The door crept open and a tall figure stood in the door way. Here we go again.

“Alicia, how’s it going?”

“Trying to sleep for your information. If you don’t mind, I would like you to leave.” I shut my eyes. It was 11:30 at night and my first day of school was tomorrow.

“Not so fast, girl.” My dad picked up a baseball bat that was lying beside my bed. My mom told me to keep it in there incase of emergency.

I stared at him for about ten minutes as he picked up the bat. I knew exactly what he was going to do with the bat. He’s never used the bat before, but it’s the same routine.





It was two in the morning. Normally I would be sleeping, but I couldn’t seem to fall asleep no matter how many times I shut my eyes. The sun had not risen yet, so I lay in the dark staring at the ceiling. All I could think about was last night. The visions of the beating flooded my mind. All I could see was my dad’s hand striking me, and the bat smashing against my head. His hand felt as if it were meat that just went through a meat grinder; it was rough and cut up. Usually, I fight back, but that night I just let him hit me over and over again because I knew me fighting back would just make it worse, after all it’s happened many times before. The worst part about the whole situation is that my mom is oblivious. I try to tell her what he’s doing to me, but she doesn’t believe me, and when I show her the evidence of his abuse, she just laughs and tells me to stop hitting myself and lying about it. Can’t you tell we’re a happy family?

“Wake up, Alicia!” I looked at my clock; it was 6:30 in the morning. Today was the first day of 5th grade, and I knew people would question the abnormally placed bruises on my forehead, cheek and my left arm.

“Come on! Why do I need to go to school, anyway?” I knew the answer, but I just wanted to stall.

“You know darn well why you need to go to school, so get your stubborn butt out of bed. By the way Alicia, you used to be such a pleasant little girl, what’s going on?”

“Mom, you know why I’m acting like this. I’ve told you; let’s see, about a million times. I have a lot on my mind. Peter attacked me last night, again.” Whenever I speak to my mom, I call my dad Peter. I’ve done that since I was five or six, shortly after the first attack. I’m ashamed to call him dad, to her anyway.

“ALICIA ANNA ALBERTSON, stop it! Your father has nothing to do with any of your bruises and you know it. You strive for attention that’s all.”

Sometimes, I just can’t stand my mother. After the first attack, I tried running away. I didn’t get very far. I ran down the drive way, and my mom came after me. She didn’t understand why a four year old would run away, but I had my reasons, but of course, my mom didn’t believe a second of it. She never does and she never will.





I hoped that at school things would be different. I stepped on the bus with doubt in my head. I knew it would be non-stop questioning.

“Alicia, what happened to your face?” My best friend recognized the bruises, and realized that they looked familiar. “Haven’t I seen them before?”

“I tripped down the steps. I’m a very --- clumsy person. It hap--pens a lot. No need to worry.” I stuttered. I didn’t sound convincing.

“Oh.” Clara said ‘oh’ in an I-know-that’s-not-the-real-story-so-what-really-happened sort of tone.

“So how you been Clara?” I changed the subject right away.

“Not too bad, excited about starting 5th grade; I could almost pee my pants.” Just by her, Yay-5th-grade tone, I knew she was faking. Clara has always hated school ever since we met when we were in the same kindergarten class, so I knew she was the least bit excited about started fifth grade.




“Alicia how was your----, oh my god, what happened?” Mrs. Goldstein looked shocked. She was new, so she’s never seen the bruises before, but they seem to appear once in awhile.

“Oh, well, my brother beat me up.”

“Alicia, you don’t have a brother, and plus you told me you fell down the steps.”
“Clara, can’t you keep your mouth shut for at least one minute!” I knew that was impossible.

“Alicia, what’s wrong, and don’t tell me excuses, I want the truth, the real truth.” I knew she was concerned, but it was none of Clara’s business.

“Nothing, and plus even if there was something wrong, it would be none of your business.”

“But Alicia---“

“No buts.”





That whole day, people kept on coming up to me and asking me why I had all those bruises. It was annoying, but I probably would have done the same thing if I saw someone with grapefruit sized blackish-blue oval shaped bruises on them, but still, leave me alone. If I wanted to tell someone about them I would have so just told them. I really wanted to tell someone, but I knew if my dad found out that I had told someone that would actually believe me, he would pump up the beating by ten, and I wasn’t ready for that, nor would I ever be.








I came home, and threw my backpack on the ground and ran up to my room. I was relieved to be home, no more questioning.

