I Thought Three Was A Crowd

Chapter 1: You Really Doing The Most

I honestly didn't know what was going on. I just knew that something wasn't right. I mean but what is really ever wrong or right when your mom dies when your 4 years and your dad is never home and when he is home, it's never good. I've always known this was wrong since I was two but it never stopped so I just let it go on. My mom couldn't stop it and my dad just continued to do it, so it wasn't much of a big deal. When it became a big deal, it was a real problem. I was about 7 years old when I realized what was actually happening to me and I knew I needed to stop it. Fighting and yelling and screaming didn't seem to do the trick after 3 years, so I gave up.

I think my dad saw my "bad behavior" as a reason to punish me. I thought it may be another beating, or maybe I had to sleep in the bed with him naked again. Maybe I had to satisfy him for hours after hours until he told me I could stop. No. This punishment was very different and worse. My father always had friends come over for a drink, so the next time his friend came over, he started to do the things my father did to me. But this time, it was much worse. It felt different, it sounded different. It was much more painful. Much more patronizing. I mean, I got used to my fathers antics but not his friend's. I actually cried after he did that to me. I hadn't cried in years. Knowing that the same pain would never stop and what I felt had to kept inside me so no one would notice. I knew I would be threatened and tortured and probably killed if I said anything about what goes on at home. So I kept a smile on my face.

When I turned 11, something changed for me. I started to feel happy for the first time in my life. My dad's friend had a son and he came over one night because his dad couldn't get him a ride home from school. He looked about 12 or 13 years old. He was pretty tall, about 5'2. At least 2 inches taller than me. He had pretty light skin and hazel eyes. His hair was short and curly. He was pretty thin but muscular. When he came over to my house for the first time, his father told him to go to my room where I was locked in and said he could do whatever he wanted with me. So used to the tragedy I was destined to go through my whole life, I didn't feel anything when I heard that. 

The boy came into my room after I rushed back to my bed after peeking my head out the door to see him. He walked in shakily and nervous. He didn't know what to do. I sat on my bed, my face in my knees, hoping he would see that I wasn't in the mood for any more pain today. He looked around the room, and walked closer to my bed and sat down next to me. Before I could realize what was going on, he gave me this really big hug. I didn't know what to feel when he did this. I was questioning why he hugged me. I was happy because I could feel he meant a lot by the hug. I felt sad because I knew that he knew that I needed a hug. I was all over the place. I kept my face in knees until after what felt like a lifetime of hugging he let go and I sat crisscrossed on my bed looking at him. 

He said something to me but I wasn't really listening the first time he said it because it didn't feel real for someone to feel the pain I felt but then he said it again, "Hi. I'm Jordan. What is your name?"

It took me a minute to answer. What was my name, I asked myself. After being called out my name multiple times, I got used to the terms, bitch, slut, and stupid child. I closed my eyes and remembered my mother. She would call me with her soft voice. "Kelly," she would say. So calm and relaxing. When I opened my eyes, I answered Jordan.

"My name is..Kelly." He smiled at me and I think I smiled back or maybe I looked down. I don't really remember what happened after that. That was four years ago. I remember the first words he spoke to me but after that, all I know is I love him with every part of my heart.