Warning: This one is a little PG-13 at first. Contains a bit of violence but for like 1 paragraph.

Caitlin was 16. She had lived with her father all her life and her mother left when she was three months old. She had only one side of the story to why her mother left and that was her father’s version. “She was an abusive cow” according to him. Unfortunately, for five years, Caitlin has been dealing with abuse from her dad. It felt like rubbing salt into the wounds. She could only feel that she is such a horrible person that her dad and mom would hurt her. Of course, this was only one side of the story.

As Caitlin walked into the house, her father was on the sofa half asleep, remote in hand and smelling of booze, the usual. She walked in quietly as she didn’t want to wake him up. Not for his benefit but for hers, she stayed out 3 minutes later than she was supposed to.



He was so petty about her curfew of 6:30. 1 minute late and she’d get hit, but 3 minutes late? It probably seems petty to you but you probably don’t have a father like him. She stood there as he snored; she felt anger flow through her.

As she tried to walk upstairs the creaky floor boards woke him up, alerting him to her sudden presence. The immediate thing he did was look at his clock and saw that it was 6:33. His face turned from tire confusion to a look of pure anger. He stood up and walked towards her, her body shaking as she realised what she was in for.

“There you bloody are,” he started, “You’re 3 minutes late you little s***”



She tried to start a sentence but he hit her. Hard. “Get up to your room and i want you back down at 7 to do your chores, got me?!” he yelled. She nodded as she walked upstairs to her bedroom for her 25 minute rest to get over the pain shooting through her arm.

Her bedroom wasn’t much to have, but it was the only place she could go. Her bed was cheap and ten years old while her bedside table was old cardboard boxes piled on top of each other. Her handbag was old and tatty like her umbrella was.



She sat there crying and thinking for ages. Why would he do this to her? Did she do anything to him? Was it influenced by her mother? Hundreds of questions flew through her head until she realised what time it was…

7:06pm

“Oh no…” she whispered.

She walked downstairs to find her dad lying on the floor, smelling of putrid booze, with puddles of it surrounding him as he lay there in a drunken collapse. She turned the light on and the vision was even worse. She stood there disgusted, moaning “Ugh not again” as she’d be the one to mop it up and clean the broken glass.



Just as she said that her dad awoke, moaning and clutching onto his head with the hangover that always came after the amount he drunk. If he wasn’t drunk he’d want to be.



“What the…” he moaned, “You bloody woke me up you little…” he said in a gruff voice. She stood there, her body feeling numb, if she woke him from his drunken sleep he’d get angry with her, but with the being late to do the kitchen as well? He sat there in the puddle of alcohol, and looked at his watch. His face turned from tired bewilderment to pure anger. He stared right through her “...and you’re late to do that f****** kitchen”



“Please dad, I’m sorry it’ll never happen again. It’s just the time goes so fast and you-” before she could even finish her sentence he pushed her.

“You’re always sorry!” he yelled at her, “You’re always bloody sorry and you know what? IT’S THE LAST TIME!” and he continued to punch her and hit her. After about a minute, she collapsed on the floor, semi-conscious, wanting it to be over and done with, just so she could sleep. He didn’t stop though, he kicked her in the face, the stomach and everywhere. He scratched her, hit her for at least five minutes. By the time he was done, she could taste blood and her whole body felt like it had been hit by a truck. She thought that maybe this was her time. Maybe she was going to die and be free from this pain. Her dad looked at her, spat and laughed. “Thanks for that, I’m off to the pub and you know what? If that blood isn’t off the floor by the time I’m back then we’ll go for round two…” and he slammed the door.



She sat there for a while, not wanting to get up as it would hurt her so bad. Tears came running down her eyes. When she finally did get up, it was painful as you can get. As she stared at the blood on her and the floor, she realised she couldn’t be here anymore. She then had another realisation - where she could go if she did run away.



She went into her bedroom and into one of the cardboard boxes. Her dad didn’t know but she had been receiving and sending letters from a woman - her aunt. She read the letter again and read its address.

Dear Caitlin

I know you’re probably wondering why you’re getting
a letter from a random woman who lives a few hours
away... the thing is, I’m not just a random woman, I’m
your aunt. I’m Julie Anderson, sister of your mother
Natalie Anderson. Your dad probably told you the
story of how your mother was an abusive cow. I can’t
tell you in letter, but she isn’t… She just isn’t. If your
dad ever does something and you need to get away,
here is my address. Please write back, I gave strict
instructions that the letter must go to your hands only.
I’ve never met you, your dad doesn’t know I exist.

32 Littlewood Avenue
Bitville
England
J94 5EP

Yours Faithfully,
Julie

She stared at the letter for a while and then she started packing. She knew she had to go now, her dad had crossed the line and she wanted to know what her mother really did do to her and why she actually left. She was going to use the money that she saved up over her life and that her dad used to give her before he turned violent. There was enough for a train and food to go with it. That money was the reason she wasn’t stick thin over the last five years.She changed into the clothes her aunt had sent her and she was ready to go. She ran to the train station and got the earliest train to Bitville.


Thanks to DianeHanna for fixing the last picture!