He throws me against the side of the sofa and takes a step back to look at me.
I look up and can see he’s the angriest I’ve ever seen him. “You dumb, ugly piece of shit,” he says, as he paces back and forth in front of me.
“Sorry, Daddy. Whatever I did, I’m so sorry.” I cower into myself, trying to make myself as small as possible.
“You’re just too fucking stupid, aren’t you?” he spits toward me as he brings his hand up to scratch at his chin.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. Tears are falling hot and fast down my cheeks. My head hurts from where he was pulling my hair, but I don’t dare try to rub the spot.
“You ugly fuck.” He kicks a boot into my leg.
The pain is instant and my leg feels like it’s shattered. “Please, Daddy,” I beg again, burying my face into my hands.
But ‘please’ never seems to work.
Nothing does.
I’ve just got to take the beatings, because that’s what stupid, ugly girls do.
The principal of my high school pulled me into his office today. He told me with how hard I’ve been studying and all my exam results, I’m looking at graduating high school with a 3.9 GPA. He asked me what I want to study in college, and where I’m thinking of studying.
But I know Dad won’t pay for me to go to college. He’s always telling me how stupid I am. His words are always close by, ready to erase any sliver of confidence I may experience.
“For God’s sake, Lily, you’re probably one of the ugliest and stupidest girls I know,” he often says. It’s usually followed by more slurred insults.
I’ve heard them for as long as I can remember. I’m seventeen now, and this has been going on for so long. He’s right about one thing, I’m definitely ugly. I have blonde hair that sits limply on my shoulders, and my eyes are more green than brown, but they’re dull and nondescript. Like me. I don’t even know why anyone would want to talk to me, or be friends with me.
I don’t have friends at school. I can’t look at anyone, if I do they may see the bruises. Not the bruises on my skin, no, those are easily concealed. I mean the bruises hiding deep down inside me. The pain and sadness that’s with me from the moment I wake, to the moment I go to sleep.
No one talks to me, because, well, I’m ugly. Ugly girls don’t have friends. We simply hide away and try to blend in wherever we can, trying our best to be shadows so no one looks at us, or approaches us.
Last week as I was walking home from school; there was a boy who is at the bus stop every afternoon, waiting for the bus. He’s been smiling at me. At first I thought he was smiling at the person who got off the bus behind me so I looked away, because really, who’d smile at me?
The next day he smiled again, and I looked behind me to see who he was smiling at. The girl who followed me is one of the popular girls at school, so I knew it was for her, not me. I’m not pretty and I’m definitely not popular.
Even the teachers don’t know my name. Most of them have to look at their roll to check. My math and English teachers know my name, but the others don’t. Even though I’m consistently at the top of the class, I still don’t get noticed. Just the way I like it.
On the third day, when I got off the bus, the boy stood in front of me and said hello. But really, why would he talk to me? I lowered my eyes, clutched my bag to my chest and hurried home. He must want me to do his homework. But I haven’t seen him at school, maybe he goes to another school and wants me to do his work.
On the fourth day, he stood in front of me again, and said, “Hi, I’m Trent. How are you?” He stuck his hand out for me to take and eagerly waited. But again, I just looked away, put my head down and hurried home.
That was also the night Dad came home drunk, stumbled inside, came into my room and dragged me out of bed. He grabbed me by my t-shirt and threw me against the wall.
“It’s all your fault!” he screamed in his tell-tale slur.
It’s also when I know to shut up, and not cry. Crying never helps, nor does pleading. I just have to take it.
“You ugly piece of shit. You’re just as dumb as you are ugly. You better start sucking cock ‘cause that’s all you’re ever going to be good for. It’s all your fault,” he yelled again.
All I could do was cower. I brought my hands over my head, balled my body as small as it would go and protected my head from the kicks, punches and slaps.
Dad eventually tired and stumbled out of my room down the hall to his bedroom. I would’ve slammed my door if I could, but Dad removed it when I was little.
I’m not sure how he’s going to react when I tell him Trent tried walking me home today. I got off the bus and Trent was waiting for me. He was holding a flower in his hand and a big, sweet smile for me.