It's a Girl

Chapter 2

There are few things I remember about my dad. One of those things I could never forget. My dad used to abuse me before he left when I was seven. He would hit me hard, especially when he was drunk. He lost his job because he was stressed and began to fall asleep at work, yell more often, and drive away customers, mostly because of the alcohol.

Once he was fired and couldn't find a new job and he began to drink more, so the hitting got worse. Everyday when he came home from the bar or a drug dealer's house, he screamed my name as if I had disgraced him horribly.

"ASHLEE!" I hid in my closet. My mom knew there was nothing she could do. If she tried to stop him, he'd hit her then come after me anyway. It was like taking one step forward and two steps back. He knew where to find me after a pattern of me going in there so often. He'd pull Me out by my hair then punch me in the stomach to bring me to the ground. If I  resisted, he'd slap me across the face and do it again.

Once I was on the ground he'd kick and punch me. If I didn't scream, he'd do it harder.

One night, it was so bad, my mom called the police. When they arrived, they had to use a stun gun to pry him away from me. I remember, as they dragged him away, his face beat red and veins pooping out of his head, he yelled, "YOU! THIS IS YOUR FAULT! I WILL HAUNT YOU AFTER I ROT IN JAIL! YOU'RE THE BIGGEST MISTAKE I EVER MADE!" Then the police dragged him, handcuffed, out of our house. One week later was his trial.

I don't remember much about his trial except two things. The first, the look he gave me when some man with a weird mustache I didn't know asked me, "Sweety, I need you to tell me the truth, okay?" I hesitantly nodded with light tears running from my eyes. "Did your daddy hurt you?" I looked over at my mom, first, and she gave me an encouraging nod. Then I looked over at my dad. His eyes glared at me evilly. They said to me, "Tell him, and you'll die." I didn't notice the gasp that escaped my mouth, but the mustache man did.

"Don't look at him, look at me. If you tell me the truth, he won't be able to hurt you anymore." The tears came harder. "Wha- what's g-gonna happen?" I said, barely able to breathe. "Well," he began. "It depends if you tell me what happened. You have lots of bruises. are these from your dad?" I looked at the judge. She seemed to cheer me on with her eyes, like she wanted to shout, "You can do it, Ashlee!"

"YES!" I blurted out. The tears streamed ferociously and uncontrollably down my cheeks. Then, he second thing I remember is next. The judge glared at my father and slammed the mallet viciously and said, "Case closed. You are sentenced to ten years in prison for alcohol abuse and child abuse." Then the police, for the second time, dragged my resistant and angry father away.

My mother ran to me, scooped me up, and carried me out the door opposite of my dad. But, there's a third thing I remember. When I looked back, Mustache man looked at me sympathetically and waved as my mom ran away from the room.