Inner Armour

January 5, 2012
By Katrina Dayaw BRONZE, Bellingham, Massachusetts
Katrina Dayaw BRONZE, Bellingham, Massachusetts
4 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Congratulations to the unfortunate person who has found this undesirable journal. I say undesirable because trust me; you do not want to witness what I’ve been through. The name’s Bea. It’s okay to say it aloud… bay-uhh, BAY-UHH. Looking for a last name are we? Well too bad because it’s totally and completely irrelevant. My identity remains a secret. By the time you have reached the end of this, you’re going to be saying to yourself “I really know this Bea girl, it’s like I’ve known her all my life. I really understand her.” You don’t know me. You will not understand even the slightest until you’ve shed as many tears as I. I’m like an onion, excluding the smell. Eventually, you’ll realize that all the layers have come off. I’m still trying to figure out the meaning of life. I’m sure you’ll help me figure it out. Now go uncover the mystery.

It all first started when I was 6. You shouldn’t blame me; I’ve only been on this earth for 6 years. He let go of my hand to pick up a shopping bag I dropped. I didn’t notice and kept on moving forward until I stumbled upon an ice cream man. The ice cream man noticed me and gave me a cone with two scoops of vanilla and I took it. How did the ice cream man know I liked vanilla? I always wondered that to this day. I also wondered why I didn’t need to pay. But that’s not the point, back to topic. He found me and abruptly grabbed my wrist. He was squeezing so hard I swear I saw my hand turn purple. He shoved me in the back of my family van and drove like there was no tomorrow. Once at home, he pulled me by my hair all the way to the basement. Down there, he told me to pull down my pants. He took the belt off his own pair of pants and folded them together. Next thing I remember was that I’m on the ground being kicked at the ribs and the belt slashing my back like an army dog ripping my skin apart. After a good 15 minutes of it I stopped crying because he told me the more I kept doing it, the longer he’ll do it. Back then, I thought it was an honest mistake for me wandering off and had no idea why he was treating me like this. I remember he kept yelling saying “Don’t you ever pull that stunt again! That was completely unacceptable! You stupid little brat! Never wander again! I don’t know why you’re like this! The others don’t act like this! They know better! I don’t know how you turned out to be like this! I’ve never liked you!” And I blacked out. You must be wondering who the man is. He was my father.

He continued doing this every time I did something that he didn’t find “acceptable.” The latest encounter was when I was 12. It was my birthday. He caught me sneaking out of my bedroom window so I could watch the meteor shower happening that night. My dad gripped my leg and hauled me back inside and pushed me against the wall. I am used to the usual abuse with the kicking and the belting and the shaking but this was a new feeling. He put his hands around my throat and squeezed it so hard like his life depended on it. Tears came out. What old friends. I stopped crying when I was abused long ago. Sooner or later he let go and I’m left on the floor grasping for air. Once I got myself under control, he led my down to the basement and locked the door from the outside. I was left in the dark. I wasn’t hopeless. I tried finding a way out. It was getting a little chilly so I grabbed the thickest winter coat down there and leaned on the wall. It shifted. So the first instinct was well… push it more. After a good 5 body slams, a small passageway appeared with a small glint of light. About 100 feet in, above was a door and a latch attached. What idiot left it unlocked? It didn’t matter because I was out of there.
My first night was the worst just because I was so young and scared. I just kept on walking. Didn’t know where the hell I was. I’ve reached that part of the city where it starts to smell like urine and newspapers keep attaching to your shoes. I stop by an alley and take a rest and this tall white man with a buzz cut approaches me and whispers, “Yo, are you the new client?” I don’t remember me saying yes but next thing I know he hands me a plastic bag full of what looked like powdered sugar. All I said was, “Thanks.” And started running. I was hungry(I don’t know why I thought powdered sugar would relieve the hunger), he wanted money, I gave him a dollar, he wasn’t too happy , so you know what happened from there. It was such a good idea I was in good shape. The man was fat anyways. I finally stopped running since I knew that man is never going to find me. I found an empty bench, opened the bag and looked inside. I put it really close to my face so I could get a better look and well… I inhaled it.

