In the Beginning

The ocean was my escape. It was so big that I knew no one was going to find me if I ever ran away. Yet, I knew I could never run away. I could never leave my father behind. Perhaps . . . I could run with him. But, even though we both loved each other unconditionally and more than we loved anyone else, our destinies were different. We would never walk down the same path.

Cryptic, isn’t it? Well, my story is very confusing. In fact, after I’ve explained everything, questions are still going to be left unanswered. But, maybe, some of you reading this might understand. First, let me warn you, this is not a love story, although some romance is involved. This is not a story of war, although some parts may seem as if it is. This is not a funny story, although some scenes are very hilarious. This is not a sad story, although most scenes may make it seem like it is. This is a story about reality and life.

The story began in 1988, February 3^rd. A strong boy, called Jeremy, was born to Sean and Sonia Young. It was not a joyous birth, because neither parent was ready. Sean Young was an international architect and was therefore out of the country for business for months at a time. Sonia Young was a woman who was never meant to have children. She was too self absorbed in her own life to take care of children. So, it was decided, Jeremy was to be raised by Sean’s cousin, Mrs. Routhier, in Trenton, NJ. On February 14^th, 1988 . . . Valentine’s Day . . . Jeremy was taken to New Jersey, and on March 4^th, 1988, Jeremy’s surname was changed to Routhier.

On March 19^th, 1989, Sean and Sonia had another child, a young girl called, Samantha . . . me. On the day of my birth, my father took one look at me and fell in love.

“My life changed after I saw you.” He always said to me.

My father decided then that he had to be able to give me whatever I wanted. He then devoted his life to his work and providing for his family. My mother was relentless. She didn’t want me, and because of my father now cared and loved me more than her, she became resentful. She got more vindictive when my dad insisted she take care of me while he was away on business. He didn’t want me to be shipped off like my brother.

Dad spent the next sixteen years moving from Scotland, Ireland, France, and England. Everyone wanted his skills in architecture. During those ten years, I only saw my father during my breaks from school. Sometimes, I would go to him, but most of the times, he would come home.

When I saw him, or when I was with him, I was the happiest. When he was gone, it was just my mom and I. Her hatred escalated to the point where she took it out on me. The first beating I remembered was when I was five.

She had gotten home early from work and decided to check up on me and my school work. I was learning to read and write at the time. She disapproved of my handwriting. She then went off on a tirade.

“You’re so stupid! I can’t believe I have a dumb child. Not to mention, you’re ugly as f**k! I should’ve had the abortion when I had the chance. You ruined my life!” she would constantly repeat.

After the speech, she grabbed my hair and dragged me from the living room table to the kitchen. She flung me to the floor, pulled off her belt, and rained lashes on me like a storm. I remember I screamed. But she didn’t care. In fact, I learnt later on that my screams were her encouragement to hit me hard. Once her arm got tired, she stopped. I figured it was my turn to talk.

“I’m gonna tell daddy!” I cried out.

“If your father ever finds out that his precious daughter has scars from beatings, he’ll never love you again.” She spat out. “No one likes girls who’ve been touched!”

I thought she was right, so I never told my dad. I didn’t want him to hate me because I was scared and dirty.

When I was six, my sister, Symone, was born. At the time, I was scared. Not for me, but for my sister. I didn’t want her or anyone else to get beaten like me. I didn’t want anyone to be messed up like me.

As the years progressed, my mom used my protection for my sister to her advantage. She started beating me with other heavier objects . . . wood . . . bamboo . . . iron rods . . . and for long periods of time. She never stopped until she saw me bleed, and she only hit me in places I could cover or hide, so that no one knew what she did. Not that anyone would’ve cared.

You see, in my country, child abuse is considered normal. If a child got hit in public, everyone around the child would think that the child deserved it. A stupid mentality, but in on my small island, Trinidad, it was normal.

I didn’t have anyone I could talk to about it either. Plus, I was scared to talk to anyone. At school, everyone had their groups, so I was a loner, not that I minded much. I took pleasure in quietness. I didn’t like people around me, because I was always afraid that they would snap and start beating me like my mom did. Anything was possible.

