A\n: Enjoy this chapter everyone, and pretty please review!!!!!!!!!

GodBless

Sarah

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

IANS POV

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When I ws five, my father started drinking. When I was 6 he started abusing me. When I was 7 he started locking me in my room, yelling threats every Friday night. When I was 8...every Sunday he'd act like, "a good father."

And on every Sunday, since I was eight, after a week of torture....My Dad would teach me about God.

Once in awhile I almost said something about my Dad to my pastor....almost ready to ask him why he did such and such, when Jesus said not to...Or why he did this and that...when the pastor said it was worthy of God puking because of it.

How could my father take me to church, every Sunday without fail, and rob me of my childhood every other day? The answer, remains unclear and unanswered to me.

When I turned 9, my father took me to my mother's grave...I had never met her, she had died during childbirth with me. My father sat me down near her grave, told me stay there and then drove away. I waited there and slept there that night, afraid to move because my father had said to stay....and God said to ALWAYS obey your father and mother unless they go against Him. So I obeyed. As usual.

In the morning, my father came and picked me up, telling me he was sorry, smiling brightly and handing me a tux.

"We're going to church." He said. "It's Palm Sunday."

That's right, I remembered..Jesus had died for my sins two days ago....2,000+ years ago. The feeling made my heart soar, that someone would love me so much. I jumped in the car, putting on my tux in the backseat eagerly. I couldn't wait to worship God...the one who died for me and the only one who loved me. Then, I remembered, tomorrow was Monday....tomorrow was Dad's day to invite over all his stoner friends, so that I could wake up with one of them on top of me....

I hated Mondays..and Tuesdays....and Wednesdays....and Thursdays....and Fridays.....and Saturdays...But Sunday...Oh yes....I loved Sunday. Though, it felt wrong to only visit someone I loved so much and that loved me so much, only once a week. So I began praying. I prayed a lot. For my father not to hurt me, for his friends to be nice, for my mom to be safe in heaven, for my doggy to be found...his name was Kipper and he was lost for a week already! I even prayed for myself....that I could go to school one day, and that I would find anothe person on earth that loved me...though I soon realized God is the only one that would ever be enough to fill the gap I felt, and realized, everyone eventually felt.

I realized just how much God loved me on the way home from church on a particularly dreary Sunday. Kipper had been missing for three weeks now, and for three weeks I'd been praying, hoping that soon, or eventually, Kipper would come home. My doggy was so important to me! I was looking around the block as me and my father walked, when I spotted a black dog with fuffy brown mismatched ears.

His name tag, said Kipper.

"KIPPER!" I had screamed, running fast to the dog. I didn;t see the care coming toward me, but somehow Kipper pushed me over...even though he was quite a small dog. When I looked up I swore I saw a big, faint hand. It was perfect and loving....it had a piercing on it, but as soon as I saw it, it had vanished. I realized years later it had been God....that he'd been watching over me so I didn't die before I did get the chance to go to school, like I'd prayed for, and he also had answered two other prayers...For Kipper to come home...and for another person on earth that loved me.

Kipper loved me, and that had been all that mattered.

When I turned 14 my father died, and my grandmother put me through schooling. Kipper died when second semester rolled around and so much of my heart had shattered, though I remained close to God.

Public school though...was hard to do that in.

So, instead of placing my beliefs on the loud speaker, plus my life, love, wants, needs and fears...I kept them bottled inside only sharing them with myself and God. It was then I embarked on Goth as a lifestyle and calling.....not just a type of architexture. The music mixed my emotions in a good and rockish way. The clothes made me feel in charge of myself and homely. The attitude made me feel superior, though pleased God in many ways none knew..and it also made me feel secure in myself. I quickly became witty, smart, and sarcastic...then one day, I found someone beside myself and God to also share my secrets with....Erin Ulmer and quickly I found love in her and with her. All of my firsts were with her. She was my same, a mirror showing myself in girl form. Her look, attitude, faith, etc....family life even....and she got me...which was a major ups to her. Most of my firsts, like I said, were with her. Kiss, real hug, baptised for the first time, fishing, heary laughing, comparing music..even really talking to someone who was a real person and understood me was a first...but the most amazing, wonderful, loving, perfect I'd share with Erin Ulmer...was sex.

But that, my friends, is how we're we are today, Hmm? Even though I hate the singer...Lady GaGa is right...I mean look at what happened with Erin and I having sex, then Frankie banging her on wrong terms...drinking..love...and craziness....Maybe, just ,aybe I could agree with the girl.

Maybe.....

Just sometimes.....It starts....

With a boy, a girl, a Huh....and a game......

__________________________________

I always hated games.