My brain felt like it was being compressed between a foot and the cement. After a while it went away and I started feeling a lot more energetic and indestructible. I couldn’t say it felt great, just interesting. I didn’t do it again after that night because the feeling of my head getting compressed felt like I was back in the presence of my father. You know, that’s my worst fear, coming face to face with my father again.
A lot has changed in three years. Yes, three years. I escaped when I was 12, and I’m now 15. Where did I end up you say? Isn’t it obvious? The streets. Finding any spare bench or small corner or just anywhere private where no one will find me. It’s a tough place to be at my age. I’ve never been so exposed to so many drugs like heroin and ecstasy and meth along with all the alcohol that old perverted men tried giving to me. I was too smart for them. There also involves a lot of running. How am I supposed to live if I have no money and can’t afford food? So running was what I was best at so taking a couple hotdogs here and there didn’t seem so bad. Or going into a general store and stealing twizzlers just because I wanted a treat for myself. Or that one time where I didn’t think just trying drugs once would kill me and these losers gave me lysergic acid diethylamide (LSD) and since it’s a hallucinating drug I started “hear” colors and “see” sounds. I’ve never felt so sheltered until this place opened my eyes just a bit wider.
Slowly life started to get easier. I quickly learned who to stay away from, who to bargain with, and who should be killed. Today I saw a couple of older kids hanging outside a music store smoking cigarettes. I love the music store. I played piano like it was my double life. I was brilliant. Even my teacher said so. She was bound to get me into Julliard. She was the only person from the outside world that my father let inside our home. My best friend works there.
Well I met him a couple of weeks after I left home. I never had any friends before until I met him. We are the same height even though he claims that he’s an inch taller. Let’s just say we’re complete opposites. I have dark hair, he has golden blonde. I like rock bands, he’s all mainstream. I enjoy museums, he finds them a bore. I’m stubborn homeless girl; he’s the popular “it” boy. I’m a music prodigy, he’s a football sensation. He’s working at the music store because well he enjoys music just like me even though we may be different. It’s an international language. Oh I almost forgot, My best friend’s name is Jared.
Anyways, back to my teeny side story, I was about to enter through the front door until one of the potheads noticed me and snakes his arm around my waist.
“Hey I’ve never seen you around, where have you been all my life?” Said the one desperately trying to grow a mustache.

“Hiding from you.” I say trying to meet up with Jared but the group kept holding me back.

“Girl, we’re cool. Come hang out with us tonight. See that gazebo over in the middle of the park? Let’s meet there at around 10 PM.” Says the one who looked all hipster pointing towards the big giant gazebo.
I’ll think about it.” And entered the music store.

As usual, I head straight to the middle of the store where the enormous grand piano is placed. I played my favorite piece which was Hungarian Dance no. 5 by Johannes Brahms. By the time I was finished, I saw Jared staring at me with awe. He snapped out of it immediately and that famous smile was soon plastered on his face.

“You know, I’m free tonight, and so is my bedroom.” Jared said loudly trying to grab people’s attention. What he meant by that was a couple of days after I met him he kept offering to let me sleep on his bedroom floor or in his closet. Of course his parents would never know.
“Aww thanks for finally offering me Jared! But no thanks, let’s go out tonight, just you and me. I need an excuse for not meeting up with those potheads tonight.” I say looking over towards the group of teens that were talking to me minutes before.

“Tonight? I don’t know Briana might have something planned for us.” He whispers. I hate his girlfriend. But it’s not like I have a way of controlling it. I can only control my own. I left my abusive father, made a couple mistakes, learned from them, and I’m not going to back down and not fight.

I gave him a hug. “I’ll catch up with you later then. You know where to find me.”
I walked out of the store and headed towards the swings by the park. Suddenly a buff man with hair down to below his ears approached me. I got up and started backing away. Who wouldn’t want to back away? He was big black and scary wearing a long black leather coat with some dark shades. He looks like he should be in the movie “Men In Black.”
“Whoa there hold on I wanted to ask you a few questions. I’m a detective.” He explains showing his badge. I stopped backing and he starts again saying “Are you Bea ____?” My identity shall still remain a secret so no one will figure out who I am!

“What if I am?” I shot back.

“Your father’s been looking for you.” The detective turns around towards his car and you see that horrid man I call my father in the back seat of the SUV as the windows roll down.

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