When I was eight, I met an awkward boy, Brian Rodriguez. We spent every afternoon together. When I was nine, I found out why he was so awkward around people. His father was an abuser, like my mom. We grew closer after he told me. As we spent more time together, two wounded birds seeking comfort in each other, we became inseparable to others around us.

As I turned ten, my dad decided it was time for me to learn self defense because the crime rate on our island was skyrocketing through the roof. He enrolled me and Brian (because I wouldn’t go anywhere in public without Brian) into martial arts classes. Our sensei was skilled in different types of martial arts techniques and taught us Judo, Aikido, Karate, and Kenjutsu. Brian and I enjoyed our classes immensely because it was a way to counteract our built up anger. Eventually, Brian decided to specialize in Karate, because he enjoyed physical contact with a person. As for me, I became skilled with the art of the sword. I loved Kenjutsu and excelled it in.

Kenjutsu wasn’t the only sport I did though. I fell in love, as did  Brian, with swimming and surfing. We both swam and surfed whenever we had free time, which was always right after school.

During the next few years, Brian started travelling with me to visit daddy. We both realized that our favorite place in the world was Edinburgh, Scotland. We made a vow at the age of fourteen to go to the same college together and spend our retirement years in Scotland. We were young then, so it was really empty promises and vows we made, but at that age, it meant something to us.

My sister, during those times, had grown to have the same character and personality like my mother. She violent and abusive. If my mom wasn’t hitting me, my sister was. If I tried to defend myself and hit my sister, my mom hit me instead. I was their punching bag.

When I turned fifteen, I started to see Jeremy a lot more. He came home during his holidays, out of his own choice. He claimed his reasons was to get to know his sisters. However, he was a smart boy, and he saw right through my mother and sister. Jeremy and I grew close and protective of each other. He also understood my reasoning for not telling my father about the abuse, even though he disapproved of hiding it from daddy.

Sixteen years old is where the story begins. My dad had decided to settle his own business company at home since our island was going through a construction boom. That meant we got to see him every day, which was perfect for me. I thought my mom’s abuse would’ve stopped, but it didn’t. she just became more discreet.

As high school ended for me, because both Brian and I had skipped two grades, graduation was coming around the corner. Brian and I had decided to go to our graduation dance together, since we didn’t trust anyone else, except for our common recent friend, Jynona Moore. But Jyn had her own boyfriend at the time, so that left me and Brian to ourselves.

“Can you believe we’re graduating at 16?” he asked as we sat down on the mats in the DoJo after practice.

“I’m excited to get out of here.” I smiled gently.

“I know.” He sighed. “We just need to do our SAT’s in September, apply for college and we’ll be out of here in August. Just one more year.”

“Yea.” I stood up and stretched out my muscles.

“So, anything planned for Grad night that you want to do? I mean, besides the dance.” He asked as he stood up.

“Well, not really. You?” I stepped off the mat, slipped into my shoes, grabbed my back pack and pulled the hair tie out of my hair.

“After the dance, can we go somewhere? I need to show you something.” Brian followed me out the door.

“Sure.” I was already used to Brian’s mysterious ways.

“Cool.” He grinned and hugged me before getting into his dad’s car.

“Hey baby girl.” My dad greeted as he pulled up.

“Dad!” I smiled and got in the car.

“How was practice?” he drove off quickly.

“We’re learning other weapons. We’re currently dealing with shurikens.” I grinned excitedly. “I’ve been waiting to use that for a long time!”

“Ah!” he chuckled. “The throwing star.”

“So . . . how was your day?” I wondered.

“Busy.” Dad sighed. “I have a lot of drawings to finish tonight, so I’ll be in the office late. And . . . we need to pick up dinner. Your mother’s orders.”

“What does she want to eat?” I glanced out the window as we passed a KFC building.

“Chinese food.” He gave me his side smile.

“Typical mom.” I shook my head and leaned back against the seat. “Let me guess, she wants something with shell fish? Something that I can’t eat?”

“Of course!” Dad laughed. “How else can she make your life a living hell?”

“Dad . . .” I began. “If you hate her so much, why are you still with her?”

