"Get out!" he shouted.
"What do you mean?" I asked. “Where will I go?”
"I'm not talking to you," he replied.
"Get out!" he shouted again, his nostrils flaring as he grit his teeth at my mother.
My mother cowered in fear at his command.
"Please don’t hurt her," she begged.
"You heard me, woman," he said. "Do I have to ask you one more time?"
My mother scurried out as fast as she could, tripping on the way out. Then my father slammed the door shut. I thought my heart skipped a beat.
My little sisters were all crying, and my mother was consoling them, trying her best to keep them from coming into my room.
He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me onto his lap, raising my ass into the air, smacking me repeatedly, thrashing me with his belt. Welts appeared instantly on my legs. Him grunting and groaning with each strike of anger as he continued to hit me. I cried and screamed, begging him to stop, but he wouldn’t listen.
I looked over and saw my mother peeking through the crack in the door making eye contact with me. She cringed every time I received a swat. I read my mother's lips as she whispered, "I'm sorry baby, but there's nothing I can do."
I couldn’t believe my mother was feeling sympathy for me. Maybe she did have a heart after all.
He continued striking me with the belt, the hot leather piercing my delicate flesh, causing me pain beyond anything I’d ever experienced before.
“Please stop, Daddy,” I cried. “I’ll be good. I swear. Please stop, Daddy.”
He continued to call me demeaning names while he thrashed me with all of his might.
“You fuckin’ little whore,” he shouted. “I thought you were a good girl, but now I know the truth. So what do you have to say for yourself?”
I knew he wanted an apology, but I wasn’t caving in. My pride would have hurt more than the beating, so I just took the pain, hoping it would end soon.
I held my breath, trying my best not to cry anymore. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of breaking me. The beating continued and after several minutes of me not responding, he finally stopped. Breathing so heavy, feeling as if I was going to suffocate, I thought about all of the things my father had done through the years that I wanted to throw in his face that were better left unsaid. After I came to my senses, I finally got myself to calm down, crying myself to sleep.
I woke up in the middle of the night and heard my parents talking, my mother begging my father to give me one more chance. My father said that since I took the beating, he decided I’d learned my lesson, and he’d allow me to stay.
One might have thought I would have cleaned up my act, but I didn’t. I became even wilder, doing everything I knew my father wouldn't approve of. I was old enough to do what I wanted, when I wanted. I didn't need someone telling me what to do. I was eighteen, I knew everything. At least I thought so at the time. Looking back, though, I had many regrets. I should have taken pride in myself and had respect for my body. I realized I’d been reacting and acting out, and I’d made some mistakes. I definitely learned many lessons. Of course, I learned them after it was too late. I’d done something stupid that ruined my perfect record.
A guy I’d just met was letting me drive his new mustang convertible. I didn’t have a driver’s license, but he didn’t care. He offered me a beer, but I didn’t take it. While I lived on the edge, I didn’t believe in drinking and driving, so I decided to drive the car because he’d been drinking too much. He was my new boyfriend. Well, at least until the next one came around. I couldn't believe he would let me drive his car. It was so fancy, bright red and shiny. It almost hurt to look at the chrome due to the light shining off of it. I didn't even know him, and he trusted me with his prized possession.
He guzzled back a beer and belched. He was crude, but I’d fix him in time. He took out another beer from the case in the backseat and shotgunned it, spilling all over the interior. Had he lost his mind?
“I need you to stop here,” he said, pointing at the nearest convenience store.
“You’re out of beer already?”
“No, I just need to get some cash.”
I pulled into the parking lot. He jumped out of the car. Then he leaned his head back inside.
“Leave the engine running, I'll only be a few minutes," he said. "You want anything?"
“Whiskey.”
He smiled, exposing his gold teeth.
I figured once we got to his place, I’d party, and lately whiskey was my drink of choice.
I’d been to that store before, but didn’t recall them having a cash machine inside. The fact he asked me to leave the engine running made me feel like something was up. Was he robbing the place?
Was I just being paranoid? Of course, my gut feeling told me to get the hell out of his car and run away to safety, but I didn’t. He seemed like a nice guy, so I decided to give him the benefit of doubt. Him doing something so awful seemed ridiculous. I still worried a little, since I was a minor, realizing if we were pulled over with booze, I’d definitely get in trouble.
I tried waiting patiently but freaked out somewhat because a long time had past, and he hadn't returned. My curiosity had gotten the best of me, so I shut off the engine and got out of the car. Just as I did, he stormed out of the store like he was being chase by an angry convenient store owner wielding a gun.
“Get back in the fuckin' car.”
He jumped into the passenger side super fast. I rushed back into the car behind the wheel.
The front of his hoodie bulged around the stomach area. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Then he pulled out a brown bag that was overflowing with hundred dollar bills. He took wads of cash out, cramming the bills into the crotch of his pants. He was having trouble getting it to fit, so he removed a revolver from his pants and put it under his armpit as he rifled through money, crotching the biggest bills.
Everything happened so fast, causing my heart to race. I almost had a panic attack. I wasn’t sure if he was going to shoot me or not, so I decided I’d better follow his directions.
