My name is Maxine Felix and I'm 15 almost 16 years old. When I was no older than three my mother got in a car accident that took her life. That left my father to take care of me which he was no good at.
He would leave me home alone and go out drinking and come home at midnight with bruises and broken bones but still gather enough strength to beat me and put me through hell. I remember being about four when he first beat me; he left me in a locked dog cage all night before he came home at midnight. I remember him smelling like beer and cigarettes and asking him, "Daddy, where were you all night?," which he responded with, "None of your business you worthless bitch!," and slapping me across the face. It would knock me out and I would wake up the next morning with bruises on my face and a black eye to match his.
This continued for a few years. I remember one night when I was 10 and my dad returned home from a bar probably. I was sitting at the kitchen table working on my homework when he came over to me grabbed me by the front of my shirt and shoved me against the wall. He brought his face close to mine and growled in my ear, "You were a mistake! You're worthless and the only reason I stayed around is because I raped your mother and I thought it was good decision! Boy was I wrong! You're pathetic!," and when he was done he threw me to the ground, walking upstairs, leaving me there crying and shaking in sobs.
I didn't know if my father was telling the truth. He was intoxicated for crying out loud, he's probably just talking crap like he usually does. But something inside me, a thought, a feeling, told me that he was telling the truth.
After that I believed I was pathetic. I believed I was worthless. When I went from elementary school to middle school everyone started dating and being more involved with boys. Not me.
I remember once in 8th grade a boy came up to me when I was at my locker and asked me to the 8th grade Red Carpet Dance. He looked like such a nice boy, someone who would probably treat a girl well, but so did my dad. I remember slamming my locker and running away to go cry in the bathroom, remember what my dad did to me. I don't trust boys because of my dad. I probably never will. I've never had a boyfriend or even a crush for that matter. I've never seen myself as pretty enough that any guy would ever like me.
Same with friends. I've never had a best friend or even a friend. Not that it mattered, I've gotten straight A's every year of my life which caused my teachers to not take concern about me. I usually sit in the back of class and watch things happen.
One day my freshman year of high school I was sitting in class listening to my iPod with my hood up and a bunch of girls were talking in front of me. Macy Steinberg, the most popular girl in school, was crying and her friends were trying to get her to tell them why. She finally told them that her boyfriend, the sweet boy who first asked me to the 8th grade Red Carpet Dance but since I ran away he asked her instead, the boy I thought was beyond sweet, the boy who she thought she loved, raped her and now she thinks she may be pregnant.
I remember thinking that even though she was one of the popular girls that I felt sorry for her. I stood up and walking over to her, hugging her, and telling her that everything is going to be alright. Then I walked away.
One of her friends said that I was a freak but I tried to ignore it. I sat sitting against my locker when she came over to me and sat beside me. She told me thanks and asked why I did it. I told her I got how she felt and she proceeded to tell me all about her boyfriend and how much she loved him and how she felt when she was raped and how she should tell her boyfriend that she's pregnant. I told her that she should be honest with him and then the bell rang and she thanked me one more time before standing up and rejoining her friends.
From that day whenever her friends were making fun of me she would say something to them and wink at me. We never talked but I could tell she was thankful. That's the thing about me I see things, I keep quiet about them and I understand. I'm a wallflower.
What surprised me though is that my dad never sexually abused me like he did with my mom. Every day I thought he would, but he never did. Maybe that's why I never told a teacher or the police. Not until one day when I was 14.
I got home from school and my dad was standing in the kitchen waiting for me. I remember bracing myself for the worst, saying a prayer, and walking into the kitchen gripping the straps on my backpack tighter turning my knuckles white. I stood in front of him and he walked over to me slapping me harder than usual across my face. It hurt so bad I fell to the ground and he kicked me in the ribs. I heard a snap and screamed loud. He kept kicking me until I heard another snap, but I was hurt so bad that I just laid on the ground and took it like I usually did. He finally stopped and bent down to yell in my ear how worthless and pathetic and how much he wanted me dead into my ear. Nothing new. He spit on me and walked back upstairs.
