My Personal Hell

My father was a violent man. For God knows how many years I was on the receiving end of his anger. I can never remember what I did to provoke him into "picking" me to be the punch bag every time his anger flared. Each incident would leave me battered and shaken, leaving little left of my pride in tact. Every day was different. He went from the loving fatherly figure to the evil monster every child fears in an instant. My brother and sisters only remember bits of my tormented childhood but by God my mother did. I hated her for letting it happen for all those years. She would make up sweet and innocent stories when the school rang up and I wanted so much to shout and hit her for protecting "him". One day it just went to far for me. My father was having a good day, being the doting dad. It was my 14th birthday but I was at home, ill. Mum had made reservations at my favourite restaurant but as not wanting to give up the opportunity to go out - mum, Jesse, Luke and Beth went out while dad stayed home to "keep me company". We were sat on the sofa watching one of those 80's horror movies when dad all of a sudden put his hand on my knee. At first I thought it was to comfort my but his hand started to creep up under my nightie towards my knickers. I shoved him off but he kept repeatedly doing it. I got so freaked out by it that I pushed him away and went upstairs to my room, too scared to stay downstairs with him. It wasn't long before I heard the heavy footsteps of my father climbing the 13 steps up the stairs and walking slowly to my bedroom door. He stayed outside the door for ages. I strained to hear him from my chair, where I was sat reading. I noticed the handle started to turn and the door opened. In came my dad, closing the door behind him and locking it to. All I remember was "how do I get out?" My heart was beating furiously while he walked over and took the book out of my hand. I couldn't reach the door without him getting their first, nor was their an easily accessible window in my room. Looking for an escape route, my dad seemed to read what I was thinking and so he suddenly grabbed me by the neck and flung my against the wall, pressing his body against mine. "I wouldn't be thinking of a way out if I were you" I remember him saying. Again his hand went to my leg and he moved his hand up into my inner thigh and he started groping. And just as suddenly as he put his hand there, he flung me across the room. I hit my wardrobes - dazed and scared. He came at me then, with as much anger and lust as a wild animal. He grabbed my knickers and yanked them off, then pulled his own trousers and pants off. He pulled my legs apart, lay on top of me then shoved himself in. Again and again he slammed me against the floor. I felt blood trickling down me and I winced away from the pain. Exhausted, he eventually stopped and toppled to the side of me. I lay there crying waiting for my weakness to take me into sleep, but all I could think about was him raping my over and over again. I looked over to where my father slept and I despised him enough to kill him. That night, before he woke and the rest of my family came home I ran away. I escaped my personal hell.