Young Writers Society

(TW: if you don't like to read about abuse, you might not want to press forward. I know this put me in a pretty dark place just writing this, so just try to stay in a safe mental space while reading,)

I got into the passengers side of Elizabeth's car. I didn't even look at her as I tried to keep my breathing and voice calm. My heart was racing and I was struggling not to cuss her out. "How did you find me?" I asked without shifting my gaze.

"Well, I know where Peter lives and I figured since it was the closest place to me, that it was where you would go, and as I drove by, I saw you in the window," she replied.

"I can't let you treat me like this, Elizabeth," I said, with the same, steely voice. I couldn't bring myself to look into those emerald eyes.

"I know baby," she said. "I had just done a little coke before I picked you up and I was so amped that when I saw her name in your phone, I just kind of lost it."

My mind flashed back to my step dad, pleading with my mom not to take my sister and I away from him. He had just beat us for the first time after a late night bender, and my mom had told us to gather our things so we could leave. My sister and I each had a black eye, and a couple other bruises on our faces.

Tears ran down his face as he begged her not to go. He assured her that it would never happen again and that he would seek counseling for his alcoholism. Back then, I didn't understand what was going on. I just thought that dad was mad at us and we'd done something wrong. It had taken me years to find that that wasn't how a 8 and 6 year old were supposed to be treated.

My sister and I had simply forgotten to clean the bathroom. We had both finished our homework and started watching tv. Our strict regimen of cleaning our bathroom 3 times a week had slipped our mind. When he went into our bathroom to check on it, he saw dried toothpaste on the counter, our towels on the floor and our tooth brushes, floss and mouth wash scattered over the countertops in an unorganized fashion.

He walked into the living room, very obviously hungover now that I think of it, and began screaming at us. "How are you two so fucking stupid?" He roared. "It literally takes you 2 fucking minutes to clean up your bathroom and you couldn't even do that? Stand the fuck up" He said. It was only 4 o'clock. Mom wouldn't be home for another hour at least, so we knew she wouldn't save us.

"Who was supposed to remember it this time?" He said. "Yours?" He poked me in the chest as he said this, pushing me back into the couch that we were stood in front of, like soldiers in a formation. "Or yours?" He said poking my sister.

We both scrambled back up off of the couch, pointing at each other, desperate to save our own skin, unsure of who's responsibility it was. Both of us had forgotten so the blame was equal. "I decide to take a little bit of rest today, trusting you two to do your normal chores and you don't? Do you think I'm stupid?" He yelled. He hit us again. Then again. "Go stand on the wall both of you!"

We both walked hastily to the wall and put our noses on it, relieved that we were just going to have to stand there. But it wasn't over yet. We stood there for about 5 minutes, listening to him yell as he threw everything around our bathroom. When he came back, he saw that both of us were whispering to each other, arguing about whose responsibility it was.

"Why the fuck are you two talking? You're getting punished! This isn't the fucking social hour!" He pressed both of our heads against the wall with increasing pressure. Eventually, I could feel blood dripping from my nose. He saw the blood and stopped. "Are you that fucking weak that you have to fucking bleed?" He yelled, like it was MY fault that I was bleeding.

"I...I don't know!" I stammered, stuttering and crying.

"Quit fucking crying or I'll give you something to cry about!" He yelled. "You have 5 seconds to stop. 5..4...3..." I couldn't stop, "2...1..." He hit me across the face hard as he finished his count. "There, now you can cry all you want since you can't stop being a little bitch!"

The next thing I remember is getting stood up next to my sister who'd clearly been hit a few times as well. "I don't know why I'm hitting you with my hands and hurting myself when I didn't do anything wrong. Go into the bedroom, you're getting the belt." We marched our condemned asses (literally) into my parents' bedroom. "Who's going first?" He demanded. I volunteered, pretending to be brave, but really I just wanted it to be over. "Fine get over here and bend over!"

I bent over the edge of the bed and heard his belt come off. I heard the woosh of the belt as he swung and felt the thick leather snap across my ass. My basketball shorts did not provide very much protection. I screamed and gripped the blankets of the bed. After 5 more, I was instructed to step aside and wait for my sister to get done. When both of us were adequately whipped, we went upstairs to clean the bathroom.

My sister and I silently cleaned everything that he'd done. He had thrown our stuff all over the bathroom and emptied half the tooth paste and smeared it onto the mirror. Both of us were still sniveling. Once we were done, we quietly went downstairs but were told to go to our rooms and think about what we'd done. I didn't care about going to my room. I didn't want to be around him. I just wanted to escape into my books.

When I read Harry Potter, I wondered if Harry got beat by his aunt and uncle. I prayed that I would get my letter when I turned 11 so I could escape from that house and learn spells to keep my step dad away from me. As I laid in my bed with my copy of the book, I cried onto the page, wishing that an owl would come. I wanted Hagrid to land on my front lawn and turn my step dad into a pig. I wanted floo powder so that I could just step into the fire place and be somewhere else.

But my letter never came.

As previously stated, my mom came home and told us to pack up. He begged her not to leave. Eventually, she gave in. But he was a liar and he fooled all of us. My sister and I were beaten countless times over the next 4 years before my school saw the bruises. CPS threatened to take my sister and I away if my mom didn't leave him. When I was 12, he was no longer in the picture and it was just three of us.

Eventually, I left my mom and sister and moved in with my grandparents and dad. Weight-lifting became my emotional outlet. I would never be weak again. I would be able to stand up for myself. Through lifting, I gained friends and self-confidence. I continued reading and watching the characters I'd grown up with on tv. I wanted to be just like them. Naruto trained to overcome loneliness and become the hokage. Goku trained and defeated the likes of Cell and Frieza. When Goku killed them, it was like watching myself fire the kamehameha at my step dad.

I tend not to dwell on any of my childhood though. I smile, and make jokes. I'm the class clown. Nothing is allowed to be wrong with me because I'm the one who makes everyone else laugh, even if It's at my own expense. I don't let people in. Not after every adult in my life had fucked me over.

My mother stood silently as we were beaten, my biological dad was nowhere to be found until I was 13 and my step dad would beat my sister and I like we were punching bags. Trusting people got me ignored, abandoned and abused. Letting people in left me exposed and potentially weak. I didn't tolerate weakness. I was strong. I had to be.

I looked Elizabeth in the eyes. "If you ever lose your shit on me like that ever again, I will leave you without any hesitation."

She looked overjoyed. "Of course I won't baby!" She said hugging me. "Can we still go to dinner with my aunt and uncle?" She asked.

"Sure, do I look ok?" I said, motioning to my bruises.

"Yeah baby, you can just wash up and tell them that you got in a scuffle in the weight room, defending me. I'll back you up," she said.

I looked myself in the mirror and I stared into my eyes. I had the exact same eye color as my moms and in that moment I could see the same thing in my eyes as I'd seen in my mothers every time she took my step dad back.

Weakness and fear.