I should have trusted my gut feeling. I’d realized something was wrong but did nothing.
“What the heck is going on?” I asked, pretending I didn’t see the gun.
He ducked his head down and peeked out of the back window.
“Start the fuckin’ car,” he shouted.
I fidgeted, my hands trembling. When I reached over to insert the key into the ignition, they slipped out of my grip, falling onto the floor-mat.
He reached down to pick them up, but they slid underneath the seat.
We both struggled to search for them.
I retrieved them and started the car. Just as I put the car into drive and stepped on the accelerator, colorful lights flashed through the back window.
An abrupt siren blast turned on for a second as if it was a warning to stay put.
I hit the brakes and fully stopped the car.
“Floor it,” he shouted. “We've got to get the fuck out of here.”
“Are you crazy?” I replied. “It's the police.”
I looked down and saw him drop the gun and a small white baggy under the passenger side seat. Then he continued to shove more money from the bag into the front of his trousers. I nearly barfed big time, my body shaking, me realizing I was most likely going to jail because of his stupidity.
Then he kicked his leg over on my side, pressing down hard on the accelerator, crushing my foot. The car tires squeaked, squealing as the car fishtailed, nearly spinning out of control. He smacked my hands, grabbing the steering wheel, doing his best to steer as he drove us across a sidewalk.
He’d driven over something that looked like an old grocery-store cart. I could hear it underneath, scraping like metal. Sparks sprayed from the side of the car. I put my hands over my eyes because I couldn’t bear to watch the inevitable outcome of doom.
He was never going to be able to get away from the
cops, but I was surprised how long he’d gone so far. For a moment, I thought it might have been possible.
I was too afraid to do anything, fearing he might shoot me. I thought about opening the door and jumping out, but the car was going too fast.
The squeal of the police siren screamed, blasting a wavering sound behind us. Then another siren blared, and then another. I knew it would be over soon, but I didn’t know how, dead or alive.
Just as I’d opened my eyes, a police car had cut us off, and we plummeted off the side of the road into a shallow ditch. My body flew forward in what seemed like slow motion. Then everything went black.
Chapter 21
I’d woken up to a hissing sound. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was or what had happened, everything seeming like a dream. Then the hoarse voice of my new so-called boyfriend cussed as police officers wrestled him to the ground. The windshield in front of me had spider webbed around a shattered spot the size of a grapefruit. I reached up and touched my forehead, stinging when my fingers made contact. A sharp pain in my head throbbed like a bruise. When I pulled my hand away, I noticed my fingers were covered in blood. Hesitant to look into the rear-view mirror, afraid of what I might see, I forced myself to take a look. Small shards of glass had embedded into the top of my forehead just at my hairline. I whimpered, holding both hands over my face, regretting my decision to stay in the car.
I identified the hissing sound. Beers, spraying from punctured cans in the backseat, soaked the rear window, covering the glass with the moisture of suds.
An officer pulled me out, dragging me to the front, throwing me face down on top of the hood of the car, manhandling me like some common criminal.
My tears dropped on the hood, along with slobber, snot, and blood from my mouth, nose, and forehead. I looked up staring at my reflection in the windshield in horror, my nose running, me crying harder than before. I couldn’t breathe because I was so worked up, me dry-heaving. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the officers dragging my boyfriend kicking and screaming into the back of the police car.
“The perpetrator was in possession of an illegal firearm,” the police officer said.
Then I couldn’t believe my ears when the cop went on to describe the perpetrator. He said, “She.”
She? I was shocked. I realized that the cops thought the gun was mine, and they also thought I’d stolen the car. My so-called new boyfriend said he’d hitched a ride with me, and I’d forced him to do drugs, at gunpoint, and made him rob the convenient store. I realized that I’d reached the point of no return. I told the officer I didn’t do anything, but they weren’t sympathetic at all. Apparently, everyone must tell them that they are innocent, because the police officers didn’t give me any sympathy, and they acted as if they had heard it all before. I’d become a victim of circumstance, and they were treating me as if I were the villain, the mastermind of the crime. Hurting deep down inside, I knew it’d be impossible to convince them of my innocence.
“Where is the firearm?” one of the police officers asked.
The other officer pulled his gun out carefully, approaching the car, inspecting the interior.
Then it occurred to me. My boyfriend had shoved the gun under the car seat.
“I found something,” the officer said.
He walked up next to me holding a small baggy, cutting it open with a pocket-knife. When he pulled out the blade it was covered in a white, powdery substance.
My eyes widened.
“I don’t know what that is,” I cried out. “That's not mine.”
“Sure it’s not,” the officer said, smirking.
The officer read me my rights as he escorted me to the back of another police car. Pushing my head down and tossing me inside. They separated us. I looked over, and they were having a conversation with that loser. He kept pointing in my direction. I could barely hear what he was saying, his voice squeaking as if he were almost crying. He was obviously selling me down the river.
