No More Ms. Nice Girl

Zoey Mill's P.O.V

5yrs oldd .

I remember the day as if it was yesterday. Him putting his hands on my mother. Her screaming in pain, as she gestured me to get away. I remembered the flash of realization in his eyes, as if he had forgotten the fact that I existed. I remember my cute, confused little body, trying my best to climb up the stairs, stumbling. I also remember my mothers eyes lose hope, as he came near. I remember my eyes, fill with tears,watching my mother in pain. And when I finally made it up those steps,untouched, trying to reach for the nearest phone. I remember my hands shaking as I tried to dial 9-1-1, but only managing to dial the 9, before he was beside me, his hands wrapped around my waist firmly.

As if I didn't weigh even an ounce, he picked up my fragile body, as I kicked and screamed. I remember the tears in my mothers eyes, the tears she refused to cry, until now. Her helpless body trying to save her only daughter.

I remember him throwing me against the wall, as if I didn't mean anything to him. I can still remember, I can still see the blood, that gushed out of my head, I can still taste the salty tears that fell from my eyes. I could feel the pain. I remember myself coughing out blood, trying to scream for help, but failing miserably. I

I remember his eyes, those brown chocolately eyes, that seemed to appeal to women. But in my eyes, they were piercing, silencing you with one look. I remember them as the "Medusa Eyes", couldn't even glare at them.

I remember him silencing me, that knife, that sharp knife he'd put to my neck. And that.. that big gun to my already bleeding head. I also remembered his silent words. "You don't fucking say anything about this. Or else." I remember that as my first swear, my first threat. The "or else" part slipping off his tongue so easily, too easily, as if this weren't the first situation he'd used it in.

I remember the story he'd told me to tell. "You're going to call the police. And you're going to tell them that you came home, from riding your bike. You found your mom this way, daddy was out buying groceries. And you slipped on the glass on the floor, and sliced your head. You don't know what happened." I remember him not giving me a chance to respond.

I also remember him walking out the door, grabbing money from my mothers purse for the "groceries" and walking out. I remember me grabbing for the phone, hands bloody, and mumbling,"Help." Before hanging up. And curling up in a ball, crying.

Oh, and don't forget the court investigating day. I remember my mom saying she came home from drinking, and she was dizzy, she didn't remember what happened. Someone "broke in" and the rest was history. I remember them questioning me, and finding that I was blinded and the only thing I could see were those brown eyes. I remember sticking to that story, and I remember going home as if nothing happened. I remember him coming back into the house, and me having to call him "daddy" and how my mother let him touch her, sleep in the same bed with her, kiss her, knowing what he'd done. I remember the day I realized it was out of fear.

I remember the day the divorce was finalized. I remember crying, but not from him leaving, but tears of joy, thinking he'd be done with forever. I remember when they said he'd be able to come and see me whenever, and remembered my mother allowing it. I also remembered the glare he glare he gave her, as if she had no choice but to agree. I remember crying that night I had to go with him. I remember holding onto my mother sobbing, and the pain in her eyes, as she had to let me go. I remember the awkward silence in the car, him trying to make small talk, as if he were somewhat my father. I remember playing along, smiling, like the angel I was. I also remember that day, as the day he took my mother away from me. He'd changed her into some type of robotic machine, she didn't have a care in the world, or a mind of her own.

I remember when we got to the house, him settiling me into my room, where I'd stay when I wasn't with my mother. Him kissing me goodnight, as he left for the bar. I remember the feeling of disgust in my body, and just as he left, throwing up violently in the toilet. I remember him coming back drunk, as I was asleep, him pulling me out of bed, whipping his belt out, and hitting me with it. I remember the marks it left, the marks I'd have to keep there forever, as if some type of memory.

I remember going to school, as the outcast. I remember the years going by. I remember the questions the teachers asked. I remember my excuses.

I remember him throwing me into the wall, my body making a dent there. I remember the blame he put on me. I remember him telling me that the price would be four-hundred dollars, that he didn't have. I remember him punishing me, telling me that I'd have to pay. I remember him whooping me four-hundred times, for the four-hundred dollars. I remember how each one felt, more hurtful then the last, until my body was numb, until I was unconcious.

I remember him trying to cover up the bruises, and silencing me once again. I remember how hard I cried, endless tears.

13 yrs old

I remember when he added an additon to my abuse. The night when he'd come home angry. I knew todays beating would be worse then the rest, because I hadn't finished the dishes. I remember bracing myself for what I'd be recieving. I remember him pulling me into my room, and once again throwing me into the wall. I remember him grabbing my shirt, me expecting him to use it as a grip, to punch me. I remember my shocked expression when he began taking it off.

I remember the feeling of his cool hands all over my body. I remember struggling to get a way. I remember begging him to just kill me, that death was better. I remember the smirk he gave me, as if he had some joy, in my despair. I remember him pulling off my jeans, me kicking him in the face. I remember running down the stairs, and outside. I remember finding Rachel there. The person I hadn't really known. I remember her taking me to her house. Helping me. I remember me swearing her to secrecy. I remember us becoming best friends.

I remember the next time I came over his house. I remember him continuing the whole routine. Only, I wasn't able to get away. I remember so clearly, the first night he raped me. I remember the first night he hit me. I remember every night he'd abused me, in anyway. I remember this all as if it were yesterday.