~Scars have the strange power to
remind us that our past is real.
-Cormac McCarthy.

"Please don't!" I cried, but I was slapped on the cheek again. I knew that speaking back to my father at this point would enrage him, but I couldn't control my thoughts and emotions. I gulped hard and fought back tears that threatened to well up in my eyes. Crying was not a viable option. My cries for help would simply go unnoticed by those nearby. "I've had enough." I want out. I want it to be over. "I'm not going to care for anyone else!" I felt compelled to tell them, to let them know that I was tired of being tossed around like trash, tired of being terrorized, tired of all the sorrow and despair, and possibly even hated the trauma that they were inflicting on me.

But no, I was just as helpless as any other young girl who was tortured on a daily basis. I was perplexed about approaching anyone. They took everything away from me - my parents, who have suddenly become my tormentors, robbing me of the little hope and dignity I had left.

He got closer and closer, watching me tremble beneath him as though I were his prey. His eyes were a golden brown that suddenly transformed into a deep black abyss. While he grinned at me, I trembled, gazing up at him. Tears welled up in my eyes with each step he took forward. I crawled backward to maintain my distance. What have I done to deserve this type of treatment after enduring years of pain?

I closed my eyes, pleading that it wasn't real, as if it were a terrible nightmare. However, it wasn't just a nightmare when I felt my father's cold wedding ring come into contact with my bare skin. His dirty hands touching my body made me feel like I was peeling my skin off. Nothing like this has ever happened before. My parents were just as cruel as any villains.

He ran his dirty, filthy fingers up and down my body repeatedly, and I was unprepared for what he was about to do next. I was disgusted, embarrassed, and ashamed. Why am I still here? Why does the thought of running away ever cross my mind? My entire body shivered as a broad grin spread across his face. I kept my guard up in case something unexpected happened. I was having trouble breathing. My heart was racing faster than it ever had before, and I was afraid it would explode in my chest if it continued to accelerate. My vision was blurred by tears that seemed to keep falling without end.

Nobody should have to go through something like this. All of this torture was only necessary for individuals who were morally corrupt. My eyes were not deceiving me in any way. I witnessed what you would describe as pure hatred. I felt nothing but anger and hatred with each hit and burn inflicted upon me. This wasn't something you could apologize for, and it wasn't something you could easily forgive. It would take years.

My prayers were answered when my mother stormed into the room, raging at my father. However, I knew it wasn't over for me. She didn't care what he did; it was all just an excuse to hit me more. My head was pounded into the tiled floor. The next thing I knew, I was lying there. My mother was tapping me on the back with her cane as I felt a rush of blood flow through my head. I could hear a bone shattering as their laughter filled the room.

The crane was my worst fear. Being hit by anything other than a crane left me with bruises and fractured bones for days. My mother referred to it as "the Devil." I was sobbing on the ground, not daring to move because I knew that if I did, the ache in my back would not go away. However, I couldn't care less about having to move. It was the only way I needed to escape.

After hours of waiting, I finally came to the realization that I could no longer stay here and that I deserved a better life elsewhere. But where do I go when I'm thirteen? My life has been shattered. If that means I have to stay on the streets, I'll do it. I got to my feet shakily. I was aware that I wasn't supposed to move. In my time of need, I was unsure of what actions to take or avoid. If I move around, the pain becomes more intense, but if I don't move, it has no effect on my body.

I grinned as I packed my belongings into my bag and glanced around the room. The walls were originally blue, but the paint was peeling off, leaving patches of white, which was the previous color. That made me feel good. It was the place where I would hide from my parents. I took a breath and climbed through the window. I ignored the pain that shot up my leg from the landing as I jumped out the window. Listening to the hammering on the door, I knew it was them.

I collapsed on the ground due to the anguish and ache in my feet. I wanted to sit, but I was too far away from the station and they were probably still knocking at the door. It was only around 5 minutes by car, but it would take longer than normal due to the ache in my foot and the slowness in my pace.

I was relieved that the train station wasn't overcrowded. Nobody was looking at me as I lay flat on the ground, my heart racing wildly in my chest, making it hard for me to breathe. Nobody really cares about what happens in this town. It was always like that, people minding their own business.

I pulled myself together and went on the first train that was boarding people on it. I knew this was a new step for me, a new life, but how was I going to survive with little money and nowhere to live? I know I'll get through this and that everything will be fine.The train started moving. My heart thumps every time it gets further away from the station. Finally, I was at peace. My eyelids started to get heavy, and I had no remembrance of what happened, just the feeling of me getting further and further away from my nightmares.

