could these other kids get away with all the things they did? How could they play this rough and hard when their bodies were screaming in pain? Maybe I was just that weak. Was this the reason my father hit me so much? 

It wasn't until my fourth year in school did I realize this wasn't normal. I'll never forget when we had an officer come in to our classroom and talk about domestic violence. That would have been my chance to confess that I was being abused but who would have believed me? My father was a well dressed business man and I was an ungrateful brat. He was my own personal monster and I knew that nothing would change that. 

I had many teachers while I was growing up ask me if everything was okay at home, most knowing it wasn't, but not being able to do anything about it. If I didn't say anything then they couldn't do anything. 

It got worse after my mother died. 

She developed cancer when I was nine and I was told it was all my fault. If I had never been born then my mother wouldn't have started taking drugs and then she wouldn't have got cancer. I had killed her and I had to be punished.

That was the first time he used my small body as his own personal toy. I wasn't just a punching bag anymore. The truth was I looked so much like my mother that in his sick twisted mind it was like being with her. He wasn't mentally there and I knew that so I forgave him for hurting me. 

Call it Stockholm syndrome or whatever you want but that's how it went. It continued on this way until I was eleven and he remarried a young woman. She was beyond beautiful but she was also young and stupid. I wanted to tell her to run before he corrupted her but I kept my mouth shut like I had been taught to do.

There was an incident where she didn't listen to him and it made him the maddest I had seen in a long time. He smacked her across the face and I could see blood dripping from her mouth. I knew this wouldn't end well for her. He mellowed out when she was around and continued to abuse me behind closed doors. My body was use to this kind of abuse but her body was not. I did the stupidest thing I could have done; I provoked him. 

"Stop it! If you're gonna hit anyone hit me like you always do!" I screamed at him. 

His hand froze mid swing, "What did you say, little girl?"

I started to shake violently, "You heard me. Why hit her and damage her face when you can hit me and nobody will be any wiser."

He turned to me with a growl, "Why don't I just deal with you both?" 

His hands reached for my throat and I looked at her to run while he was distracted. This was her chance to escape while I sacrificed myself to save her. Maybe this would be my chance to prove to him that I am strong. He gripped my throat in his massive hands and started to squeeze. The look on his face was of pure rage and I knew this time he wasn't going to stop. 

The last thing I saw before my world went dark was a bat being swung at the back of my father's head.