• I remember once sitting up on my bed - as I had come accustom to on clear nights – barely ten and wishing, praying, I was dead. Because daddy wasn’t around; and mummy was drinking far too much without him. I remember hearing the bottle thud against the hard marble, and knew exactly where the hand would grasp around next.

    My airways blocked against the wall, eyelids burnt red from exasperation. Tears trickling down my cheeks, before I kicked out. Kicking and screaming fighting with all my little bodies might, to wriggle out of your grasp and run. Run until the skin on my feet wrenched free from my feet and my little lungs raged fire from asphyxiation. Running to the only place I could think of.

    Sitting in the corner of the park in the shadows gasping for air and helpless; why isn't daddy here?

    This was the place daddy used to take me and he would push me on the swing and I would beam great teeth filled grins of delight. We would laugh all the time and he would joke and tickle my tummy with his big comforting hands, and piggy back rides around the world, and I would never be hurt. Not once. We had so much fun daddy. Why does mummy cry all the time? What did you do daddy?

    I’m sat typing and for a second I’m a little kid again, just praying for daddy to come back and hold me in those arms that held so tightly, as though they would never let go. But those arms lied didn’t they dad? You lied. Disgust and vomit building in my gut at the thought of what you did. I was merely a boy, just out of diapers and you had to go and ruin my fairytale.

    I was picked up by the police little over two hours later from the park as I reminisced over memories with my dad. I was given back to my mother; back into her torture. The hand was swift to slap and the words still echo through my head. “You stupid ******** boy! Why would you do such a thing!? I’m going to ******** kill you! I’ll rip your head from your body and teach you what pain really is!” And you did mummy didn’t you.

    Crying silently for fear of angering you as you beat me; each blow growing in strength with your anger like a symphony of violence. Great fists - far bigger than my own - landed blows of anger upon my fragility and my body couldn’t handle it anymore could it? You snapped it mummy, you broke my body, and no amount of the lies you tell yourself will change that. Even the nice men wearing coats would not hear me cry though. Because they may tell you and I never want to feel this much hurt again.

    I tried so hard to be your perfect ******** angel. But because of what my father did you could never accept that could you, mum. And when I grew up and when I grew muscles of my own, a brain and mind of my own you soon didn’t beat so much did you? Now it would be you that was afraid because I held all the power and you gave into weakness far too easily. But the truth is; I would never tell on you mummy, because I love you: And I hope you love me.