tw: sexual, physical, and mental abuse

God, I want to kill him. I want to smack that stupid smirk off of his stupid fucking face. I want him to feel the pain he put us through, he still puts us through every single goddamn day. I run the fingers of one hand along my face and arms, feeling the bruises as I clench my other hand into a tight fist.

I want to see that man in pain for the things he did to my sister. I want to beat him up like he beat me. Jail isn’t enough for him. No. He deserves so much worse.

Lying in bed, I start to shake in rage. How could a father do such terrible things to his children? I had to sneak Alia out to the abortion clinic yesterday after she got pregnant with his baby. I wanted to murder him that night, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Alia needs me here, with her. Not in prison for murder.

But now, thinking about it, about how he broke us apart at every opportunity with his words and his fists, I can’t hold back. I want him gone.

So, getting out of bed, I reach for my baseball bat. I go to turn the handle. Then I hear Alia scream, and I freeze, the bat clattering to the floor. Then the fear sets in, and I shake, terrified, once again helpless as I listen to my sister suffer. Someday I’ll kill him. Someday he won’t hurt us ever again .