“Because I have an obligation to your sister.”Dad’s tone turned serious. “I love you,  Sammy, more than anything else. But I will not slack off and let your sister be raised in a broken home. If I have to pretend to be happy with that b***h, then so be it.”

“I’m sorry dad.” I murmured.

He pulled up in front of one of the Chinese restaurants and killed the engine. He leaned over and kissed my forehead.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He smiled. “So, how about . . . we buy what your mom wants, and then you and I order something different for ourselves.”

“Lo mein and egg rolls, with Lemon chicken?” I perked up.

“That’s my girl.” He hopped out the car. “You know what I like.”

“Of course I do.” I laughed as I climbed out. “It’s the same thing I like.”

“Come on.” He grabbed my hand and stepped into the restaurant.

Those were the good times. When it was just my dad and I. Things were perfect then. I can’t remember exactly when he began to hate my mother, but I knew his hatred was deeper than my own. It wasn’t until a few years later that I found out the truth.

Once we had the food, we headed home to our own house of horrors. As we pulled out, my sister ran out the front gate and bounded down the steps. Instead of greeting us with a welcome home, she grabbed the bag of food from my hand and ran back instead.

“Someone’s starving.” Dad shook his head, wrapped an arm around my shoulder and headed up the steps to the house.

“What took you two so long?” mom flung at dad as soon as we entered.

“Traffic.” My dad lied.

In truth, dad and I had taken a detour to a secluded beach along the coast. This particular beach was hard to find, which made it the perfect private beach for anyone who found it. Plus, it was always empty, and it had the best waves. We had just gone there to have some peaceful relaxing time before going home to gates of hell.

“Oh.” My mom shook off her usual anger and began to dish out food for herself.

“I’ll eat later.” I said to dad. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“No, you will eat now with us.” Mom snapped. “You are part of this family, aren’t you?”

“But, I’m sweaty and icky.” I protested.

“Do I look like I care?” she laughed and walked into the living room.

Symone was already sitting in front of the tv, munching on her shrimp. I looked at daddy for help, but his eyes where glaring at the back of my mom’s head.

“She’s in a bad mood tonight.” He whispered into my ear. “Just bear with her for now.”

“She’s always in a bad mood.” I grumbled as I dished out food.

“So, Symone, how was school?” dad asked as he sat down on the floor next to her.

“Fine.” Symone muttered, her eyes focused on the tv.

I grabbed my plate and sat down on the couch facing the tv. Symone was watching SpongeBob Square Pants. Dad grabbed the remote and changed it to the western station. I smiled in approval as we watched Matt Dillon in Gunsmoke.

“Sean, she was watching something.” Mom defended for Symone.

“It’s a school night. She isn’t even supposed to be watching tv.” My dad snapped at mom angrily.

My dad had rules that we had to follow for during the week. We were not to watch tv at all, unless we were eating dinner. We had to do homework, and study for at least an hour. Bed time was no later than 10 PM. On Friday’s, we were allowed to do whatever we liked, as well as Saturday. However, Sunday was only school work, and no tv unless it was meal times.

I had gotten used to the rules, so I had no complaints. But, Symone was used to having things done her way, and she protested every minute she got. Of course, dad would never budge.

After dinner, I made my way up to my room and started on my homework. My dog, Tula, who I’ve had since I was ten, was snuggled under my computer desk, sleeping. As I was working on my final project for English class, my mom stormed into the room, with a piece of paper in hand. She flung the paper onto my desk and glared at me.

“Read it out loud, now!” she ordered.

“Why?” I frowned.

“Because I said to!” she gave me her angry look.

“Dear Parent/Guardian,” I began. “We would like your permission to allow your daughter to attend a field trip to Mount St. Benedict on May 4^th, 2006.”

“When were you going to tell me about this?” she straightened her back and towered over me.

I shot Tula a warning look as she released a loud growl at my mother.

“I already got daddy to sign it. I didn’t think to �" ”

“Exactly!” she screamed. “You didn’t think! You still a stupid girl! You can’t go! I forbid you to go!”

“Fine . . .” I looked away, holding back my tears. “I won’t go.”

