Tasha's Got a Gun
I lay on the bed, between my legs coated in blood. My entire body aches from my dad's activities. Not for the first time, I consider running away. I'm not sure where I would go. Nobody believed me when I told them what my dad was doing. I didn't tell Clint about what was happening, because I didn't want to face the betrayal of him denying me too. If I were to run away, I would just be returned home, and my father would punish me. My body shakes at the thought.
This abuse has been going on for several years, ever since I turned 12. After I started my period, he told me that I was a woman, and that I could now enjoy more in life. That was the first time he raped me. I didn't think anything of it. He told me that it was natural, and that it was nothing to worry about. At the time, I believed him. After all, why wouldn't I? He was my dad. He'd never steered me wrong before. Besides, if it was bad, wouldn't I have heard about it?
As time went on though, I began realizing that something was not right. After our encounters, he would threaten me not to tell anyone. He got violent. Whenever I tried to fight him, he would be even rougher when he raped me. The last time I fought, I couldn't walk correctly for a week. I passed it off as a twisted ankle, and people seemed to believe me. After all, who would suspect a well-respected lawyer of raping his young daughter? It was a ludicrous idea, right?
Yet, every time I went to bed, I waited in fear, wondering if he was going to open my door and rape me. Would that night be one where I was subjected to continuous pain and humiliation, or would it be a night where I could actually get some sleep? The stress and lack of sleep are wearing me down, and I'm ready to snap. I need to get away from him. Someone has to believe me. They just have to.
After my father leaves me for the night, I resolve to tell someone in the morning. With this thought in mind, I fall asleep, my body aching.
In the morning, I head to the guidance counselor's office instead of my first hour. She lets me come in, and I sit down on the padded table. She asks me what brought me to her, and I tell her. She dismisses me after lecturing me about how I shouldn't make up such stories about my father. Frustrated, I cut my classes for the rest of the day. Tears run down my cheek as I contemplate what I want to do. I have to make this stop somehow. If I don't, it'll slowly eat away at me until I go insane. If I want something to happen, I need to make it happen.
I head downtown to the nearest gun store. They refuse to do service with me, since I am a minor who does not have a license. Desperate, I begin searching for someone that has a gun.
At last, I remember the pistol that my dad keeps in the kitchen. It is always loaded, in case of intruders. It would be a simple matter to slip it away. A plan forms in my mind, and a sadistic smile spreads over my face. It's time for me to get my payback.
After I steal the gun and conceal it under my pillow, I wait. He has to come visit me eventually, and when he does, I'll be ready. I'll make this nightmare come to an end. I'll make everyone believe me. They'll be sorry that they didn't believe me before.
Finally, after a few days, he comes to visit me. I allow him to undress me and have his way with me, but tonight will be different. He will not leave me in this room, alone and in pain. I will be leaving him alone in this room and in pain. That is, if he's lucky. I've had years to accumulate the rage and determination that I'm feeling right now.
When he finishes, he gets dressed and gets ready to leave, his back to me. I slip the gun out from under my pillow and take aim. Just as I am getting ready to pull the trigger, he begins turning around. In a panic, I pull the trigger quickly, reloading and shooting again and again, until the chambers are emptied. My father stares unbelievingly at me, before looking at the wounds. He crumples down to his knees, before falling sideways. His head hits the floor with a resounding thud. He does not move.
I stare at the gun in my hands, not quite believing what I've done. It's over. He will not be able to abuse me any more. A bubble of hysterical laughter rises in my throat. I've gotten rid of my worst assailant. I can do anything that I want to. I can make everyone pay for not believing me when I told them. I'll make them sorry.
I can hear sirens in the distance. Someone must have heard the shots. I take one last look at the crumpled body of my father before leaving my room. I go to the kitchen, grab the extra bullets, and leave the house. I run, not sure where my feet are taking me.
I may not be sure where I'm going, but one thing is for certain. I'm going to find everyone that didn't believe me, and I'm going to make them pay for causing me so much suffering.
As I run, a maniacal smile slips onto my face. Tasha's got a gun, and everyone should be on the run.
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