With blood soaking my jeans and jacket; I hurriedly walked from my apartment to the nearest gas station. It was only a matter of time before they dealt the blow that would kill me. Tears and blood streamed down my face as I dialed the number that I had called collect so many times before in my young life; my mom’s.
My father and step mother had just left my apartment; the one I paid rent on at 18 years old, the one I lived in alone so that I could go to work every day, the one that was leased under my name only. I had just moved out of their house two months earlier, I had worked a long time and it made sense for me to move closer to my job, so that my step mom would no longer need to drive me to and from work five days a week. She had already quit taking back and forth from college after my car accident, forcing me to dropout.
It was a Friday; I remember this clearly because I had not gone to work all week. My boss was upset but, we talked and he understood that I was young and fresh out on my own. “Don’t let it happen again,” he told me. I worked all day and when it was time to leave I came outside and there in the parking lot was the familiar truck belonging to my father. Panic struck instantly, I couldn’t budge for what seemed like an eternity, when I finally could there was no choice but, to approach the truck, it was the only way out of the parking lot. “GET IN,” they demanded. I thought moving out on my own would have stopped this, I was so wrong.
I knew if I didn’t do as they said they would follow me to my apartment and the landlord would give them a key to get it, something she had already did once. My landlord was my boss’s daughter who had made a call to my parents letting them know I had not been to work all week, making them accomplices to the abuse that was about to be done to me. I had no refuge at all, I had no help, and I pleaded with God in my head to help me just once. Just one time out of the millions I had prayed, “PLEASE DEAR GOD PLEASE!!!”
My father cursed at me calling me irresponsible, stupid and whatever else he found fitting. These were names I had become all too familiar with, they had made it clear my whole life that I was not wanted or loved. We drove around town looking for the people who apparently were a bad influence on me. As usual he was wrong, nobody influenced me I just didn’t want to go to work. I was 18 and made my own decisions or so I thought. My step mom kept her arm over my body to keep me from jumping out of the truck. At one point they became highly agitated and my step mom elbowed me in the nose, making me bleed. “Don’t YOU DARE get blood on your father’s truck,” she hissed. Blood dripped all over my jacket and jeans but, not one drop fell on the upholstery or floor. They had beaten me so many times since I was 4 years old, I didn’t cry; I hadn’t felt the pain from their beatings in a long time.
They dropped me off at my apartment and left. As soon as I knew it was safe, I walked as fast as I could to the pay phone at the gas station and called my mom. The next day my grandmother drove two hours to come rescue me and move me into her house until I would move to Las Vegas with my mom in August.
Many times I had been verbally, emotionally, physically abused by those people who claimed they loved me. Despite years of counseling as a child, where I had told many people what was going on, NOBODY had ever done a thing to remove me from that situation until that day.They had been torturing me since I was 4; that wicked evilness was all I had ever known. This was not the first time they had tried to physically break me but, it would by all means necessary be the last.
Making that phone call is my greatest accomplishment in life; in saving myself I saved not only my future but, my kids’ future. I would not be the great mother, wife or person that I am today if not for the call that rescued me from Hell’s clutches, saved my life and killed the cycle of abuse.