He found me I never wanted to see

Crystal

As I finished cleaning our tiny, run-down house, I felt sweat drip from my forehead. The moment the grand old clock in our house chimed 10 pm, coupled with the hooting of an owl outside, I raced to my room, breathless and panicking, and shut the door firmly behind me. The sound of the lock clicking into place, was like a starting bell of my nightly nightmare.

My stepfather, who’s more like a nightmarish monster, walks in through our front door every night, always surrounded by a sickening scent of alcohol that seems to follow him everywhere. He vents his anger and frustrations on me. Earlier in the evening, I had made dinner for him with trembling hands. I left the meal discreetly on the old table in our worn-down dining room, silently praying that the food would be sufficient to pacify him tonight.

Scared and anxious, I quickly climbed into my bed and tugged my old, thin blanket over me. I buried my head underneath it, hoping against all odds that this makeshift fortress could protect me from the coming storm. My heart pounded rhythmically against my chest, as fear and anticipation set in. The pitch-black enveloping me seemed to echo my terror, making the familiarity of the situation even more horrifying.

The only sounds that broke the deafening silence of the night were the intermittent hoots from the owl outside, and the distant creaking of our rusty gate. I silently prayed for my stepfather to show some mercy, to have a sudden change of heart, and to end his torturous behavior towards me. But each passing day was the same, extinguishing any flicker of hope, leaving only the grim reality.

His heavy, unsteady footsteps and his muffled mutterings became all too audible through my room's thin walls. His deep, threatening voice was noticeably filled with rage, as he screamed at my frail and sick mother, "What's this slop? Leftovers? I work all day and this is what I come home to? I’m pushing myself to my limits every single day, scraping by just to afford your endless medicines and to keep that annoying child of yours fed. Is this how you repay me? Where is the little devil hiding tonight?"

Ignoring my mother's suffering, without a pause, he redirected his anger towards her yet again. She bore the brunt of his brutal rants, defenseless against his savage outbursts.

Despite my fear, the fact that my mother was outside being thrown around like a rag doll spurred me into action. I've put up with all the mistreatment, beatings and humiliation, not for me, but for my weak mom.

When I heard a loud slap echo through the house, I snapped out of my fear. With my heart racing, I threw open my room door, angrily yelling at him, "Leave her alone!"

He turned his harmful look on me, his bloodshot eyes filled with hate. He laughed sarcastically, mocking, "Oh, so you've come out to play, have you? What's this surprise?"

Without waiting, he threw the ceramic plates at my face, shouting, "Eat it off the floor like the dog you are!" With my heart beating fast, I found the courage to refuse him, "No, I will not do it. This has to stop now. You cannot continue to treat me or my mom like this. If you find it so hard to pay for my mother's medicines, then I will take over."

At my words, he laughed nastily. His chilling laughter scared me. He came closer, his heavy steps echoing in the small room, matching the pounding of my heart. I was so scared; I wanted to take back my words, to apologize, but it was too late for that.

Suddenly, his cold, rough hands grabbed my hair, forcing me to stand up. He was so strong, making me bend down to his level. My mom was crying, begging, "Please… please, don't hurt her. I'll do anything."

In response, he declared his true intentions, and without any shame, he told my horrified mom, "Well, your illness has made you old and useless!"

Then, to make his point, he pulled me closer to him, one strong arm around my waist, the other hand gripping my jaw tightly, "Because I want her instead."

At his words, my mom screamed in horror, which made me struggle to free myself. The sound of our cries echoed in the room, very loud against the otherwise silent night.

Without thinking, I kicked him hard in the groin, forcing him to let me go. Crying out in pain, he yelled angrily, "If that's how you want it, then both of you can leave my house!"

I looked at my mom; tears were in her eyes. If we left his house, we had nowhere else to go. Her health was deteriorating fast, and she was just a shadow of her former, lively self. Her medicines were very expensive, leaving us with barely anything for daily living. Despite not being very rich, he wasted his monthly income on alcohol.

Despite my fear and uncertainty, I realized there was no other option; I had to protect my mother even if that meant adding to her burden. Her heart had never fully recovered after my biological father abandoned her while she was pregnant with me. She frequently shared stories of their deep connection, emphasizing the incredible bond that formed when two people loved each other completely.