Escape Chapter 1, a misc. books fanfic

Chapter One

Slap

Pause.

Slap. I breathed heavily, tears crashing down in waves down my cheeks. The pain is there, I know it, but I can't comprehend it.

Not yet.

With each blow to my face I can feel the swelling begin.

No pain.

The only reason why I knew that I was being hit was because I saw my father's hand and I heard it. The whistling sound of his hand resisting against gravity; against the air.

It was like I was numb from it all. I didn't understand what I'd done this time. I was on my way up to my room and my dad hit me out of his drunken stupor. One would say run or hide, but there was no hiding from my dad. Nothing could stop him, but this was uncalled for.

I didn't understand.

I couldn't think of a single thing that I'd done to have him feel compelled to harm me in this way…again.

I was used to it. The hitting.

The punching.

The slapping.

Usually there was a reason behind it.

Slap

Cry

Slap

Pause.

Silence

My dad left me at the bottom of the stairs. I didn't waste any time dragging myself to my room. I knew that he'd be back having forgotten that he'd already beat me.

I laid there crying silently on my bed. This is when the pain came. I screamed into my pillow. Heaven forbid that my father would come into my room and start over again because he heard me. It happened rarely, but it'd happened before and I didn't plan on it happening again.

I hated that my mom died. I hated it. I hated her. It took a part of my daddy. I missed him. The dad I knew, the dad I loved would have never done this, but after my mom died…he was never the same. It was like he died. And my life was going down the drain.

I woke up stiff.

Not wanting to move.

I could only imagine what I looked like today. Only God knew what kind of makeup I was going to use to cover up the evidence that my dad was an abusive drunk. I was so ashamed.

I could never find my voice when my dad was upset with me. Maybe it was because before my mom's untimely death, my dad and I were close—just slightly closer than my relationship with my mom.

My mom.

As any child would, I wanted my mom back. Not so that she could live in agony, but just so that I could tell her that I loved her...Just once more. One more time.

I heard the floor boards creak from under the carpet.

My dad didn't want any evidence that he married my mother or that she even existed. He'd put all the photos of her in the attic.

The ones when we went to Chicago when I was five.

The wedding photos.

Even my Sweet Sixteen. That was the happiest day of my life. Mom had gotten me the best present a girl could ever want.

She got me a bracelet. Not any bracelet. It was silver engraved bracelet that said: I'll Always Be Your Superwoman". It was the best gift that I'd ever gotten. It wasn't a car. Not the newest electronic; it was the gift that came from the heart. It was something that my mother had a gift of. Just doing things that made you think about life and now about the things that could make you happy.

The floor boards creaked again. I froze.

Not a breath.

Not a bat of my eyelashes.

My door creaked open.

"Jordan, you awake?" I heard my dad whisper. I just closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. I prayed to God that he would leave. "Jo, if you're awake talk to me, Hun."

I refused to move.

He taught me well.

Hiding.

Pretending.

I turned slowly over to face my window and sighed.

Leave! I wanted him to leave. I didn't want to have anything to do with him. Especially not now.

"Jo, please, I need to talk to you," Dad said a bit louder. I heard the muted sounds of his feet slinking across the floor.

My heart pounded against my ribcage.

Don't.

Move.

"Jordan Faye!" I sat up abruptly, but then recoiled in agony. I'd moved too fast.

I was too stiff.

Too bruised to move that fast.

I pulled my knees to my chest, but Dad grabbed my arm and pinned it to one side of the bed. I could almost feel the cramp in my muscle.

I could feel my muscle trembling.

Quivering.

"Dad!" I cried out. "Please! You're hurting me." He ignored me and grabbed my other arm. He then sat on my pelvis. Dad leaned down and chuckled in my ear.

"You've been naughty," he whispered in my ear. When he tilted his head up a little I could see that his eyes were dilated.

Drugs? Now he was doing drugs.

"Daddy?" I whimpered. "Daddy, please. This hurts. Please stop." I was horrified. I hadn't realized what position I was in. I prayed to God that he wasn't trying to do what I thought he was going to do.

"Mmmm, what was that, Pumpkin?" he murmured. "Call me "Daddy" again." I wanted to vomit. I wanted to die. I wished that I could die in a hole so that no one could find me.

Dad released one my hands, but used his now free hand to roam places that I never thought that my father was capable of going to.

"DAD!" I screamed.

"Shhhh, it's ok, Jo, it's alright," he said this smiling.

A demented smile.

Something you'd see on a scary movie where someone was possessed.

He placed his mouth over mine—forcing his tongue in between my lips.

I screamed.

I kicked.

I cried.

Breathe

Kiss

Breathe

Cry

Kiss

Breathe

Cry

Dad ground his hips on me.

"Daddy! Daddy, please! I'm begging you—" He put a finger to my lips. His eyes were wild and excited.

Hungry.

He wasn't my dad. I didn't know who this man was anymore. He'd gone too far. Too far. The dad I knew was gone.

"Daddy will make it ok. I'll make you feel good," he said leaning down, nibbling at my ear. I started to sob.

My whole body ached.

I didn't have much of a fight left in me. I had to face the facts:

My dad was going to rape me.

"I don't want to feel good. I just want you to stop! Dad please, I just want you to get off of me. I'll be a good girl! I promise," I scrambled for words.

"Yes, you want me to make you feel good. So good. I'm going to make you feel good, Babe, so good." He ground his hips harder.

I felt like I couldn't breathe.

Anxiety attack.

My heart pounded.

My head pounded.

Stop.

STOP.

"DAD STOP! YOUR'RE HURTING ME! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? IS THIS WHAT YOU WOULD DO IF MOM WAS HERE?" I yelled.

I didn't see his hand go up, but I could feel his weight shift.

Slap

"Be a good girl for daddy," he said sternly as if I was five. He raised his hand for the second time and I turned away, but I was mistaken. Dad's hand landed on the top of my shoulder. He slipped off both straps and pulled the thin cloth down below my bra exposing my chest.

I tried my best to fight him off.

I did.

I was too weak.

Too tired.

I couldn't.

So,

I waited.

But nothing ever happened.

Dad just got up and left shutting the door quietly behind him.

I didn't understand.

I looked down and then I saw it.

A bruise. Black and blue; purple and a sickly grey around the edges.

Maybe, somehow, my dad had seen what he'd done.

He didn't come back after that. I stayed in my room, in a ball.

Crying.

Scared.

Wanting my mom.

Hating my dad.

Wanting to die.