Betrayed: Wife v.s. Daughter by Chloe Knox (uplifting novels .txt) đ
- Author: Chloe Knox
Book online «Betrayed: Wife v.s. Daughter by Chloe Knox (uplifting novels .txt) đ». Author Chloe Knox
âI hate you!â
This sentence, in my young teenage years, I used a lot! Like, every other day, a lot! This sentence was usuallyâactually always and onlyâdirected toward my parents. Iâd always scream those three horrid words, for the stupidest reasons too. I would mumble it under my breath because my mother told me to do the dishes. I would growl it into my pillow because my father said I couldnât date the guy with the tattoos, piercings, and motorcycle. I would trash my room, kick the walls, and shriek in their faces those three atrocious words all because I was a spoiled kid. My parents no matter what I said or did did their best to give me my every desire, grant my every wish! I was too arrogant to see that all the curfews and the punishments were because they loved me and just wanted me to be happy and safeâŠor did they?
Out of all the hundreds of times Iâve said that ghastly sentence, thereâs only one time that I ever truly meant itâŠat least I think I did! To this day, Iâm still not sure! But the one day I wanted to show how I felt, all the real venom on my lips and spats of hatred on my tongue, I was too scared to. I was angry, but I felt this black pit of nothingness in the cavity of my gut and it seemed to paralyze me. That one day I can remember more clearly than any happy memory.
I remember it more than my first kiss, or my first love, or anything that youâre supposed to have imprinted into your mind.
I remember the faint sweet smell of pot coming from my fatherâs and step-motherâs bed room. I remember how my three little sisters, Claire, Carly, and, Carmine, were sitting on the floor of the trailerâs living room watching âSpongeBob Squarepantsâ! I remember everything from the color of the trailer walls, to the sound of the harsh winter wind as it thrashed the screen door back and forth. No one ever bothered to just close the damn thing.
The only thing I canât seem to remember about that day is how everything started.
When I was a young teen, me and my step-mother fought non-stop. It was so bad to the point where you could feel the tension in the air. So bad, that my oldest sister, Carmine, said that there were days were sheâd feel choked by the apprehensionâŠfiguratively of course!
And just like every other day in that stress filled trailer, I remember waking up and for no reason at all feeling pissed at the world. I felt alone and uncared for, and then my step-mother woke up. She complained and complained to my father like she always did, but today everyone was on edge. Usually it was me versus my step-mother! Today my father was in the equation and he was forced to pick a sideâŠhe chose wrong! At least thatâs what I think!
It was around noon, and my step-mother had gotten mad at my father for something, which Iâm not sure of! There were cusses and the slamming of doors! Claire and Carly were crying! Carmine embraced them and whispered words of kindness in their two and five year old ears! Me? I was fed up!
I was tired of the way my âmotherâ treated my father, and I wasnât going to stand for this any longer! She had to realize what she was doing to me, my sisters, and my father! She was ripping apart our familyâmy family!!!!
âYou better drop your attitude, or Iâll drop it for yaâ!â
What I did then was very disrespectful, but at the time I wasnât thinking about that. When I was thirteen, I rarely thought about anyone but myself!
So I laughed! I flat out looked into my step-motherâs brown eyes and laughed. Her eyes went black with hurt, and then anger, but I didnât care. I didnât because I knew she couldnât do anything about it despite her threats. If she ever so much as laid a finger on me, my mother would whoop my step-mother like there was no tomorrow. And my father? Heâd have to take my side! I was fighting for him! I was defending him!
âŠI was wrongâŠ
My step-mother ran off into her bedroom, tears rolling down her face, as I walked into the bathroom. I locked the door, and began to undress to take a shower as if nothing had happened.
But just as I was about to take off my shirt I heard the loud BOOM! BOOM! BOOM, of my fatherâs footsteps. The small three bedroom trailer shook, just as my heart began to speed up. Knots formed in the pit of my stomach as the blood rushed to my head.
I didnât understand why, but my father was mad! I could tell that much just by the loud breathing I heard on the other side of the door!
One, two, after three bangs on the door, my father stormed into the bathroom. His brown eyes were black with anger and disgust, and his lips that usually smiled were now a clenched frown of hatred that immediately made me cower in fear.
Never once had my father hit me, or yelled at me before, but just that horrid look in his eyes wasâand still isâenough to make my legs feel like jell-o and my body uncontrollably tremble.
I opened my mouth to speak, but there was no excuse for what I had done; no good reason, anyway. Was my âmotherâ in the wrong? Yes, but so was I. That much was evident when my father grasped my throat with his right thick and callused hand and slammed me against the wall. He pinned me there against the wall, the grip on my neck growing tighter and tighter. I coughed and gasped for air, not because he was choking me, though. He held me tight and still, and it hurt. I could feel his thick nails digging into my skin. What made me strangle was the thick aroma of smoke from the two packs of cigarettes heâd smoke a day and another faint smell, which even though was sweet made me feel nauseasâŠpot!
His face only inches from mine growled words which I didnât hear. I was too scared by my fatherâs soulless and cold black eyes that bore into mine, like a predator looking down at his pathetic and helpless preyâŠthatâs how I felt.
I was pinned to the wall with no room for escape.
A long plump dirty finger, that showed evidence of rough labor, aggressively jabbed my shoulders and waved in front of my face as he screamed, and screamed, and screamed.
Ten minutes later I sit on my bed crying. My musicâs cranked up so no one will hear me, so I can be left alone. And I am, for a bit, but then in walks my father.
His eyes are outlined in red and are puffy. Theyâre back to their normal chocolate and soft brown, but theyâre also glassy. He looks like a lost puppy full of sadness and want, but I still donât see him. I no longer see the man that I said Iâd love no matter what! I no longer see the man that cried when telling me Santa Clause wasnât real, or the man that bought me my first Tigger(as in Whinnie the Pooh) footie pajamas! He was no longer the man that I had thought I could always count on! He, now, was just a pathetic, irresponsible, pot user that verbally abused his wife. I no longer loved himâat least thatâs what I had told myselfâand I no longer pitied his hard teenage years! Even as he stood there tears streaming down his face saying, âIâm sorry,â I couldnât forgive him.
It was innate. He took one step toward me, and I scooted backward on my bed in the opposite direction!
After a moment of trying, my father gave up, and walked out of the room as I thoughtâI didnât yell, didnât mumble under my breath, I just thought, I HATE YOU!
Now, I know that my story could be way worse, I know. But still, to be betrayed by the one man I thought would be there for me through thick and thin hurt more than any physical pain Iâve ever in my life experienced, and worse than any heartbreak! He had chosen my step-mother over me, even when I was the one to stand up for him! How could he do that to me?
And so when I think back on that day, I wonderâŠdid I fully mean it? No! When I was younger all my feelings were over whelming and confusing. As I get older I learn, and I now know that I donât hate my father. Iâll love him no matter what. It was what he did that I hated. I hated the fact that he didnât have the guts to stand up for his own daughter. I hated the fact that he couldnât see that what I had done was for him. I hated that he had hurt me, emotionally and physically!
âŠbut even though I love him, and even though Iâve told him that Iâve forgiven him, I havenâtâŠit hurts too muchâŠit hurts too much to not be able to look at him and see the man that I had when I was a little, little girlâŠI hope thatâll change! I hope one day Iâll be able to look at him and say that I love him without any hesitationâŠI can only hopeâŠbut I donât think that day will ever comeâŠ
Publication Date: 01-26-2012
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