This is a continuation of “Look Into The Eyes Of A Child”. If you haven’t yet read the first part, I recommend you do so before reading this second part of the story. She collapsed
This is a continuation of “Look Into The Eyes Of A Child”. If you haven’t yet read the first part, I recommend you do so before reading this second part of the story.
She collapsed on her bed, crying uncontrollably, clutching her favorite doll, seeking comfort that would not come. She couldn’t believe her father’s angry reaction to the terrifying ordeal she had just endured, at the hands of her father’s friend. She drew her legs tightly to her chest, squeezing her doll as tightly as she could, trying to understand. The words of the song kept repeating in her mind over and over, shaking her head and squeezing her eyes trying to force the words out of her conscious thoughts.
“You know that it would be untrue You know that I would be a liar If I was to say to you Girl, we couldn’t get much higher
Come on baby, light my fire”
Hard as she might, she couldn’t stop trembling, and hurled the doll across the room where it landed in the corner. His whispers “You know you want it” reverberating echoes throughout her brain. Despite her best efforts to stifle the gnawing ache in her stomach, she lowered her hand to her backside where her father had kicked her with such force, knowing she would wake the next day to another bruise.
Her thoughts drifted to the image of the long leather strap that hung ominously on a hook at the base of the stairwell, kept in close reach, in plain view of any and all visitors to see. She and her brothers had been beaten with that strap too many times to count, and couldn’t help but wonder if today was once again the day. Or, would it be a switch taken from the tree out front of the house? She could already hear the ‘whoosh’ sound it made with each swing of the hand, and how its sting cut like a knife on bare skin. What had she done wrong?, she wondered. She had told the truth of what had happened to her, but her father wouldn’t hear of it. Her father wouldn’t allow her to complete the story, simply cutting her off mid-sentence as soon as she mentioned His name. Her little brother was there and saw it all, he heard her screams for Mike Earh**t to stop and get off of her. But he said nothing to defend his sister, but just stood there in the corner completely silent. ‘Brothers are stupid’, she said out loud.
Moments passed and she began to get control of herself, no longer crying she wiped her wet eyes with the back of her hand. Her trembling had begun to subside, but now she felt cold. She heard footsteps ascending the wooden staircase, her breath caught as the sounds grew louder as they approached her bedroom door. Her father entered the room, glaring down at her as she began to raise herself to a sitting position on the edge of her bed. She quickly searched his hands for the leather strap or a switch, but neither was found. “Daddy, I told you the truth. Mike Earh**t tried to hurt me and he tore my shirt!” Her father’s hands began undoing his belt buckle and quickly pulled the belt out from the loops of his pants. “You are lying!” he said as he grabbed her arm, pulling her off the bed and began hitting her with the belt over and over, across her bottom, her legs, wherever the belt landed. Her knees gave out and she collapsed on the floor crying, while he stood over her firmly telling her “not to ever speak of this day again”, then left the room.
She didn’t understand how or why, but she concluded that somehow it was all her fault. The one thing she did understand was that she was no longer Daddy’s Little Girl, he had beaten it out of her. Part Three of the story…
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