Try Again: Book 1

Introduction

  Hello. My name is Eva Wilson. I am now twenty two years old. I grew up in a home of five kids and one parent. My father. My mother committed suicide when I was only two years old. I was the second youngest out of the five, growing up, and we had such a great life for a few years. A loving father, plenty of food, my father had a nice job, I was doing well in school, everything was fine, other then my mother, who I still did miss dearly, even though I didn't know her well, but other then that, everything was fine. That was until I was seven years old. My father had lost his job. He said everything was going to be alright, but nothing was. A few months later, my grandmother died. She was the only other family member I had other then my siblings and father, and with my father, who had just lost his mother, it wasn't looking good. He did his best, but it all became to much. That was when he started drinking and smoking. He told us it helped him, but we all knew it didn't. He would go out and wouldn't come home until three in the morning. We would go to school smelling like alcohol and smoke, and our teachers would ask if everything was alright at home, and we would say the same thing. 'Yes! Everything is fine!' But they knew we lied, but, they didn't say anything. When I was twelve years old, my father's drinking habit was getting out of control. He would run around the house with broken beer bottles and his belt and whip us if he  thought we weren't doing what we were supposed to do. He was always mad, never happy. But, when I was twelve, I came home one day, and I saw my father sitting in his chair with a broken beer bottle in one hand and belt in the other.

  " I got a call from the school," he said. " They said that Sarah wasn't doing to well. Care to tell me where she is?" he asked. My heart had stopped. I knew this night wasn't going to end well. Sarah was the youngest. She was only a year younger then me. She told me that the school had called father, so I told her to go down to the Carson's place. They enjoy our company. We go over there when dad isn't in the best of moods, worce then usual.

  " I don't know," I said, then trying to run to my room.

  " COME HERE!!" he screamed. He ran after me and hit me with his belt, causing me to fall and hit my head hard on the counter. I wasn't unconscious, but there was a little blood on the floor. 

  " WHERE IS SHE?!" he screamed in my face.

  " I don't know," I said in a scared, small tone. 

  " TELL ME!!" he screamed, whipping me with his belt again.

  " I don't know," I said in an even smaller tone, tears streaming down my face. He ran on top of me and picked me up off the ground. 

  " I said tell me." His tone may have been smaller, but the way he said it scared me the most. I couldn't say anything, so I just shook my head. He threw me across the room, and my back hit the stone next to the fire place. I wouldn't tell him if he offered me a million dollars. I would rather take the beating instead of Sarah having to. He stomped over to me and knelled down, the broken beer bottle raised over his head.

  " Tell me." 

  " No." That was when he surprised me the most. He slammed the broken glass into my stomach. I revealed a shocked face, then slowly, everything went black. But, before I passed out, I managed to scream, which caught the attention of my oldest brother, Levi. He ran in, he then a gasped, then, everything went black. I woke up two days later in the hospital with all of my siblings sitting around me. Sarah was sleeping right beside me. Levi was sitting in the chair, also asleep. Kensy, the third oldest, sleeping in the lap of Ian, the forth oldest, who was, you guessed it, also asleep. They never slept like that, ever! One by one, they woke up, and asked me how I was doing. A week and a half later, I was released from the hospital, and we were all sent to a foster home, together. I found out my father had been sent to jail, for life, for attempted murder. We went back to school, and everyone started asking questions. We never answered. I was constantly bullied, and, after a while, no one cared. When I was fifteen, I met a boy. His name was Evan, He was so sweet and kind, and he asked me to be his girlfriend. I was so desperate to be loved, that I agreed. We did all the normal stuff. Hug, hold hands, kiss, ect. But, then, after a while, he became obsessive. I became an object instead of a person. He wanted to know where I was, when I was there, how long I was there, who I was with, ect. He fallowed me everywhere, and I finally had enough. I broke up with him. He didn't take it lightly. He got his group of friends to make fun of me, to hit me, to spread nasty rumors about me, so on. When I was seventeen, finally finished high school, I moved to L.A. I didn't look behind me. I left everything, everybody, and started new! It felt great! I used the little money I had to get an apartment, I then got a job (a good paying job too), I moved into an actual house, then started a career on YouTube. After a while, I decided that I would go to collage, and I was able to go to one just a few miles from where I lived. After four years, I had a degree. Everything was perfect! But how long could it last?