10"Now Karissa, I'm sure you'll love it here with Mr. And Mrs. Cipriotti. Trust me, they'll take good care of you." I looked around the large house that was now my new home. Nodding to Mrs. Genua, my social worker, I started to walk around and explore the rooms of the large building.
I'd never seen anything like it, especially since I grew up living in the slums. It was elegant, refined, spiffy if I may say so. Each room was painted a different color. Pearly white, pale yellow, baby blue. . . the colors were absolutely beautiful. The furniture was top notch-only something that people with money would buy. And judging by the Baby Grande Piano in the dining area, I knew that these people were loaded.
I peered down at myself. I was wearing a pair of torn up jeans, a dirty striped t-shirt and a baseball cap. I didn't exactly look like I belonged in this place. Hopefully these people would buy me some new clothes and a couple of things that would make me not look like I was white trash anymore.
This was my new home; my new family. I wasn't sure if I should be happy or sad. And quite frankly I didn't quite know what I was feeling at the moment. It was a mix of emotions. All I knew was that I never wanted to go back. . . to him.
***A YEAR EARLIER***
"What the fuck is this? You call this shit dinner?!"
I watched as my father threw the meal that took me a good hour to prepare onto the kitchen floor. The contents of the plate spilled everywhere, dirtying the floor-which I had mopped only two hours before.
"Daddy you said that you wanted pot roast. That's what I made- pot roast." I said timidly, hoping that he wouldn't decide to get up from his place across the table and beat the shit out of me.
"Yes, that's what I said. This shit isn't pot roast. It's slop that only pigs would eat." He took a swig from his vodka bottle and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
"Do you want me to make you something else?"
"No I don't want you to make me something else! That will take forever because you're such a fucking dumb ass. If you would have cooked right in the first place then maybe I could actually enjoy my dinner for once!"
I stared down at my plate, trying desperately to fight back the tears that were forming in my eyes. I couldn't let him see me cry. He'd probably find joy in that anyway. It would only make him feel more powerful than he already thinks he is.
Nodding my head, I stood up slowly to empty my plate into the trashcan. I had lost my appetite, not to mention that if he saw me enjoying my dinner, he'd get jealous and find a way to make me pay. If he wasn't happy, nobody could be happy-especially me.
"What's for dessert?" He asked coldly.
I stopped washing my plate and dried my hands on the dirty dishtowel that hung on the stove. I had forgotten to make dessert. I was so busy cleaning earlier that day that preparing a dessert had totally slipped my mind.
"I'm sorry I forgot." I closed my eyes tightly, waiting for him to make his move.
"You forgot." He said, rather stating a fact than a question.
I nodded my head. I knew what was coming next. Dreading the type of punishment I would receive, I quickly thought of something to give him; even if it was something simple.
"I can make you something. Anything." I felt a cold sweat start to travel through my body. The offer to make him something was not going to go over very well. And I suppose I had nobody to blame for that but myself. I should have remembered to prepare something.
"You should have had something made before now you little whore!" He screamed. He got up from his chair, kicking it to the ground with full force.
I took a step back, hoping to get away from him. But I only wound up grinding my back into the counter top. I was cornered, and he was coming closer towards me.
I should have just let him do what he wanted to me. Then it would have been over and done with. Instead, I ran. Yes, it was stupid on my part, but I had to take my chances. Running seemed like the best option at the time.
Quickly, I dashed into the living room, hurdling up the stairs and into my bedroom. I slammed the door behind me and pushed the back of a chair underneath the doorknob. Dad was too cheap to buy us locks. Plus, that would have made it harder for him to get in and beat us.
"Open this door!" He screamed, pounding on the thin wood with great force.
I looked for a place to escape to, anywhere that I could be safe at. The window was off limits. I tried to escape through there one time before and wound up breaking my leg. He'd find me in the closet. That was a childish place to hide anyway. I was trapped, and there was no doubt in my mind that he was going to get me.
"Open the fucking door you little bitch!" He slammed himself against the door harder and harder. He used his whole body to try and brake through. He was like a wild animal.
"Go away!" I pushed my back up against the door, hoping to shield him from getting in. It wouldn't help though, I weighed 120 pounds and he was over 200. It was useless.
Finally, I couldn't keep him away any longer. He kicked through the door, throwing me to the ground as he made his way in my room.
"You fucking whore!" He kicked me in the stomach, then the chest, then the head. The pain became more severe with each blow he delivered.
I tried to shield my body in any way I could, at least I could try to protect one part of myself. My head was the first thing my hands tried to cover, but after he started kicking in my stomach for quite some time, I couldn't concentrate enough to protect myself any longer. I held on as long as I could, but it was too hard. I lost consciousness, and everything went deathly black. I never wanted to wake up, but I knew I would have to. Then, I'd have to face him again, and relive this horror all over.