Читать книгу Sing For Me - Betsy Jiron - Страница 9

CHAPTER 2

Fallen

Dad continued to work nights, slept all day, and spent every second he had left in the gym. He had a nice 3-story house, which he shared with his brothers. Dad's room was on the top floor, Daniel's was on the main floor, and Lance's was downstairs. One of the brothers would leave on the weekends so my brothers would have a place to sleep come weekends.

I hadn't been feeling well and wanted to be next to my dad. It was daylight so I knew he'd be upstairs sleeping. He was positioned on his side, and since I was four or five years old, I fit perfectly curled up in his chest. I rolled over on my side as well and my back was towards him. His arms wrapped tightly around my tiny body.

Dad gradually slid his right hand past my waist and slowly started removing my pale blue flowered panties. I was horrified. I didn't know what to do considering I had never been ANYWHERE near a man without clothes, especially panties. The fear was so intense I dared not cry.

I felt him shuffle around behind me for a few minutes. My eyes were wide open and I was praying someone would walk in. I wanted to run and hide somewhere dark and secluded. I slowly shut my eyes thinking, “If he thinks I'm asleep, he'll stop”. He didn't stop. It got much worse.

He placed his penis between my legs and slid it back and forth between my thighs. This went on and on while he whispered, “Good girl honey, you're daddy's girl.”

I waited for what seemed like forever for him to fall back to sleep before I made my escape. My heart was pounding in my throat as I slid off the bed. I never even looked back for my pale blue flowered panties. I crept as quickly and quietly as I could to the door. Thank God, it was open. I ran as fast as I could down the stairs to my room for some clean panties. I curled up at the bottom of my yellow canopy bed and cried. All I wanted was a shower and the Andrews.

After an hour or so of fright and confusion, I strolled down the hallway to my Uncle Lance's room. He was lying on his bed next to a blonde wearing too much make-up and big hair. I couldn't tell if she was pretty or not because she resembled a clown, a clown with bad taste in men.

The bad taste in men only got worse because she married my dad within a year. Nancy was her name.

Nancy hated me. I want to believe it was because I reminded her so much of my mother. I was okay with that. I loved my mother and I missed her. I fought back when Nancy would say horrible things about her and we resented each other for it.

Nancy had giant frosted blonde hair and speckled foundation that would leave a line under her chin. Her face had a constant expression of disgust when she looked at me. Her verbal “beat downs” consisted of phrases I had heard my father say comparing me to my mother.

“You'll never be shit but a pregnant teenage whore like your mother,” or, “You're an ugly smart ass bitch just like you're mother.” My favorite one was, “Your mother hates you and abandoned you because her friends were more important.” The looks Nancy would give me will forever burn in my brain. Hate pure hate. Her make-up would crack around her mouth and eyes. I never saw her smile at me. The closest she got was that fuckin' smirk when she was finished degrading my mom and me.

I found myself giving her the same look of disgust when she would eat with mouth wide open, mashing the good behind her teeth. Clearly, my table manners were NOT learned at my father's. To this day, I don't know what it was that made her despise me. This went on for years.

By the time I was thirteen, I couldn't take it anymore. My mentality had become, “hurt them or hurt yourself.” I had started carving random words on various parts of my body for temporary relief from my emotional distress.

After everyone had gone to bed and my younger siblings tucked in, I sat myself on my bathroom counter. In one hand, I held a sewing needle, and an alcohol swab in the other. Within a few minutes, I had added four new piercings in my left ear. The physical pain was exhilarating as I watched the blood trickle down my neck and calmly listened to the sound of my own heartbeat. I realized I had found a new comfort from my own mind, an escape from reality.

The excitement of finding an outlet to my rage was overwhelming and I loved it. The rush I got seeing the veins swell under my skin, from the pain, gave me a sense of power.

No one knew about my new obsession, especially the Andrews. I couldn't imagine having them look at me with the same look of disgust and disappointment I gave myself.

My rage and violent tendencies hung like a thousand pound vest I carried daily. The carving, burning and piercing just wasn't enough anymore. Working out, playing sports, or the sight of my own blood calmed the inner fire that was clearly out of control.

I had prayed to God for years to take me from this hell called life. I was too afraid to talk to anyone out of fear of my father. The punishment I would have received would have been worse than just living.

“God's Plan” was to ignore me so I took life into my own hands. I was 14 when I attempted suicide. The scars on my body were nothing in comparison to the scars in my heart. The feeling of being a failure had ruined me. My entire soul was cloudy and black. Not even God could save me now.