He raised his voice, saying I’d also forced him to sell drugs for me. He told them I’d made him my bitch. Everything he’d said was so laughable. I couldn’t believe they were buying his bullshit. With each question they’d asked, he’d thrown me further under the bus. He really needed to grow a pair.
After being incarcerated, he tested positive for drugs. My drug test came back clean, since I’d never done drugs before in my life. I was released, but only after spending a few nights in jail, waiting to go in front of the judge. Since my drug test was negative, the police went easier on me, not fully believing his previous statements. Fortunately, that dickhead, who’d got me in trouble, slipped up several times, and his stories were not matching up, so the charges against me were lessened to driving a stolen car without a license. In spite of them going easier on me, I still had a record. How would I ever get a job with a criminal past?
But that wasn’t the only time I’d messed up, I’d had another incident shortly after that.
Against my better judgment, I was with some friends, who’d picked me up to go party. After hours of them drinking, I needed to go home, but everyone had drank so much, I couldn’t trust them to drive me. I figured me driving, in spite of not having a license, was justified in this case because nobody was in any condition to safely get anyone home. After some convincing, I got them to give me the car keys. Since I hadn’t had any alcohol, I was alert, so I knew I’d get us all home safe. I offered for everyone to come to my house, so they could sneak through my bedroom window. I took a big risk driving everyone home that night. They still partied in the car while I drove. They were all becoming heavier on the peer pressure, wanting me to do shots of whiskey with them. I knew I shouldn’t have, but did a few. I figure the effects of the alcohol wouldn’t kick in until I got back to my house. Then they talked me into having a few more. My chest was warm, and I became lightheaded instantly like I’d just awoken from a dream. The guy in the front seat next to me got grabby, trying to put his hand up my skirt, which caused me to swerve the car while trying to get him to stop. Red and blue lights flashed. Then a siren screamed. I pulled over the car immediately. Waiting for the police to approach the car seemed like forever. When the police searched the car, they’d found drugs. I told them I was innocent, but they didn't believe me. My so called friends said that the drugs were mine, so I was taken to jail. Fortunately, they didn't prosecute me for the amount of drugs they’d found. They got me for possession of marijuana and reckless driving. And things had gotten even worse. Apparently, someone had snatched the car keys of the girl who had thrown the party we were at earlier, and they’d taken the car without permission. Guess what? The car had been reported stolen.
It just so happened the police officers that pulled me over were the same officers that had pulled me over previously. I told them I didn’t steal the car, but the fact that it was the second time they’d pulled me over in a stolen car and driving without a license, I knew I was in big trouble. I’d spent the night in jail.
The next morning I had to go to court, and since the passengers straightened out the mess with their friend regarding the car, the charges were dropped to a lesser charge, contributing substances to minors and driving under the influence. Since I was eighteen and one girl in the car was seventeen, they told me I should have been more responsible, and I needed to be taught a lesson, so they wouldn’t throw the case out of court.
Leery to go out partying with anyone anymore, I decided I probably shouldn't drive until I could get a driver's license. Looking back, I’d realized I was acting immature, and I’d been struggling with my emotions. I’d learned a valuable lesson once again, but I was too late. I’d become damaged goods. Who would ever trust me again in the future?
My mother picked me up from jail and took me home. When I got inside, my father wouldn’t even look in my direction. He didn’t breathe a word to me. He acted as though I didn’t even exist. His face was red, him clinching his fists, breathing heavy. His shot glass was on the en
d table, him reaching down to a brown bag on the ground next to him, which contained a booze bottle.
My mother put me to bed, telling me we’d discuss everything in the morning when my father was sober. After she closed my bedroom door, I almost climbed out of my window, not wanting to confront my father in the morning. Sure, he could be sober in the morning, but he’d be suffering from a hangover. That was definitely not the time I wanted to discuss anything with him. I closed my eyes, eventually falling asleep.
The door slammed open. My eyes opened wide, bulging slightly as my jaw dropped, fearing what was about to happen. My father wielding his belt with a deranged look on his face, his eyes bugging out, gritting his teeth, slapping his belt on the ground like a maniac.
I reached down and covered my ass with my hands as if that were going to do any good. The blanket I had over me was thick and protective, so I’d hope he didn’t realize I was covered.
He yanked the covers away, and he flipped me over on my stomach. Then he held both of my wrist together with only his single large hand. I squirmed underneath him as he thrashed my ass repeatedly, doling out the punishment I deserved.
His eyes were red and tired from drinking all night. His teeth clinched tight as he beat me, grunting and groaning with each strike.
“Why were you drinking?” he asked. “Why do you do it?”
I couldn’t believe what a hypocrite he was being, so I decided to throw it in his face.
“I’m an alcoholic like you.” I shouted. “Why do you do it?”
“You don’t talk to me like that,” he shouted. “I’m your father, and you’ll treat me with respect.”
He put me over his knee like he had when I was a little girl being punished. He pulled down my panties, spanking my bare bottom over and over and over. I kicked and screamed, shouting at him, telling him I hated his guts, threatening to leave, sharing all of my grievances. He told me, "If you walk out that door, you're never welcome back. Do you hear me?"
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