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Please Don't A Story of an Abused and Suffering Child

Updated on December 3, 2011

“Please don’t leave me Momma,” I tearfully pleaded with my mother.

“I will be back soon, I have to get groceries,“ my mother said as she stepped outside into the garage. I patiently wait to hear her footsteps coming back to the house to get me, to say she had changed her mind, but as the car engine roars I realize that she is not. She never does. At 7 years of age, I have come to realize that I am not wanted for Mothers outings. She wants to be without me. She needs to get away.

I sit awkwardly on the couch, not knowing what to say. My father lays on the floor, his head is propped up in the palm of his hand. All I see is his back as he watches television, football to be exact. I don’t know much about football but I do know that it takes precedence over any interaction with me. “Who is winning?” I ask naively, not really caring for the answer.

“Just leave me alone,” he grunts. I am no longer surprised by his response. The living room is adjacent to a long hallway that leads to my bedroom. To make my escape, I must walk past him. I am afraid to walk past him.

I again ask something trivial regarding the game on television. He rolls over to his back and gives me a look that shakes my inner soul. “Leave me alone, little girl. I don’t want to do something that I’ll regret.” I immediately stand to my feet and run to my room. It appears as if my feet are trapped in quicksand, every step takes extreme strength and effort. I reach the door to my solace and fidget with the handle. I have made it. My eyes dart from previous hiding spot to hiding spot. I’ll hide in the closet, I think to myself, panic reaching the inner core of my flesh beaten body. No, not the closet, he found me too quickly last time. Okay, think…just think….behind the bed, not under it. Surely he will not know where to look this time!

I contort my body to fit just between the bed and the wall, carefully covering myself with my stuffed animals. My heart is beating so loudly that my body shakes with each echoing beat within me. Surely he will hear it and come for me.

The seconds seem like hours. I don’t dare make a move from my seclusion. My ears are intensely tuned into the television down the hall. All is quiet. My mind begins to wonder. I dream of my childhood friend. She lived right across the street. I recall the giggling and laughter each evening after suppertime. I would gaze from the living room window until they would notice me and call me over to join them. My fond memory is interrupted as I hear a door slam.

Did I fall asleep? I couldn’t have.

Did he leave?

The living room is quiet, not a sound to be heard from the house. My mind is debating with itself over leaving my safe house or staying put. I realize that no one is home, he has left me alone.

Today, I am left alone.

I slowly remove each stuffed animal from upon me. I say a quiet thank you to each plush face as they smile at me in return, knowing to keep my secret hiding place. I begin to pull myself out and I hear them. The footsteps. I was wrong. I am not alone. I try to move myself back in between the wall and the bed but there is no time. The handle of my door is turning. I close my eyes in thought of what is to come.

“There you are, honey,” my mother said warmly. “Where have you been?”


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