Theme park

It's hard

I hated being in the house I was in, I could never go out with friends. The friends that i never had. I was trapped, my father wouldn't let me do anything, I had to do everything he asked me to. If I didn't I'd pay the price. My names Ashton, this is the story of my life.

It started when I was six, my mom died from cancer, before she died she told me that I needed to "be strong and to never give up." A few months after my mom died my dad started hitting me, it got worse everyday, he blamed me for my mom dying, saying that "she got sick because of you." I started to believe him. But I wasn't so sure that he was sane. He was going crazy. The older I got the more the hitting got worse. When I was fourteen I was arguing with em, it finally got to the point he picked up a baseball bat and hit me in the face. He busted my lip open. I'll never forget the day my mom died. Because I will never fail her, I'll never stop being strong, I'll never give up. Because I know one day I will be strong enough to tell him "stop" to tell him that "it's not my fault, it's not the end of the world" and when that day comes I'll finally be the person my mom wanted me to be. But until then I'm just a punching bag.

"Ashton!? Where are you?!" my father yelled at me from downstairs.

"I'm up here, in my room!" I yelled back.

"Get your ass down here now!" he staggered his words. I fear today that maybe hitting me will be terrible. I race down the stairs, hitting the bottom.

"What?" I said faintly. Before he could respond he swung at me. Connecting his back hand to my cheek. I stumbled backwards, Used to the sting I didn't respond.

"Why isn't dinner ready?!" he yelled greatly.

"You told me to clean my room." I tried to stay calm.

"I did?" he asked with a smile

"Yes, sir" I looked down at my feet, my cheek burning like fire.

He grabbed me by the back of my neck, throwing me into the kitchen, yelling.

"Start dinner now, or so help me I'll beat you worse than you've ever felt yet!" he yelled at me standing over top of me.

"Yes, sir" tears threatened to spill onto my cheeks, but I wasn't going to let that happen, not today. I haven't cried since I was seven. One day I will cry but it won't be in front of my father. It'll be in front of the one that I love.

"Get up now!" still standing over top of me. I got up quickly, standing face to face with him. He leaned in closer. "Are you crying?" he had a harsh look on his face. I shook my head no. "Good, if you we're crying I'd hit you harder" he had a hard tone to his voice. I wanted to speak and say "I don't think you could hit me harder than you already have." but that would just get me into even more trouble.

"Get started!" he yelled at me while I got dinner started. I started on putting the chicken in the Parmesan cheese. I thought I'd make something that would fill us up. Usually if my father ate well he'd go straight to bed and wouldn't hurt me. This is how I'd always get out of being hurt before bed. Some nights it didn't work and most of the time it did. I finished the Parmesan chicken and walked to the living room.

"Dad?" I called over to him quietly.

"What.?" he said with an irritated tone. "Dinner is ready" he stood up looking at me with a disgusted look. "It's about time!" He yelled in my face. Walking past he brushed his shoulder against mine, making me stumble back a bit. "Come sit down!" I took a deep breathe before walking into the dinner room. "I hope you like it." He took a bite "If I don't you'll know" I feared that if he didn't it wasn't going to be a good night. Then he smiled "you did good Ash" he said simply. It was very rare for my dad to call me that.