Healing Together

Prolouge

I decided to tell my father how I felt. Well, how I’ve felt for some time now. It was a relief. Afterwards, I started to head upstairs to my bedroom. Once I got there, I threw myself onto my bed, looking straight up at my ceiling. Thoughts began to run through my mind about how he might’ve taken it.

“Was that all? Was it really that simple?” I thought to myself.

I always wanted to sit down and talk with my father to tell him the truth and I finally got to do that. I wanted things to get back to normal.

“Maybe he’ll understand.” I said to myself seconds before hearing loud footsteps lead it’s ways upstairs.

Oh no. . .

I ran and locked myself in my bathroom.

“Megaaan!” my father screamed with such anger in his voice.

I closed my eyes and wished I had never said what I said as I heard him call for me again.

Why did I do this to myself?

As his footsteps got closer to my bedroom, I backed away from the door, crawled into my empty bathtub and began to cry.

I’m sorry, ok? Just leave me alone; I didn’t mean it!

“Megan, sweety, open the door.”, he responded with a calm but forced tone.

I began to think about moments like this one. Moments being afraid of my father. Moments being scared for my life.

“Open the damn door, Meg!”, my father demanded as he wiggled at the door knob.

The wiggles became more aggressive after a few seconds, which soon turned into banging. Sweat dripping from his forehead, teeth clenched and fists balled, he began to bang with more force. I started to panic. My eyes wandered around the bathroom before spotting a small knife I used earlier to open my new package. Watching the door shake from my father’s force, I grabbed the knife and held onto it tightly. Nearly seconds after, the door flew open and we made eye contact. While I looked into his soulless eyes, I started shaking in fear.

“Daddy, please don’t hurt me. I promise I’ll do anything; just tell me what you want and I’ll do it”, I begged.

Disregarding my tears, he began making his way towards the bathtub. This time, I got a closer look of his eyes. I no longer saw my father. It wasn’t the man who used to pick me up from preschool everyday. It just couldn’t have been. I didn’t recognize him anymore. I saw the evil in his eyes but he didn’t care about the terror in mine.

“Who are you?” I said silently.

He looked at me with the same anger in his eyes and raised his hand, preparing to strike me for the thousandth time throughout the last 2 years.

Still, holding on tightly, I raised the knife...

I never fought back before.

With my hands shaking, I kept reminding myself that I won’t be wrong if I hurt him. I kept telling myself that it would be self defense but I couldn’t make myself do it. I began breathing heavily and I could barely keep control of the knife. But once I saw his hand grab for it, fear took over my body and I finally forced the knife down, aiming for his forearm.

I didn’t want to kill him. I just wanted him hurt so that I’d have enough time to run.

But before I could do anything, he quickly grabbed my wrist, stopping me in mid-action. Wasting no time, I put my other hand on the knife to keep control and jabbed it into his eye.

“All I wanted was for you to stop drinking, daddy!” I cried out while I ran out of the bathroom, downstairs and out of the house.