I lost my virginity when I was 11 years old. My first man was my father. My family is dysfunctional. I have three brothers. They played an important role in my life. My father was an alcoholic. My mother died - giving birth to me. Father loved her, if ever, been able to experience this feeling. To this day I can not understand how he treated me. He loved me and mortally hated. Maybe he loved me and hated my mother ... or yourself.
Then, when I was 11, he worked in the store as a loader. Home he came rarely, mostly backfilled, and sticking with buddies in this stinking store, drinking in the alley or hanging around in some women. In general, the women he was unlucky. He was rude to them. Even amateurs could not withstand his sharp little steep temper. Although he was not ugly, despite the fact that his way of life began to affect his appearance. He was tall, broad-shouldered and strong as an ox. Dark red hair as thick as it was 20 years ago. Later I learned that they had thick and hard throughout the body, but more on that later. My mother he knew from school.
In 8th grade, she became pregnant, and the father, showing the nobility of miracles, married her, although he himself barely knocked 18. Thus was born my older brother Artem. He is older than me by 7 years. I remember him badly - he ran away from home when I was 5. After 4 years, the mother gave birth to Anton, and a year later - Pasha. Three children and a porter for the hairdresser - it's hard. But you have to give them credit - they did their best. At least, judging by the stories of neighbors and acquaintances. My father sometimes drank, but no more than is necessary. Drunk he could beat his mother if it seemed to him suddenly that she was someone smile. But it does not cross the border of what was an epidemic in all families.
They had then just a period of strained relations when I was conceived. Father found a good job at the factory, some money, breathe easier. They helped frolicked exactly teenagers. Father insisted on an abortion, but her mother put her. She said that it is a blessing. In addition, she really wanted a girl.
She died on the third day after birth. Probably a good thing I did not know it. She was good. And if at the beginning of my life, I learned what a kindness, I would not be able to survive it all. And so ... When you do not know what you lose - lose easily. My father did not stand on ceremony with me. I was always afraid of him. But until he lost consciousness, he did not beat me. Sometimes, in his view it seemed to me that he barely restrained, but feels that if goes wrong, it will beat. I knew it, she was afraid and tried to keep out of his eyes.
At age 11, I began to change dramatically, round, suffused. Yes, in my trouble I have matured early. I gave all 15. And I began to feel like an adult, I wanted to look beautiful, to dress for an adult. One day, in search of clothes, I found my mother's things - the dress, shoes, a little jewelry. I say all this just got on and began to pose as a woman dressing in front of a mirror.
I did not even once said. And then he caught his reflection in the mirror. He stood in the doorway, and a very strange looked at me as if I saw a ghost. Then once he said quietly and scrap:
- These are things Alla.
I am very much afraid. stammered:
- Yes, Dad. I'm sorry, Dad. I'll get changed.
I thought it will not go away, but it is a little more looked at me and went into the kitchen. I began to frantically all to shoot himself and pulling the usual T-shirt and jeans.
Since then something has changed. I felt. Father often began to visit homes and long-rel smot at me as I cook, clean, wash. One day he said to me:
- Get dressed as a mom. I did not dare to disobey, and the whole day went to her things.
Now I'm trying to spend more time on the street or from friends, not to meet with him. That day I came home at 9. I knew that the brothers in the campaign and at home father, wanted to buy time. The father was sitting in the kitchen, standing next to a half-empty bottle. But judging by his co-Stoyanov, this was not the first. He looked up at me and I started - this was the hatred in them.
- Where have you been?
- I ... ... Po..liny. - Quote I do not own, in a broken voice. The Sixth Sense, which then never let me down, I screamed, "This is the end. Flee, escape. This is the end. "But that was only the beginning.
My father stood up and heavy tread came to me:
- Where have you been, trash ?!
- Polina - barely moving his tongue faltered me.
- Polina .... - Thoughtfully father. And there is nothing to explain, he hit me in the face backhand so that I flew across the kitchen doorway, fell only in the hallway. In the first-fishing dimmed, swam and it changes its color. I have not seen him, but I heard a voice coming to me:
- It was Pauline, shit, bitch, Pauline ..
He walked right up. I squeezed his head in his hands, but it did not save me. Grad strikes spoke throughout the body. He beat so fast that it seemed to me to hit a crowd. I was having trouble breathing, nose and mouth were filled with blood. In order to breathe, I unclasped his hands on his head, and with the blood from his mouth escaped a groan. I do not know why, but it stopped him.
I lay on the floor, covered in blood and was waiting for the continuation. He stood over me. I have not seen, but felt it and heard his wheezing somewhere above. Then he turned and walked to the bathroom. I began to crawl, not knowing where, most importantly away. He got out of the bath with a towel, sat down in front of me on my knees and began to wash the blood from me. Slowly, cautiously. I waited for the impact and therefore almost did not feel the pain of his touch. Then he got up and took a dirty towel in the bathroom. He came back, picked me up and carried her into the room, laid me down and left.
I lay in the dark. Shock began to pass, but in its place came the pain. It hurt the entire body. Pain attracted waves, preventing breathing. I do not know how long I lay. The door creaked, and he appeared on the threshold. Apparently he still drank because swayed him very much. He walked over and sat down on the bed next to me. Old bed on springs creaked and bent a piercing in his direction. I felt began to crawl towards him. Overpowering pain, I frantically clung to the sheets, trying to hold out on the spot. In vain. He held out his hand and pulled me to him. Strong, not thinking that I hurt all over. He became something rattle in the hair:
- I'm sorry ... I love .... I can not love ...
Then he calmed down and I realized that he had fallen asleep.
I almost did not sleep that night, being between dream and reality, afraid to move, feeling unbearable pain, where I press down his arm. He woke up at 8. tensed all over, raised his head and looked at me with bleary eyes. Then he sat down on the bed, covered his face with his hands and sat for about 5 minutes so got up and then went out.
I moved. To my surprise, like nothing was broken. Probably saved jacket quilted jacket, which I have not had time to take off then. Swaying because of dizziness, I some how got up and left the room. Judging by the sounds he was in the kitchen. I got to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror - the view was awesome. Puffy eyes, blood in my hair, cut on the lip, swollen cheek. I'm something like a washed, dressed and went out into the corridor.
- Where are you going?
He came close, and I had not noticed. It was right behind me. I turned slowly. He looked calmly, without hatred. I was able to squeeze out:
- To school.
The father said quietly and efficiently:
- In a school with such a person you do not go. Get dressed, go to the country. I must say that from my mother's mother's house we stayed in the woods, not far from the city. We have been there very rarely: a terrible place - dark, no facilities and one kilometer of the neighbor and the old drunkard. But I do not even think to object. Automatically something gathered in a backpack. He was waiting for me in the hallway. He took my hand and walked out of the apartment ....
To be continued...
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