I went upstairs and swung open my door to find my dad sitting on my bed, cracking his knuckles. Oh great. I come home to this; this is definitely not my day.

I looked over at the bedside table there was a glass of citrus punch sitting undisturbed on it. I went over and stared at it. I was afraid of what would happen, but I was thirsty, and I knew if I ran to the kitchen, my dad would have run after me, and his beating would probably be worse, so I’ll take my chances.

I took a sip, and dropped to the ground. I hit my head on the corner of the bed.




“HUH?” I woke up. A nurse was standing over me, fluffing my pillows. “Where am I?”

“Why, your in the hospital little girl.” The nurse was pleasant.

“Why?” I couldn’t remember anything.

“Your mother called 9-1-1, when she found you laying on the floor bleeding. It’s a good thing she brought you when she did. You arm is pretty badly broken, and your brain was bleeding. That’s probably why you can’t remember anything. You are 75% bruised, and your face is all cut up too.”

“All I remember is drinking citrus punch.”

“Well, there was something in that punch that made you black out, and when you hit your head, you became unconscious.”

“Who did this?”

“We’re trying to figure that out. Do you know who would have wanted to hurt you?”

“Um, yeah, but my mom won’t believe me. Ever since I was four, my dad had---well, he’s ---um, he has snuck in my room and---and---um---beat me.” It was extremely hard to spit that out.

“Oh, but why won’t your mom believe you?”

“To tell you the truth, I think she does believe me, and it scares her that her husband could do such a thing to his own daughter.”

“Well, I’m going to call her in here, and I’ll tell her what you told me.”

“Good luck.”

“Caroline, are you aware that your husband has been beating your daughter for quite some time?”

“No! She’s lying, I’m telling you. Why would he do such a thing anyway?”

“Was anyone home when Alicia came home from school today?”

“Yeah, her father was. He got laid off a couple of years after Alicia was born. Normally he goes out in the afternoon, but I told him to stay home today because I had to work late, and today was Alicia’s first day of school.”

“So do you think that he might of sedated her, and then beat her almost to death?”

“I don’t think so. He would have never been able to kill his own daughter, but I’m not quite sure anymore. He was the only one home.”

“Well I’ll talk to the police and see what they can find about the beatings, and I’ll get back to you, but since it’s a strong possibility that he’s the cause of her pain, you and her should leave for the time being and stay at a hotel or something until we have this straightened out. It’s the best thing for Alicia. She will be here for a while, but when she is released, you should take her to a hotel or a friend’s house.”



It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been home from the hospital. I’m still kind of bruised, and I have 6 inch scar on my head from where they had to operate to alleviate my brain from swelling. Not to mention, I’m pretty much bald. Anyway, I go back to school tomorrow and I’m not looking forward to it. All the questions and stares I’m going to get. Not fun.

“Alicia, I’m going to work now. Be careful, and come right home after school!”

My mom has been over protective since my near death experience. She still doesn’t believe me, and the police investigation turned up empty. We’re still at home (with him), and I’m really nervous all the time. He hasn’t beaten me yet, but I’m sure he’s waiting for the best time.





“Oh my God Alicia, how are you?” Clara was so excited to see me. She hasn’t seen me since the first day of school.

“I’m in pain, but I’m good.”

“That’s some killer cast you got on.”

“Yeah I picked it out myself. Rainbow!”

“Totally sweet, but what happened?”

I knew she wanted the truth, but I didn’t want to give anyone the truth because my mom still doesn’t believe me. “I fell off my bike, and hit my head on the sidewalk.”

“Oh my God, that’s horrible.”

“Alicia, welcome back. Are you feeling ok?” My teacher stared at my cast.

“Yeah I’m fine. Sick of questions”




I cut class early (it starts young these days), and came home. I through my backpack on the floor, and ran up the steps. I slowly walked to my door, and it was open. I gave it a little push, and there was punch sitting on my night-side table. I didn’t even both looking in my whole room, knowing my dad was in there, and this time I ran. I pumped my arms and ran as fast as I could down the driveway.

“ALICIA! GET BACK HERE NOW!”

“NO!!!”

I heard a tug on my arm. I was afraid to look back. I started to be dragged backward.

“NO! STOP IT!” WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?” I started to fight back. Here we go again. Maybe my mom will believe me, if I turn up dead. My dad picked up a rock and I hit the ground. My world went black.