I didn't attempt to get up until I heard his door slam. It took all my strength and more until I finally lifted myself up and into my room. I silently thanked God that my room was downstairs and walked into the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror and pulled up my shirt to examine my ribs. Definitely three of them were broken and my face was bruised like usual, nothing I couldn't hide with a little makeup.
But I was sick of hiding behind makeup. I suddenly felt a surge of anger go through me. I was sick of this! I was sick of covering my face with makeup to hide the bruises and then acting like I was ok! I was sick of it all! I deserved to be treated better! Or at least, I think I deserved to be treated better! I slammed my fist on the bathroom counter and walked back into my bedroom.
I grabbed my cellphone, an old flip phone that I had to buy minutes for, from my backpack and the phone book from one of my drawers and opened it to the domestic abuse number. I remember typing the number into my cellphone with shaky hands and putting the phone up to my ear. After about three rings a lady with a sweet voice, like honey, picked up the phone.
"Domestic abuse what is your emergency?"
"My dad has been abusing me from some time and I'm sick of it! I want to get out!," I said crying into the phone, not realizing I probably sounded like a crazy person.
"Ok, ok, calm down miss," she said hushing into the phone, "What's your name? Where do you live? How old are you?"
"My names Maxine Felix, I'm 14, and I live at 5235 N. Meyer St," I said still sobbing into the phone, my hands shaking harder than usual. I gripped the phone tighter so I wouldn't drop it.
"Ok. Is your father home right now?"
"Yea! He's in his room probably sleeping!," I said yelling into the phone, gripping it even tighter, my knuckles turning white.
"Ok, shh calm down, calm down. I'm going to send some people over; I need you to stay where you are. Do you understand?," she asked and for the first time I actually noticed a little panic in her voice.
"Uh huh," I said my voice quivering.
"Ok, stay on the phone with me you're going to be alright, now-"
I didn't hear the rest of what she was going to say because the door flew open and my dad stormed in taking my phone out of my shaking hands and throwing it against the wall. I watched as it made contact with it and break into multiple parts. He slapped me in the face and I fell to the ground in a heap. He jumped on top of me and I screamed and tried to break out of his grasp but he weighed more than me and was stronger. He had his hands locked over my head, his hands painfully braced on both my wrists. His knees were digging into my thighs keeping me from getting up. He brought his face closer to mine and I turned my face not wanting to look into the eyes that tortured me for so long.
"What do you think you're going?!," He growls into my ear.
I kept quiet afraid to talk and he looked at the open phonebook turned right to the domestic abuse number.
"Was that the domestic abuse number?!," he continued to talk, his voice raising to a shout, "You will never leave! So you're just going to have to suck it up! Your pathetic and will never be anything to this world! No one will ever love you or care for you for that matter! Your own mother didn't even love you!"
That got my attention right away and I turned my head to look back at him, screaming, "What did you say?! Yes she did love me! More than anyone! And I loved her more than I will ever love you! You're an awful person! I hope you rot in hell you ass-hole! You douchebag! You pig-headed-," I gasped as he leaned further down on me, his knees digging even deeper into my thighs.
"How dare you?! I've given you everything and you've given me nothing in return! Well not until now," he said with an evil half grin on his face.
He started to lift up my shirt with one hand and noticing his intentions I struggled harder than I've ever had. In that moment I thought back to Macy Steinberg and how her boyfriend had raped her and gotten her pregnant, that wouldn't happen to me. I wouldn't let it. He probably would have continued but the door burst open and five men stormed in.
"Put your hands up!," one of them shouted.
He quickly got off me and stood up putting his hands over his head. I scrambled backwards until I hit the wall and grabbed my aching ribs with one hand and my right thigh with the other. One of the men walked over to me and knelt by my side.
"It's going to be alright. You're going to be alright," he told me. I didn't respond because I could barely hear or see him. All I could see was the outlines of his face and body. My vision was going but the last thing I did manage see was my dad, the man who used to beat me, tear me down, and blame me was being handcuffed and taken away like I had always dreamed he would be.