5 Years Leap

I waved to my boss, Mr. Levis, goodbye before I left the office. This hasn't been easy, nothing has ever been, but I'm happy to say it's better than five years ago, and just the thought of that makes my body quiver.

The city? Yeah, the city. That's where the train brought me. I wasn't expecting it at all. I was truly not expecting any of it. It came undoubtedly. I moved here when I was only thirteen, alone, bruised and with nowhere to go. I had no family, no home, but only a hundred dollars, and a necklace that gave me hope that I was still here and alive, breathing that I had made it this far. But that wasn't enough for me. It took me days to find a job at my age, and they only paid me twenty dollars a week. I made it count.

Being homeless is the worst thing in life, but being grateful enough to stay under a bridge with other homeless people feels better than some homes. Not all of them were nice, but they went through a lot from being rich to being at this stage in life. Even if being homeless is the worst part of life, you meet a lot of wonderful people out there.

I worked, I sweated, I strived and yearn to get myself a new life and to have a purpose. When I had enough money, I started small by renting myself a small apartment. I was grateful for that when I found out I'd have a roommate who became my friend.

I never stopped thinking about the people that lived under that bridge. I'd visit when I was free or got off work early. I did my best to help them.

Imagine feeling lost, not knowing what to do or where to go. You spend each night in the muggy weather on a bench or on the cold, hard concrete floor where you call your bed. You wake up to the chattering noises each morning. You decide which public place would allow you to clean yourself up. When you get hungry, you beg people for a chance to eat a cheap meal, or you search for the nearest garbage can.

That's what they all had to go through. That's what the rich see when they walk past us, judging us as a piece of garbage. Nobody should ever feel homeless even when they don't have a roof over their head. A home is where happiness grows and everything falls into place, not where you judge a person by how they look.

I was scared. I was traumatized as well. The nightmares of my parents didn't leave me. They messed me up mentally. I couldn't control the things that I did, but at work, I had to pretend that I was okay.

I started to work with Mr. Levis when I was seventeen. I took online classes during the time I could afford a laptop. It wasn't easy, but I had both work and school. When I finished with my courses online, I went out and sought a job. It was hard, but I got a job as an assistant to Mr. Levis at the Levis company. It wasn't a big company, but the salary I got was enough for me to pay my rent and have a proper meal.

Now here I am walking down the street to my apartment. It was exactly seven-thirty. The night was cold as it had been for these couple of days. I held my coat closet to my chest to keep myself warm.

The street lights flickered on one by one, lighting up the dim street. Not many people walked on this street, but like any other day, it was crowded. Today must be a special day I guess.

I was almost at the apartment when I stopped to look at the scene of a couple that was arguing in the middle of the street. It was quite a common and all-time thing to see a man and a woman arguing. Nothing really dawned upon me when I continued walking.

It got way too far. Their voices were drawing the attention of as many people as possible around the area. Others just went away, minding their own business. You know that moment when you know that you are wrong, and completely freeze on your actions. Time seems to slow down and everyone watches for the landing.

The stranger held his hand in a particular way to hit her and all respect for him was lost at that moment, but he didn't slap her. He stood there frozen while tears trickled down his now pale face as the realization hit him. He looked around him utterly shocked to have people having his full attention. He walked away, leaving the woman planted in her spot as she broke down in tears. Not bothering to spare her a glance, he turned his back on her and disappeared into the crowd of people that were looking at him with pure disgust.

'ENOUGH!' The words all of us women fail to say because we have no voices to make this be heard.

With a hurt expression, I shook my head, watching individuals comfort the shattered lady while she hugged someone who was knelt beside her crying her eyes out. It must be hard to find out what your husband or boyfriend has been doing to you.

A relationship is something I haven't experienced in my life as a couple, but some relationships that I once had all ended in one, single decision to run away. Do you call it selfishness? Because I don't think it was self-protection, so I had to do it at any cost, no matter what the consequences might be. I knew I had to face what was going to happen when I decided to run away, and I risked it for five years. Now look at me. I'm happy to have left my past behind.

I sighed, attempting to push the key into the bolt gap, and once I successfully managed to do that, I was embraced by the lavender fragrance of the apartment. It was something like heaven when I had a long, tiring day. Having switched on a few lights, I left my bag and the keys on the small table at the door, but not before I closed the door behind me. I've always had the phobia that one day my parents or an armed robber would barge in at any time and kill me. Something in my mind just changed.

I took my heels to set them aside. My feet landed on the carpet lying beneath my feet. That seemed to calm my senses. I thudded down on the sofa and closed my eyes sometime recently, expressing gratitude to the almighty god for another day. I floated off into a deep slumber, trusting that everything was going to be fine afterward.