The first time he hit me was when I was twelve. I had been pestering him about Christmas. It was our forth Christmas without mum. We hadn't celebrated any festivals since she'd passed and I wanted to live again. I was twelve. I had grown tired of watching all my friends celebrate Christmas like I would've have if my mother was alive. He hadn't acknowledged my existence after mum died. It was like he was there but not really. Physically but not mentally. Gran took care of me most of the time but that year she went away too. I was alone. I kept trying to talk to him make conversation but it was like the harder I tried, the angrier he got. When I mentioned Christmas like any tweleve year old would he snapped. He shot of his chair and striked me across the cheek. Hard. My lips starterd quivering and I was shaking.
Now, when I think about those moments, it's like they are engraved in my brain. I want to forget but i cant. I can remember the pain of his belts when they cut through my skin. He only got worse. He started hitting me regularly. It was his release. By the time I was sixteen I had enough scars for a hundred lifetime. Some were visible. But the ones which hurt the most you couldn't see. No one could. One look at me and you would never believe.
So My name is Katy and this is my story. My past, a past you would never want and my present, a present any girl would kill for.
