It isn't clear in your head when it started, but after it began there were no breaks.
You think it could have been when you accidentally broke his favorite glass. It was commemorative and very special to him; a perk from being the MVP of the baseball team, which it read very clear in red lettering. At the time, you were probably three. He gave you a bruise on your upper arm and threatened to hurt you more if you snitched.
This could have very well just been the first memory you have of the abuse, but to you it marked the beginning of the end of a normal childhood.
What he did seemed normal. Wasn't it normal? You remember until you were six watching dad rough him up a few times if he got too out of line. Though he stopped at the aforementioned six, you had it stuck in your mind it was okay. You deserved this, like he deserved it.
He taught you the way, apparently, you were supposed to act. He coached you on how to treat others, how to get through life, how to scam, how to swindle. He gave you a lot of lessons and life advice.
You saw it as the word of God.
Still, he made it a daily point to remind you just how much you would never measure up to him.
"You're too nice. Wanna be walked all over?"
"You're too weak. You don't have a chance out there if you don't toughen up."
"Stop acting so desperate."
"Stop crying!"
"Stop breathing."
You didn't remember the last one until recently. You must have repressed it.
Funny how that works.
It's sad in a way. Looking back at it with a fresh set of eyes, in many ways you were no different than a puppy born into a dogfighting ring. You started out nice, open-hearted, and bright-eyed. You wanted to make others happy and desperately looked for approval and acceptance. Then, the harsh training came. Beaten, conditioned, and broken there was no other life besides the one you were forced to live.
Deep down, you hated the facade.
Deep down, you didn't want to be so vile.
Deep down, you were anything but arrogant.
As the years went by, things only got worse. First, it was the hitting and demeaning. By the time you were five, other things were added.
He would duct-tape you to a wall and use you for knife-throwing practice. He hit the edge of your ear twice, but (un?)luckily he never got you too bad.
He would blow cigarette smoke in your face because your cough and expression were apparently hilarious when he did it. If you got your spit on him from coughing, he would burn it out somewhere that wasn't visible on you.
He would throw you outside when it started to rain hard. You got a really bad fever one time as a result. He called you weak for getting sick.
He would wait until it was really late and-
"Hold still."
You decide you're still not ready to even so much as think about that last one.
By the time he was thrown out your parents, though they had an inkling that he was bullying you, had no idea the hell you went through. Their busy schedules during your early childhood kept them in the dark due to his expert charisma and your blind obedience.
There was no way you'd snitch.
He had done so much to toughen you up and prepare you for the world. This was normal.
Dad got a huge raise soon after he left town and mom quit her nursing job.
They both were quick to notice a repeat in behavior.
"Stop acting so much like-"
"Like who, mom, like who?"
"Your brother!"
He wasn't the bad one. He taught you so much.
They were the bad ones.
They were the bad ones.
You started test the waters a little shortly after he left. You tried his swindling ways. You copied his pranks and methods of scamming to a T. He would be so proud if you just tried harder. So proud.
Sometimes you look back at yourself and think about why the hell you acted the way you did. Why did you cling to him and think he was any good? Why did you defend the crap he pulled? Why do you still feel a pull telling you there is some good in him.
You decide that you're basically a battered housewife.
Nowadays, you are still gluing yourself back together after finally breaking your mask.
You realize you will never be completely fixed.
Because you are free to live your life, but not really. The neuroses he created prevent that from being truly achieved.
You are yourself, but always with his shadow behind you.
You are safe, but can't be rescued from the fear-the fear-it's so ingrained in you it's innate now and you wake up screaming sometimes and stop pleasemakeitstop.
Fear that you will become him.
Fear that you're not good enough.
But there will be days where it's partly cloudy with a slight breeze, around 65 degrees fahrenheit. Your favorite weather. Your friends are by your side, accepting (you pray, you hope) and kind (are they just pretending?). You'll be hanging out, talking and joking and feeling almost whole for just a little while.
For moments like those, you decide life is okay.
Not great.
Not good.
Maybe it will get better in time when you can clean out more skeletons, when you can find another piece to glue back in place.
For now though, this is fine.
Everything's okay.
Life is okay.