So much blood. I can't do anything. All I want to do is help. There before me is my mother, her lifeless body laying on the cold hard floor. Her blonde hair is now covered in her blood after her throat was slit. I screamed loudly hoping to get the attention of the authorities, or at least the neighbors.
"Shut up!" a loud booming voice said. I could hear the footsteps coming down the hallway. I closed my eyes hoping that the man who killed my mother wouldn't come back. I felt somebody grip my face, I could smell the alcohol on his breath as he brought my face right up to his. My father, somebody I should have trusted. Somebody, I should look up to, not fear.
Before this, my family was perfect. I had the most amazing and sweetest mother in the whole entire world. She would do anything for her children. She was a stay at home mom who hung out with my little brother Ashton.
Ashton was only 4 at the time. As I closed my eyes I could almost see our family sitting at the small picnic table at our nearby park, eating the sandwiches my mother made earlier that morning as she sang the songs that were on the radio.
I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. And there stood before me, the horrible man who murdered my mother and my baby brother in cold blood. Being only 15, I didn't have much strength in me to try and escape, he had earlier beaten me after I tried to save my little brother from his demise.
My father is a liar. He always had been. Everything he has told us has been a lie. My whole life, I have looked up to my father hoping I could one day be like him. Someone so kind and honest, and willing to help anyone in need. But about 1 month ago, everything changed. He started acting strange and drinking more than normal. He drank sometimes but, started drinking more than he usually did.
He would sometimes come home hammered and then pass out drunk on the couch reeking of alcohol. That was usually the best possible outcome of him getting drunk. If we were unlucky, he wouldn't be drunk enough to pass out, and he would usually come into our rooms and abuse us physically or even mentally.
I could never tell which one hurt more. It was just simple mean words every once and while, but it soon got worse as time progressed.
After 2 weeks after the whole drinking issue, we found out he had been getting more than drunk. He had been buying drugs. One day, a man about 20 years old, came to our house. He was dressed in pure black and a had a gun in his pocket. I remember my little brother opening the door and greeting him in his soft cute voice.
I remember the voice of this man, it was cold and hoarse. He was very tall and has pitch black hair. My mother invited him inside and brought him into the kitchen.
He asked to speak to my mother alone so as the good kids we were, Ashton and I listened in from the hallway to hear what they were saying. I ended up telling Ashton to go and play since my mother and the man were talking about the most horrible things.
The man's name was Alexander. He was a drug lord. Probably the most famous in the country. He had come looking for my father.
It seemed as if my father owed him thousands of dollars and Alexander had come looking for it. I remember hearing Alexander telling my mother that she should deliver the message to my father and that if he didn't have the money in 3 days, there would be hell to pay.
After that, I never saw him again. And I had hoped not to. "let me go" I whimpered out I instantly regretted opening my mouth when he slapped me so hard I now had a scratch on my face. I laid against the cold hard ground and tried to curl up the best I could, which was extremely difficult since my hands were tied up.
"You fucking runt. I should have killed you along with your mother and brother!" he yelled loudly. I knew crying would only make him madder. So I kept the tears in all I could. "No, I have a better idea. Look, Megan, I know you know that I owe a lot of money to that fucker, Alexander. So you are going to help me get some money to pay him back." my father said.
What is he going to do? Pimp me out? Make me sell drugs? I kept thinking more and more of the horrible possible outcomes and the more and more I thought, the worse it got. "Please don't hurt me, dad. I love you. Please don't do this." I begged. And once again he slapped me. This time it hurt so bad I ended up having a few tears come down my face.
"Now, let's get you all fixed up. Daven will be here soo. I know he wouldn't want you looking like this." my father said hoasting me up and bringing me into his and my mom's room. Their room was covered in clothes.
Everywhere was my father's clothes and they were scattered all across the room and the furniture that filled it. But on the walls, there were bloody handprints that I was guessing were my mothers due to my brother not being able to reach that height.
"Get a shower. I'll be here the whole time. You've got 5 minutes, and if you try anything, I promise you-you will have to cover up a few more bruises then you already have to." My father threatened. I slowly nodded and walked into the bathroom quickly closing the door and locking it.
My first thought was to make my way out the window and jump. But after thinking that over, I instantly remember that I wasn't on the first or even second floor. I was on the 3rd floor of our house and if I even tried to jump I would probably break something and make it 1000x harder to escape.
I wasn't going to risk getting hurt. Even though I knew my father was probably going to hit me again, it does sound better than jumping out a three-story window. I quickly stripped down into my underwear and examined my bruises and wounds that my father had given me.
I ended up counting a total of 5. And each one had an interesting story. The first was one was sitting on my leg. It was caused by him gripping me so hard after I tried to hold on to my little brother before my father killed him. He had gripped so hard that his nails ended up digging into my skin. The second bruise was on my face. From him giving me a black eye as he slammed me into the wall after punching me.
The other 3 were from the same things. They were on my back after he hit me with the pole that holds the curtains. Damn did that hurt. It ended up leaving my back in pain and blood streaks coming down. I finished taking off my clothes and stepped into the shower.
As I turned the water on, I hissed in pain as the hot water hit my back. I quickly put shampoo into my hair and rinsed out all the blood. I looked to the ground and saw red water going down into the drain.
The blood that went into the water was from 1 of 2 things. Either the blood that was from my back (which wasn't much). Or the blood of my brother who my father smashed his face into the wall 3 times before trying to smother him with a pillow.
My brother was probably the most abused by my father before this happened. Mostly because he didn't want to listen to my father's rules. But not really any 4 years old wants to listen. I learned to stop talking back after a few rough beatings.
After cleaning myself up, I made my way to the door and grabbed a towel to cover myself before unlocking the door and walking out. My father was no longer at the door but now sitting on the bed. "Are you all cleaned?" He asked me. His voice was no different. It was no longer tense and harsh like it was less than 5 minutes ago.
It was calmer. It sounded like it uses to before all of this happened. "Yes," I said. He looked up from the floor and smiled. "Good. Now be a good girl and go to your room. I want you to get into a full face of makeup and cover all of those bruises. I also want you to get into a really nice pair of underwear and be ready in 10 minutes. Devan will be here soon. I want you to look your best." He said.
I nodded. I started to walk toward the door but stopped when a question came across my mind. "Dad?" I asked him. I turned around so I was now facing him. He stood up from the bed and he turned to me. "Yes?" He asked.
"What is Devan coming for?" I asked him. I somewhat already knew my answer. But I needed to have my dad say it. "For sex Megan." He said. "I'm a virgin dad," I said in a low voice. "Then the price will be raised. But that won't stop me from giving you him. Viring or not. I nee that money." He said.
I sighed knowing that my father was now deciding my fate. I didn't want to cry but it was so hard. My whole life my mother told me to give my virginity or what she called "my flower" to somebody I loved. And I didn't love Devan.
I barely knew him. I had only seen him once. He is 37 and actually has a wife. "Please don't make me do this dad," I said starting to tear up. "This is not up for discussion Megan! Now go get dressed!" He yelled before slapping me hard again.
I quickly ran out of the room and into mine. What now? Am I just suppose to obey? Or fight back?