When I was 6 years old I decided that I wanted to spend more time with my father so I asked my mom and the courts if I could start spending my summer vacations with him. My father at the time was extremely happy and so was my big brother. My brother was 12 and living with my father because he couldn't handle dealing with my mother's craziness anymore mainly because he has been diagnosed with all the same issues and was scared to watch what would happen to him through my mom. Anyway I started going with my father during my summer vacations and they were great and awesome and probably some of my best memories. We would watch scary movies and play video games until the super late at night and then eat ice cream and go outside and eat s'mores. I was happy and loved my father and it was amazing.

Until something changed two years later when I was 8. I remember waiting with my mom in the police stations parking lot like we always did but my father wasn't there. We waited for 30 minutes, then an hour. My mom got so upset we drove over to my father's house and my mom pounded on the door. My father's girlfriend of the month opened the door and said my father had gone to the gym earlier that day but hadn't been back yet. My mom dropped me off with her and left, she still says that was the moment she regrets the most. I went straight to my room and fell asleep. I remember clear as day waking up when my father knocked the garage door down (not the actual garage door but the door leading from the garage into our kitchen). I heard a bunch of voices but none of them sounded familiar. My father and the people he was with stopped outside of my door and were whispering.

To this day I battle back and forth on whether or not I wish I didn't hear what my father had told them. My father whispered " Don't hurt her this is just to pay off my debt." After that I heard someone I assumed was my father walk down the hallway and go into his bedroom. 5 gross disgusting men then came into my room, I remember thinking they all smell like rotten eggs and easter (now I know that when I described a smell as "easter" I meant vinegar) I sank under my blankets hoping they would realize this was a girls room and she was sleeping in the bed. They knew who's room it was and that's why they were there.

"You're going to help your sweet daddy pay off his debts baby girl." The fat one who smelled like a gas station full of roses whispered in my ear and his stubble scratched my cheek. Let's skip the super gory details, after the big fat piece of shit finally got me turned onto my back two of the other guys held my hands down and pulled my nightgown over my head and did what nasty fucks do best. By the time they left my room they all had a turn and the sun had come up. I cried and cried and then cried some more.

My brother came home from a friend's house and brought me up some breakfast. When he opened the door I remember him freaking out and screaming calling my father a piece of shit talking about how he wouldn't start again. I didn't know what any of it meant but it was pointless at that time. My brother carried me into the bathroom and took my nightgown off and I finally saw in the full body mirror on the back of the door a bruised and bloodied used up piece of garbage that kind of looked like me. I remember falling to the ground and screaming but not making a sound because I had cried so much. My brother grabbed my hands and moved me into the bath and washed the blood off my legs and counted the bruises I had all over my body. He said he would fix it and make everything ok that obviously didn't happen. 2 days later my father finally came out of his room he looked like shit and smelled like shit and sweat. He asked me how I'd been sleeping from that point on I didn't talk to him anymore. I found out from my brother a few days later after my father's girlfriend broke up with him and left.

When my father was 16 he got hooked on heroin but went to rehab and had gotten better when my mom got pregnant with me. I guess it didn't last long because that night something happened and he went to get high but shot up more than he could pay for and used me to pay for the rest of it. Unfortunately he hadn't shot up enough and those men just loved me. So from the time I was 8 to 11 every summer I went to my father's house and dreaded any night he decided to go out even for a second because I thought those men would come again.

Even worse is that they did come back so many times I lost count. Even worse is sometimes they'd bring their friends. By the time I was 11 years old I had had 16 nasty disgusting men all over me. I remember all their faces, their smells, how their hands felt. They never said they're names around me but I created nicknames for them. My least favorite was rat face. He never had sex with me he just liked using my barbie dolls on me. I always threw them away when they left. My father would get so mad at me and scream about how money doesn't grow on trees and how selfish I was for throwing good toys away.

He didn't know what happened in the room, he never stopped it when he heard me screaming either. He would just go into his room and shut the door and shoot up. As soon as my brother could he signed a contract with the marines and left. He told me I needed to get help or he would get help for me. I was scared these men had been telling me for 3 years they knew where my mother lived and would hurt my family or even start turning to my little sister when she came over. So I asked my brother for help and he sent pictures of the first night to my teacher and said it was still happening.

A full investigation happened I wasn't allowed to talk to my father or anyone from his family. Each man was tried separately and I spoke to the judge privately. Except for my father's trial. Because it didn't happen I never told them it was my father's fault. Everyone from my father's family hated me and stopped talking to me because they thought I lied. 2 years later my brother died and they blamed me for that too. Driving my brother away with crazy accusations. I forgave my father a long time ago told myself constantly that it was because he wasn't himself it was all the drugs. He barely remembers anything, according to him anyway. My mom pushed it away like it never happened just like my brother's death, she's not very good at handling trauma.

Too bad she wasn't the one who had to go through it. Now I'm the one haunted by nightmares. I can't even look in the mirror without seeing their hands or the memory of that sad bruised up little girl.