I was in fourth grade when It first happened.
I was huddled together in my soft green blanket, protecting me from the cold night air. I'm guessing someone must have left a window open that night. It was freezing inside! I remember hugging my thermos of coffee close to my body. That is why I woke up after all, coffee.
The night would still be considered young. If I hadn't been nine years old, I probably would have been out doing something with Craig or Clyde. But I was. Eleven o' clock was late to any nine year old. But I had a sudden craving, a need for a cup of coffee.
While some might think its unhealthy for a fourth grader to drink coffee, my parents didn't. Neither did I. Never once had it crossed my mind that my paranoia, my nervous breakdowns and my jitteryness was caused by the constant intake of caffeine. What fourth grader knows that? What nine year old actually cares? Not many. Not me. And apparently, not my parents.
They were the ones providing it, ignoring the fact that there son just might be reaching the verge of insanity. It obviously wasn't caused by the ADD I supposedly had, either.
But I didn't know this then. Didn't care. I stilled loved my daddy, still held mommies hand. Still thought they were in love with each other. Still thought we were a normal family.
So of course I didn't know why mommy was throwing the fine china across the room. And of course I didn't understand why my dad, my loving father, the guy I used to look up to, was screaming obscenities. Awful, hurtful words he told me to never use.
Did daddy do something wrong? I wondered. What if he got into a fight? What if he murdered someone? Was daddy in more trouble than having plates thrown at him can pay for?
Not the guy I looked up to. This was too much pressure. As most things for me are.
"You can't keep doing this Richard!" Mom yelled. Lifting her arm, prepared to throw another plate. Mom never called dad by his first name. Ever. Or at least in my company, they used loving pet names. Such as sweetie, or honey. I knew something had to be wrong.
Dad walked closer to mom, grabbing her wrist. It looked painful- what was going on?
"I can do what I want, women!" and thats when I knew this wasn't my dad. Something about him was just all wrong. I watched as he pulled back his hand, watched as my mom tried to pull away, watched as his hand came down, hard across her face.
I then realized I had dropped my thermos. A warm puddle of coffee lay below my feet, turning my socks a lightish brown color.
Thats when I screamed out and blew my cover. Tears fell like rain. Confusion, anger, I was also scared.
Maybe I did something wrong.
Maybe thats why mommy and daddy were fighting. Was it because I kept asking them to buy me new underwear? It wasn't my fault! The stupid underpants gnomes always comes and takes them!
But whatever the reason, I still stood there. Bawling and tugging at my somewhat longish, messy blond hair.
My dad looked towards my direction, his hand slowly falling to his side.
My mom turned her to me, while she lay on the floor. I could tell she was crying, to.
"Tweek..." he walked over to me, grabbed on to my arm.
He then looked over to my mom, a look of pure disgust etched across his face. My crying had died down a little, I was lightly sniffling at the sight of my mom, broken and lying on the floor, almost as if she was lying in repose.
"Richard, what are you doing?" She asked, reaching her hand out to me. As if telling me to grab onto it.
When I think of that now, when I look back at my mom like that, I think I should have pushed my dad away, ran to her side.
I should have, and I would have, if my dads grip on my arm wasn't so strong.
He turned, walking toward the front door, dragging me with him.
Where were we going? I didn't know then. But I knew it wasn't to a happy place.
"Ack! Dad! Where are we going?" the sound of heavy footsteps came to a halt.
"We're leaving-" He paused.
"Do you hear that Lauren? I'm leaving..."
Lauren,my mom let out a cry.
"Richard, you can't..."
"I'm leaving, taking my son with me, to."
Leaving where? I didn't know. But that night we sat slept in the car. Parked in the parking lot of 7-Eleven.
I never go to sleep. Ever. I have too many things to think and worry about. So when my daddy started crying, I tried to comfort him. Like good boys do.
He hugged me, pulled me into an embrace. I remember him running his hands through my hair.
"You're so much like your mom when I first met her..." He said, crying into my shoulder. I started crying a little, to. I didn't like seeing my dad like this. I didn't want to see him cry.
"Daddy loves you..." He whispered.
I looked up at him. Of course I thought he meant it in a loving, parental way. And I thought nothing when he kissed me on my cheek, still nothing when his lips met my mouth.
Hes my dad, they can kiss you, right?
I didn't know that that was the starting of the end of my childhood, and the beginning of a long, hellish path to adulthood.
wth is wrong with me? Really,
I just pulled this out of my ass. But I do have more than the first chapter done. I want to see if I can actually finish this. I hope to finish it. I have confidence in this one. And just note: I've never written an abuse story, never thought I would. I especially never thought I'd write one about sexual abuse, but I guess there is a first time for everything, neh?
But yes, I know Tweek's father may be a little out of character, alright? Just deal with it. I also remember his name being Richard, I could be wrong though.
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