I run inside the house and lock myself in my room. He's home. My dad's home. He'll find something to blame me on. He'll find something to hit me with, I'll brace myself, he'll hit me, I'll fall to the ground. I'll be unconcious.
I hear the front door slam shut. He's angry about something. I hear him stomp up the stairs. He pounds on the door,"Open this door Leah! Open it!" Knowing I'd be in for more pain if I didn't, I open the door hesitantly and run to my bed.
"All you ever do is sit around the house doing nothing! Get up you lazy crap!" I sit there."GET UP LEAH!!" I get up and stand away from him. "Come over here!" I near him. I stare at the ground. I hear him walk to the other side of my room. He opens up one of my dresser drawers and pulls out a belt. He comes back over to where I am. "Lift up your shirt." I lift my shirt, exposing my stomach. I brace myself for the pain. He hits me. Over and over. I fall backwards. He continues hitting me while I'm on the ground. For what seems hours later, he drops the belt and leaves the room.
All I feel is pain. My father never hits me where it can be seen. Rare times when he does, he does it more softly. Too many scars are left from the pain I have endured for fourteen years. My father hurt my sister and mother when they were alive. They died in a bus crash ten years ago. My sister was six when she died. My mother was seven months pregnant with our little brother. Three lives that I knew died on a bus.
I can't get up. My ribs feel cracked, broken, shattered. I sleep on the floor all night. Not once did I go eat. Not once did my father come back up. Not once, did I feel safe.
In the morning, I wake up, my back feeling sore from being on the ground. I try my hardest to get up, but I can't. I hear my dad coming upstairs. A tear slides down my face, but I wipe it off. If my dad sees my tears, he'll punish me. He says crying is for wimps, he will not have his daughter be a wimp.
He walks in the door. "Time for school. Get up." That's all he says. He leaves the room and when I hear him all the way down the stairs, I try getting up. Blood soaked through my shirt, and my hand is pure red from having my hand lying there for a second. I know I have to get up, or the pain will be worse.
When I finally get up, I'm weak. I walk into the bathroom and take a shower. When I step in the shower, the searing pain makes it hard to move. I look down at my stomach and my chest. All I see are bruises, scars, blood, and cuts. My skin is so raw, I can't stand to stay in the shower for long.
Once I make it out of the shower, I look in the cabinet. I look for one of those bandages you wrap around you. I wrap the bandage from my stomach to my chest. It hurts just putting it on. The pain is horrible.
Somehow, I manage to put my clothes on and get ready for school. The pain is so intense. When I'm just about to walk downstairs, I see blood coming through the shirt. I change the bandages and the shirt. I walk downstairs, and hope I'll make it through the day