As I got somewhat older (around 10 or 11), I used to hide in the closet when I heard him coming up the stairs. I guess I figured that if he couldn’t see me then nothing would happen that night. It helped me feel a little safer at the time. Although it did work some of the time, there were quite a few times when it didn’t work as planned.
At first, he couldn’t find me. He would search my room. I guess he got so upset and frustrated, he left. But once, he heard me crying in the closet. I tried not to, but I was so scared, I couldn’t help it. I can still see his face when he pulled the closet open. The anger. He looked like a wild animal. His hair was sticking up in all directions. He had his pajamas
on. A tee shirt and boxer shorts.
In retrospect, I wonder if the challenge of finding me didn’t arouse him.
His voice was a hiss. I can’t think of another word to describe it.
“Don’t you ever hide from me again!” “Little girls should behave themselves!”
I was terrified. I thought for sure that he was going to hurt me in some way. I couldn’t say anything. I got into bed and imagined I was anywhere else.
In my head, I keep yelling for him to stop. He can’t hear me. I can’t say it out loud. I kept begging him to stop. But he wouldn’t stop. He kept going. He doesn’t care. He didn’t even notice that I was awake.
He looked so happy. I don’t understand. How can he be happy? Doesn’t he know that he is hurting me?