For the first time in months, I had been allowed to leave the dungeon called home. I had gone out with a few friends to a house party on the north side of town. I was already on my path of destruction. I wasn't allowed to be on that side of town. It was very poor and my father didn't want me to have anything to do with “those” kids. The entire way across town, all I could think of was death, and how tonight would be the night. The will to die was much stronger than my will to live.

My friends and I walked into this shack of a house that should have been abandoned years ago. This way of living came as a complete shock to me. It was filthy and reeked of mothballs.

Everywhere I turned was some sort of alcohol or drug. I grabbed a plastic cup that reminded me of birthdays at the Andrews. I set my guilt aside and started drinking. I had never tasted alcohol before, or had ever been in a liquor store for that matter. It tasted horrible, but I drank everything I could get my hands on.

The more I drank, the better I felt. I was completely numb. I weighed 100 pounds at most and I knew if I kept guzzling everything I touched, my mission to die would be quick and virtually painless. I remember thinking, “As long as it looks like an accident, no one that actually cared for me would feel guilty for not helping me when I needed it most.”

Death would have been a much better outcome than what really happened. I should have died but my body had its own plans. I threw up on myself and everything else around me for three days. By the third day, the vomit had turned to blood. Needless to say, not only was I pissed off to still be alive, but also never touched alcohol again.

I had no choice but to accept this so-called life I had been given and the only way out would be to drown in my own misery.

I had laid in my hotter than hell waterbed staring up at the ceiling as usual watching the shadows of the passing cars. I was envious of everyone passing me by. How lucky they were to have somewhere else to go.

The begging and pleading with God had stopped and the conversations we held in my head consisted of unanswered questions instead of death. The tears that streamed from my eyes and into my ears had become routine. I sniffled into my pillow so no one heard me. Night after night, I watched the shadows move across my ceiling and walls. And night after night I cried myself into exhaustion.

At times, I wondered if my brothers felt the same. Derren paid little to no attention to me. The screaming and fighting between step-monster and me was completely out of control. Not once do I remember a time that I got along with either of them. Derren had hated me his entire life.

My first sign of permanent sibling rivalry was when Derren pushed me off the Andrews' second story balcony that looked over the driveway. I landed on my hands and knees and walked away with no bruising or broken bones. I was 4 years old.

Derren wasn't the type of older brother anyone would want. Ruining me emotionally and destroying my reputation was his ultimate goal. Every one of his friends looked at me as if I really was the filthy whore he and the step-monster had labeled me. It was embarrassing to walk the halls at school knowing what the glares from his friends meant, and even worse, the thoughts on their minds. Derren had become my worst enemy growing up.

Looking back on how hateful and disrespectful Nancy and Derren were, I realize now that I wasn't the only other one to suffer their wrath. My younger brother Max went through the same hell.

Max was kind and gentle. He was much smaller than everyone his age. However, despite his size and verbal abuse at home, he was by far the most intelligent. Max was the exact opposite of everything my father had produced. I was proud of him for that.

Max was picked on quite a bit given he was the last of my biological mother and father's children. He wasn't the youngest for long. Nancy and my father gave birth to the family's princess. Marissa.

Marissa was flawless, dark skinned, big beautiful brown eyes, and my father's dimples. His perfect little clone. I made it my job in my heart to protect her innocence. Hell would have to burn straight through me before I would allow my childhood to repeat itself with her.

Shortly after Marissa was born, came Niko. He was pasty white with blue eyes. This little boy was hell on wheels. I prayed his attitude would take the negative attention away from me.

I kept them both very close to me. Marissa and I shared a room where she usually slept curled up right next to me. She was a pacifier baby. She referred to it as a “mepo.” Niko was about 20 feet distance down the hall in the bedroom across from mine. Every little sound that those two made woke me immediately. Protecting them gave me a reason to continue living.

As toddlers, Marissa and Niko were hilarious. Marissa was always in front of a camera, and Niko was constantly under his mother's skin. I felt a tremendous amount of self-gratification to watch them bicker.

Bathing and dressing them was my every day responsibility. Niko was always naked. One cold Sunday morning, I had leaned over the balcony overlooking the family room. My initial plan was to tell Niko to come get dressed before I was yelled at. I saw my three-year old brother in front of cartoons wearing a pair of socks. That was it. Only one was on his foot and the other on his penis. I about died laughing. This was his way of, “covering up.”

