Chapter 1: The Slap
The familiar sting of his hand racing across my face, but it was going to be for the last time. Hitting the bookshelf as he shoved me back towards the wall, but it was going to be the last time. Cracking of the belt as it hit the bare flesh of my leg, but it was going to be the last time. Picking myself up from the mint green carpet after kicking me in the stomach, but it was going to be the last time. Wiping the tears from my face as he called me slut, but it was going to be for the last time. Pitying the woman, my mother, decision to stay with him, but it was to be for the last time. We both had choices, but my choices weren’t blinded by loyal and security. I was getting the fuck out of here.
“Fuck you!” I yelled as I slammed my bedroom door. I pulled my duffle bag from under the bed. Tearing out the drawers from my dresser, throwing all the contents: panties, bras, socks, tanks, jeans, and shorts into the bag. My mother came into the room, tears flooding her eyes.
“What are doing?” Her sobbing muffled some of her words.
“Getting the fuck out of here!” I hollered back. My mother grabbed my arm, but I broke her grip.
“You can’t leave,” she begged.
“Fucking watch me.”
“Let the bitch go,” Jim, my stepfather, swore as he followed my mother in my room. “She would just hook up with some nigger or spic.”
I rushed him and shoving him out of my room. “Shut the fuck up!” He knew I hated those words.
“I see some backbone,” Jim joked. “You will need it when you are laying down with your legs all spread.”
“Jim!” my mother yelled, trying to mount a defense, but her battle was short lived.
“Or on your knees paying for your fucking rent.” Jim continued with the digs. “Buy some fucking condoms girl, but will make more money if you go raw dog.”
I didn’t response to his nasty ass comments. I got my keys off the top of the dresser, grabbed my bag and blew pass both mom and shoved my shoulder into that asshole’s chest. I walked towards the front door, but my mother grabbed my arm, again.
“Bridget! Please don’t go,” she said with tear filled eyes.
“Mom, I can’t take it anymore,” I said. “Any of this.”
“Where are you going you go?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “As long it is away from him.” I pointed my finger at his fucking bald head.
“Go ahead,” Jim yelled. “Fucking leave and don’t think about coming back.”
“Don’t fucking worry about that.” I gave my mother a huge hug as I looked at Jim and gave him the fucking finger. I walked out of the house, for the last time and climbed on my bike and revved up the engine. I drove out of the carport of our double wide and onto the street. I didn’t look back. I had no plan, no direction, no destination, but I was free.
Jim was a first-rate asshole. He came into my mother’s life a year after she divorced her first husband, and my biological sperm donor. He had been laying hands on me since I was 13, nothing sexually, he just beat the shit out of me. Sometimes, Mom would try to stop him, but she just wanted to get out of the way of the blows. Calling me names, was his best form of abuse, anything in the slut category was fair game for him to attack me. But Jim wasn’t the first to attack me, the title went to Larry.
Larry was my father best friend. He was a happy drunk, unlike my father who was more of a depressing drunk that fucked anything that moved. I had to admit, Larry was nice to me. He would play video games with me and read me stories. All the things that my drunken ass father didn’t do. Larry also did something else that my drunken as father didn’t do.
It started innocence enough. A tickle here, a squeeze there, but nothing everlasting until the age of seven. He took tickling to another level from my armpits and feet to lower stomach and upper thighs. It continued until he deviated from the script some more. He moved to the area that was currently being vibrated by the engine of my bike. His tickling lasted until I was eleven. No penetration, but enough rubbing to make me sore the next day.
I never told anybody, not my father, my sister or mother. I was a scared girl with the pee that hurt. I should have told my mother, but she wouldn’t believe. I did have a reputation of being a lying little shit, which was mom and dad nickname for me. After the divorce, my dad had nothing to do with me. So, Larry just faded to a painful memory.
My sexual abuse from Larry was replaced with physical abuse from Jim. I couldn’t do anything right in his eyes. Slut! Dumbass! Stupid bitch! Each comment was followed by a slap across the face or the belt across the ass. Asshole! But I didn’t have to deal with the shit tonight or any other night. I was done with his fucking shit. No more crying myself to sleep. No more covering my bruises. No more sore back or pounding headaches. I was done with this part of my life. It was time to start fresh. No plan or destination was a good idea when you leave the abusive situation, but I needed to find a place, at least temporarily.
I pulled into the entrance of an Essex’s trailer park. I drove down the sandy dirt road, creating a choking cloud of dust behind me. At the end of the park was my destination, at least for the next couple of days, if Sarah would have me. My engine quieted down as I got off my bike and walked to the front porch of trailer B24. It was about ten thirty at night, a little late but not damn late. I knocked on the door and it flew open.
