Daddy loves you. Daddy loves you. Daddy loves you.
Daddy loves me?
I sat on my bed and looked down at my homework. What was the point in even doing it? I already knew all of the material.
That was a question I asked myself a lot lately—what's the point? What's the point in getting up in the morning? What's the point in getting dressed? What's the point in eating, going to school, learning? What's the point in living?
I was miserable. I hated going to school because I had no friends. Kids at school would mock me, tell me I was weird, stare at me like I was insane. They called me Crazy Pezzy. The maddening thing was that I didn't even know why. I had never done anything wrong to them. I was the kid who was singled out by everyone for being a little different. A little peculiar.
It wasn't always like this. I had lots of friends in kindergarten and first grade. Then, in second grade, everything changed. My mother passed away. My world was crushed.
The night of my mother's funeral, my daddy came into my room. He was intoxicated and depressed. He said he needed someone to love him.
It really hurt the first time. I was hysterical. I begged him to stop. He didn't. He just kept saying, in between thrusts, "Shhh, baby… Daddy loves you."
I didn't go to school that next morning. I didn't eat. I only got out of bed to go to the bathroom, where I was horrified to see the giant black bruises on the insides of my thighs. By the time night rolled around, my eyes were too dry to produce tears and my body too numb to feel the excruciating cramps.
I remember how my body shivered violently as I heard my daddy's heavy boots approaching my room. I remember how I buried my head under my pillow and silently wished for my mother to come back and stop him. I remember the helpless sob that came out of me when the door creaked open. I remember the physical pain he inflicted on me. But, most of all, I remember the mental scarring.
I caved in. I would go to school, but I wouldn't really be there. Teachers had to call my name several times for me to hear them. I distanced myself from my friends. I would sit outside of the school for hours because I dreaded going home.
No one paid much attention. They all thought, "Oh, it's natural. She's just lost her mother. It'll pass."
But it didn't pass. Even today, ten years later, I still break down in the middle of the school and cry. Along the way, I earned the heartless "nickname" Crazy Pezzy. Naturally, everything got better in high school, where they decided it would be ingenious to sell slushies. No one actually drank them. I would get a slushie facial at least once a week.
As for my father, he still came into my room at nights. But it was different now. I understood him. He loved me. It was all for the better.
I sighed and looked at my watch. 7:30 A.M. It was time to get ready for school.
I rolled off of my bed and looked at myself in the mirror. I was horridly skinny and my eyes looked despondent. I shook my head and got dressed.
When I got to school, I walked straight to my AP Calculus class. The classroom was empty except for the teacher, Mrs. Burmingham. She was my favorite teacher. The only person who actually made an effort to understand me. She smiled at me pleasantly as I walked to my seat, her deep green eyes twinkling.
"How are you, Santana?" she asked gently.
"I'm okay," I replied coyly.
"Do you need help on the homework?"
"Oh, um, no, I understand it."
She beamed. "Of course you do. You're my brightest student."
I felt my face getting hot as I smiled down into my chest. "Thanks," I muttered.
The first bell rang, and students began to walk into the classroom with unsatisfied expressions on their faces. Everyone hated this class. Everyone but me.
Once everybody was seated, Mrs. Burmingham cleared her throat and began the lesson. Today, we were learning about differential equations. Easy stuff.
After the lecture was over, we were given the last twenty minutes of class to work on our homework. A girl in the seat to my right, I think her name was Quinn Fabray, turned to me.
"Do you have a calculator? I forgot mine at home and I need to know what 1936 divided by 36 is."
"It's 484 over 9," I said quietly.
Quinn stared at me. She turned to another desk and borrowed someone else's calculator. After typing in a few numbers, she raised her eyes to look at me in bewilderment.
"How did you do that?" she demanded.
"Do what?" I asked quizzically.
"How did you do that math in your head?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know. It just…comes to me."
Quinn shook her head in disbelief and turned back to her paper.
Great. Another person thinks that I'm bonkers.
When the bell rang, I gathered my things and left the room. My next class was P.E., so I walked outside to the field.
Suddenly, a large figure blocked my path. I looked up to see one of the football jocks smirking at me.
"Hey, Crazy Pezzy… So I was thinking the other day, 'You know what? That Crazy Pezzy girl is actually pretty hot.' So I figured we should get it on."
I tried to walk around him, but his friends blocked my way. What do they want from me?
"Listen," the leader continued. "You sleep with me, and you'll be the most popular girl in school. Don't you want that?" he gripped my shoulder.
I don't remember what happened next. My vision became as red as blood. I felt my arms move, my nails dig paths in his skin. I felt my legs carry me away, far away.
By the time I regained my vision and ability to comprehend my surroundings, I was almost home. I looked down at my hands. There was skin and blood under my nails. I held back a gag as I ran home to wash them out.
I lay down on my bed and wept. Why me? Why couldn't they pick on someone else for once? What did I ever do to deserve this?
I heard the floor creak behind me. I turned around to see my father looking at me affectionately. His long hair was held behind his ears and his plaid shirt stank of alcohol.
"Daddy's gonna make everything better, baby," he said as he unzipped his pants.
He leaned over me, removed my pants and underwear, and thrust his pelvis. I closed my eyes.
Daddy loves you. Daddy loves you. Daddy loves you.
Daddy loves me.