I had comforted them both through strep throat, flu's, chicken pox, and random colds. I never received a show of appreciation from dad or the step-monster. It was as so my care was expected as if they were my own kids. I feared the thought of what would happen to them if I weren’t around.

My happiest childhood memories were with Marissa and Niko. I have to be one with them, playing catch in the back yard, and snuggling during movies. I made sure they got the affection I never received. I felt loved and needed.

The family never went anywhere together, not dinners, not vacations, no nothin'. Nancy took a vacation…once. She had gone to Virginia to visit her parents. For whatever reason, her vacation was cut short and all hell broke loose.

Marissa and I were upstairs with Niko sound asleep. The laughter coming from the basement was loud enough to wake the dead. Happiness was an unfamiliar emotion in that house so the curiosity of what was going on down there was eating me alive.

Dad's party was cut short when Nancy walked through the front door. I watched her from the balcony as she crept downstairs toward the laughing and clanking of glasses. Seconds later, there was the sound of stomping feet running up the stairs and out the front door.

When Dad's company left, the screaming began. All I heard was banging and yelling. Then, Yelps were cut short from Nancy being slapped in the face.

My first reaction was to hide. I was terrified and my ears were ringing. I prayed dad wouldn't come upstairs and unleash on me the way he was on Nancy. I peeked out of my closet door to find an empty room. My sister was gone. She had snuck downstairs while I was looking for somewhere to hide.

I crept out of my closet and peered over the balcony. Marissa was hiding between the family room couch and the wall. I could hear Nancy crying and sniffling in the kitchen. I didn't feel bad for her nor did I care to know what did ad done to her. All I cared about was getting my sister's attention and bringing her back to safety.

Normally, dad would have gone straight to bed after a blowout but tonight, his bedtime was cut short by the doorbell. My very large bodybuilder father answered the door to two very thin and somewhat frightened police officers. I quickly ran back to my closet.

I could hear the stomping of their boots throughout the house but couldn't make out what they were reporting back to each other.

The tension in the air was thick and unnerving. I was afraid for my sister who was still downstairs. When the officer's voices quieted down and their radios weren't blaring, I snuck out of my hiding place once again to check on my sister. She was curled up in a ball still beside the couch. I watched an officer approach her slowly. She didn't move. Much like a doll, she pretended to not be alive. The officer wasn't fooled by this. He asked her a few questions that I couldn't heart. Marissa just shook her head “yes” or “no” a few times. I prayed the officers would arrest my father and we could all sleep in peace. They didn't.

After the cops left, more crying began. Marissa came upstairs and curled up beside me in her normal position with her “mepo.”

No one spoke the next morning. No one mentioned the night before nor, did anyone speak to each other.

Those of us that were old enough to play sports did so to stay away as much as possible. By the time we got home from games and practices, we were generally too tired to care at what was being said or done around us. Weekends would just come and go as well. The only things that changed around there were the seasons.

Months would pass before I felt the comfort of the Andrews' house. The days were slow and depressing and that only got worse when the custody battle between my biological mother and my father began. Mom had decided to take a teaching job in South Carolina and dad wasn't about to let us go. Nor had he planned to make this easier on any of us.

During the few months of going back and forth to court, the judge had asked my brothers where they wanted to live. I don't know what they said, but when it came to me, all I could say was, “I want to stay with my siblings.”

My father was granted full custody by default since my mom had to leave the state before the custody battle was over to get her classroom ready. The courts considered this as “abandonment” consequently making her lose custody. The fiery pit of hell at my father's would now be seven days a week instead of only the weekends. There was really no escape at this point.

Mom was awarded summer vacations with us. It was the best time of my life. Waiting for June every year was like looking forward to Christmas morning. Mom had moved to Surfside Beach, South Carolina. It was heaven.

Three months of nothing but peace and the calming effects from wave crashes of the ocean soothed my bleeding life. I never wanted it to end. Summers went by too quickly and my anger and rage grew stronger. By the end of each summer, I returned to the empty dark shell God gave me. I didn't even feel alive anymore. I had been dead in my heart as well as my mind…just waiting for death to save me from life.

I needed help. And I needed it quickly.

Touch

Swollen broken and bleeding

Holding my face with my hands

Begging and pleading

Please God just kill me

I want him to stop touching me

Stay away from me

I can always hear him breathing.

Just take me somewhere safe

Let's watch it rain together

Not the blood from my wrists

But the water from the sky

Chase rainbows with me

Say you love me before I die.