It was never easy for me to tell you anything. Especially when all you do is glare at me if I say one word. It’s like you forget I’m there, it’s like you don’t care. It’s been that way since my mom married you. I wish she never had, and I wished I had had the heart to tell her how I felt. She loves you, think’s you’re the best thing that ever happened to her, besides having me. If I had told her how we revolt each other, and how you treat me when she left the house, she’d be crushed. It would be like her heart was glass and I was throwing it from a 12th story balcony.
So now, I sit on the step outside on my porch, you were yelling at me, saying things like, “I think we should send you away” and “you big, ugly, fatty”! So, now I sit outside my OWN house, a house that I’ve lived in for 13 years, and that you’ve only lived in for 3 years. And I sit there crying, and then I feel a pang of boldness and anger. I stand up clenching my fists and march back into the house.
“Oh, you’re back,” you say grimly.
“Yes, I am back, and I’ve got some words to say to you!” I march up to you and stand in your face. You ignore me, and turn your face back to the TV screen. “Don’t ignore me, you b****! I have some words to say to you!” I said turning off the TV. You turn to me, your tattooed arms against your side.
“Don’t call me a b****! You little, rat!” He said taking his big, clumsy hand and slapping me across the face. I’ve been building up the muscles in my arms, afraid that this day would come; my arms are almost as strong as yours. I clench my fists and hold them to my side. You punch me in the cheek and I throw up my fists and hit you on the face. You stumble backwards and I run to the kitchen. I grab my cell phone and run back outside.
I run down the street, I hear your heavy footsteps run out the door. I run faster, my best friend threw open her door for me, just as we had planned. I ran in and we locked the doors, all the windows, and then the backdoor and gate. While she finishes locking the back gate, I run up the stairs to her room. I flopped onto her bed and flipped my phone open. I had put Child Protective Services on speed dial earlier before my mom left for her dinner with her friends. I hit the number 3 button and put the phone to my ear.
“Child Protective Services, how may I help you?” Asked the operative.
“Yes you can. My name is Lisa Sanders, and I have an abusive step- father. We live at 404 Hagder Street. He just hit me across the face, and then punched me. My mom married him 3 years ago. I’m at 408 Hagder Street, my friend’s house. He might still be outside or back at the house. Please help me.” I said, my voice shaking a little.
“Yes, of course. We’ll send officers to your house. Do you want to stay on the line with me?” The operative asked.
“No thank you, I’m okay, I’m at my friend’s house so I should be okay. I’ll hear the sirens. Goodbye.” I said hanging up the phone. I flopped onto my friend, Julie’s, bed and relaxed.
“What they’d say?” Julie asked walking into her room. I told her they’d be here soon, and she nodded. “What about your mother?” She asked, I shrugged my shoulders and stared at the ceiling.
“I don’t know, I know she’ll be crushed, but…”
“Look, your mother loves you, if your step-dad was hurting you and being mean, she’ll understand that you called him in.” Julie’s mother said suddenly walking in the room. We both jumped in the air, not knowing that Julie’s mother had been listening to us. I nodded my head, and tears started to run down my cheeks.
We heard sirens coming down the street and we all ran outside. Julie, her mother, and I all ran to my house, to see the sirens just pulling in. An operative got out and came to me where I was now standing in the middle of the front yard.
“Are you the victim,” he asked, as I saw police officers swarm the house. I nodded my head weakly, suddenly feeling weak, tired, and light headed. “It’ll be alright,” he said. I nodded again, and stood there. Julie’s mother (who was like a second mother to me) put her arm around me and I leaned on her shoulder.
A few minutes later, 2 police officers escorted my stepdad out of the house and into the squad car as they read him his rights.
Finally, I felt better.