Dreya’s Stand

The Turning Point

Months flew by, blurring into a new kind of normal for Dreya. The sharp edges of grief had softened, replaced by the steady rhythm of a new life. She had found a new rhythm, a routine of friends, school, and academic success. She made the honor roll, stayed out of trouble, and for the first time in a long time, felt a sense of belonging. She was better, but something had changed. Not something, but someone. Her dad.

It all started one morning, a seemingly ordinary day that would forever mark the beginning of a descent into a new kind of pain. Dreya woke up, brushed her teeth, and went to the living room, which her dad affectionately called his "man cave." He was already there, a silent, imposing figure in the dim morning light.

"Good morning, Daddy," Dreya said with a smile, taking a seat at the table with him. She was trying, desperately, to bring a little bit of her own warmth into the room, to bridge the growing distance between them.

"Sup, Dreya," he replied, his eyes scanning her. His expression hardened as he stared at her shirt, a simple t-shirt with a faded floral pattern that had been her mom's. "Every time I look at you, I think of your mother and how much you look like her. Take that damn shirt off and give it to me."

Dreya froze, her mind struggling to process his words. The casual cruelty of his demand was a physical blow. She didn't understand the sudden shift, the venom in his voice. In shock, she did as he said, her hands trembling as she pulled the shirt over her head. She gave it to him before retreating to her room to grab another one. As she stood in front of the mirror, pulling on a fresh shirt, she fought to keep the tears from falling. The injustice of it, the raw, irrational anger, was a bitter pill to swallow.

When she returned to the table and sat down, her dad got up, grabbed a plate of leftovers from the fridge, and warmed them up for her breakfast. The mundane act of kindness was a bizarre contrast to the venom he had just spewed. The silence was thick between them, but the weight of his words hung in the air, heavier than any physical object. It was a warning, a harbinger of the storm to come.

As time went on, Dre's anger began to show more and more, as if a dark force had taken hold of him and twisted his feelings into a deep hatred for his own daughter. The verbal a***e he had once inflicted escalated into something physical, leaving Dreya to bear the brunt of his rage. The slaps and pushes turned into something far more sinister, the beatings with the cord becoming a new, terrifying reality.

Living in constant fear, she withdrew into herself, becoming isolated not only from her siblings but also from the new friends she had made. She learned to hide her pain and bruises, both physical and emotional, pretending that nothing was wrong and that she was fine. Her world shrank, and the vibrant girl she once was became a silent, guarded shadow of her former self.

"DREYA!" Dre's voice bellowed, jolting her awake from a restless sleep. "Go to me and Maria's room. Now," he commanded.

Dreya's heart pounded in her chest as she stumbled into their room, confused and terrified. She found Dre standing in the center of the room, holding her phone. The screen was lit up, a beacon of her secret life, now exposed.

"Why do you have a VPN app on your phone?" he demanded, his voice tight with anger.

"It's for the Wi-Fi at school," Dreya explained, her voice trembling. "The connection is bad, so a VPN helps with that."

"You're lying to me," he said, his eyes narrowed into a glare. "I know you're lying."

He glared at Maria. "Tell Dreya what you know about the VPN app," he ordered.

"A VPN is an app that hides what you're doing on your phone," Maria said, her voice flat, devoid of any empathy.

Dreya listened, her eyes wide with confusion. She stared at Maria, wondering what that had to do with anything. But before she could speak, Dre left the room and came back with a long, brown cord. He called it his "little b***h" whenever he was angry with her. He started hitting her with the cord, again and again. Dreya screamed, but Maria just stood there, watching. It was as if she enjoyed it, her eyes devoid of any emotion. The beating was relentless, each strike a testament to her father's twisted rage and Maria's cruel indifference.

When he was finally done, Dreya lay on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Go to your room," Dre snarled. "And don't ever ask for your phone again."

Dreya gets up and runs to her room, as she wipes her tears she lays down, rubbing the bruises and welts her dad has given her. Her body ached, a symphony of pain that was becoming all too familiar.

That morning, Dreya woke up and got ready for school, her body still aching. She grabbed her keys and bookbag, then went to her dad's room to say goodbye. "I'm leaving for school now," she said, her voice small. "See you later." At the bus stop, she put on her headphones, trying to drown out the noise in her head with soft, calming music. But a sudden wave of sadness hit her, so intense it made her want to cry. When the bus pulled up, she quickly took her headphones off, forcing herself to hold back the tears.

Once at school, she found her best friend and greeted her with a hug. They talked about their classes and what they did over the weekend, but Dreya never mentioned what happened the night before. She kept the secret locked away, where no one could see the pain it caused her. She was an expert at hiding, a master of a different kind of performance.

Over the past three years, Dreya had become numb to the a***e. The beatings and the harsh words had become so frequent that they no longer registered. She was so used to her dad's cruelty that she had stopped caring, stopped feeling. At that time, she felt there was nothing she could do to change her situation. She was trapped, a prisoner in her own home, with no hope of escape.

Two weeks before Halloween, Dreya's dad, Dre, had another outburst, beating her with the cord he called his "little bitch." The whole thing started on a school day. After class, Dreya texted her dad to let him know she was on her way home. As she was walking from the bus stop, he replied with a message: "Go straight to your room when you get home."

"Yes sir," she texted back, liking the message as she always did. She got off the bus and walked toward her apartment building, but something was different. The doors she usually used were blocked off, forcing her to go through the main office. The office was filled with Halloween decorations. As Dreya tried to get through the door, a woman from the office approached her, smiling.

"Here," the woman said, handing her a bag. "A little Halloween gift for you and your dad."

She took the gift bag and hurried home, placing it on the kitchen counter before going straight to her room. Five minutes later, she heard her dad's voice yelling her name. A wave of fear washed over her, and she dropped what she was doing, rushing to find him.

"Yes, sir," she said quietly.

He looked at her with rage in his eyes. "Didn't I tell you to go straight to your room? What is this on my counter?" he snarled, pointing at the gift bag.

Dreya was frozen, unable to speak. She didn't understand why he was so angry. It was just a bag; it couldn't hurt anyone. The rage in his voice made her feel as if she was being attacked for no reason. She knew she hadn't done anything wrong, so she didn't apologize. He seemed to want her to beg for forgiveness, but she refused to give in.

This only made him angrier. He went to get the cord, his "little bitch." He came back and started hitting her with it, but she didn't react. This seemed to enrage him even more. "You think you're tough, huh?" he yelled.

He sent her to her room and followed her inside. The moment she stepped into the room, he started hitting her, a relentless assault of blows. As he beat her, his voice was filled with rage. "I should beat your a*s until you scream for Jesus like me and my brother's momma used to do to us, you b***h," he screamed. "You think you're grown, you hoe? I got something for you, you ugly, stank bitch."

A few minutes later, he stopped, leaving her room. As he walked away, he looked back at her, making sure she wasn't making any faces. He left the door open and yelled, "What are you thinking about, huh? Get your papa, your brother, I ain't scared of nobody. You're my daughter. I brought you into this world, and I'll take you out. No one can do a damn thing about that!"

Dreya looked down at her body, her skin bruised and swollen, every inch of her aching. She sobbed, the tears coming faster than ever, and a dark thought entered her mind. She wanted to harm herself. She couldn't stand being with her awful dad any longer.

How does Dreya find the strength to leave, and what happens when she tries to tell someone what's happening to her?