“And the next time you don’t tell me about stuff like this, you’ll get more than a talking to. Do I make myself clear?” she grabbed the permission slip and ripped it up.

“Yes, ma’am.” I stared at Tula who was barring her teeth at mom.

“Shut up, stupid dog.” Mom spat out before she stormed out the room.

I sighed in relief and gently patted Tula’s head as she flopped her head on my lap. I shook off my anger and went back to focusing on my project. Once I was finally done, I  took a quick shower, pulled on my shorts and shirt, flopped on my bed and fell asleep. Exhaustion was starting to become normal for me.

As I got into a really good dream, my cell phone began to go off. I jumped awake, as I always did, grabbed my phone and answered it.

“He beat me, again.” Brian whispered into the phone. “I need to get out of the house. I know it’s late. Can you meet me at the beach?”

“Of course.” I flipped the phone close.

I rolled off my bed, glanced at Tula, who was staring at me intently.

“Brian needs me.” I whispered to her.

She placed her head back on her paws and fell back to sleep. I pulled on my jeans and sneakers and climbed out the window. I snaked my way down the drain pipe and walked quickly to the driveway. I grabbed my dad’s motorcycle and rolled it silently down the driveway to the main street. Once I was out of earshot of the house, I started it, hopped on, and rode off. I drove across the coast until I came to our beach. I parked the bike next to Brian’s car and walked onto the beach.

I spotted Brian standing on the rocks, staring out at the open ocean. The waves were always bigger at night, and I knew he was wishing he had brought his boards. I walked over to him and touched his shoulder gently.

“Hey.” I whispered.

He grabbed my hand, turned around and pulled me against his chest. I tightened my arms around his waist and clung to him.

“I hate him.” He growled.

I looked up into his face and saw the tear stains. I was the only person he would’ve allowed  to see him cry. I gently wiped the stains and kissed his cheeks.

“Only one more year.” I reminded him.

“I know, but I still hate it.” He sighed and lowered himself to the ground.

I sat down next to him and kept a hold on his arm. His heart was beating so fast that I could hear it from just pressing my ear against his shoulder. I curled up against him as a cold breeze brushed past us. He kept his arm tightly wrapped around my shoulders.

“Well, tomorrow’s Friday.” He sighed. “At least we get to go on that stupid field trip.”

“I can’t go.” I looked up at him. “Mom barged into my room all angry cause I didn’t ask her to sign first. She ripped it up.”

“Damn her.” Brian growled.

For some reason, no matter how much pain his father caused him, he was always angrier whenever he heard of my mother doing something to me.

“Did she hit you?” he asked.

“No.” I said honestly. “But she threatened to, if I ever went behind her back again.”

“She’s crazy.” He shook his head. “Something’s wrong with her.”

“Who knows.” I sighed. “Who really knows. I’m actually getting to the point where I really don’t care anymore.”

“I noticed.” Brian grinned. “Well, since you’re not going tomorrow, what you gonna do?”

“Stay home.” I shrugged. “Probably surf a bit, since I’ll be home alone.”

“Hmm . . . I’ll join you.” He stood up and stretched. “But we best get back before our parents realize we sneaked out . . . again.”

“I don’t think my dad minds.” I said honestly. “He trusts me, and he knows I would never go anyway dangerous.”

“Yea, well,” he frowned. “My dad’s not as considerate.”

I nodded and stood up. He grabbed my hand gently and walked with my back to the bike.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I tiptoed and kissed his cheek before hopping on the bike and riding home.

I parked the bike and quickly climbed up the drain pipe. I sneaked into my room, stripped off my clothes and fell back into my bed. Sleep instantly took over.

Author's Note

ignore grammar issues

Reviews

[Samantha Young]

Yea, well, I think the first 5 chapters are up though lol.

[Dutch Jr.]

I can only imagine... I don't think I could ever muster the guts to write an autobiography.

[Samantha Young]

Thanks. This was really a hard book to write.

[Dutch Jr.]

Honestly , I got hooked. I always like reading autobiographies, and this one really hit home. Keep writing, I can't wait to read the next chapter.