Page 141 of Patching Over

KRACKEN’S RELEASE

PROLOGUE

Moira, age 5

“Mommy, Mommy, look at my picture!” I exclaimed as I ran into the kitchen after school. I was so excited I missed the look of fear that briefly crossed her face, and I also didn’t see that we weren’t alone.

“Moira.”

One word spoken in that tone had me stopping in my tracks. Fear slithered through me as I faced my father who sat at the kitchen table, his face screwed up in a scowl that let me know I was in serious trouble.

I didn’t say anything. Not because I was suddenly mute, but becausehefirmly believed in the mantra that ‘Children should be seen and not heard’. I seldom spoke when he was around; the punishments I had endured in my short life had drilled into me the fact that it was better if I kept my mouth shut.

He stood from his seated position and stalked toward me, his face icy and menacing. I could feel my knees knocking as they tried to buckle beneath the long skirt I was forced to wear, butI stood there because to do anything else, like try to escape my unfortunate predicament, would bring forth a harsher response.

“What have I told you before?” he asked, his face scornful as he raised his hand, arcing down to slam it across my cheekbone.

A burst of pain bloomed across the entirety of my face and tears filled my eyes, but I dutifully answered. To refuse to do so would be tantamount to waving a red flag in front of a raging bull. “That children are to be seen and not heard,” I replied, tears steadily falling down my tender face. Silent ones, of course; no wailing or sobs were permitted inhishouse.

“Yet, here you are, hollering down the house,” he sneered, his teeth gritted as he glared at me in unmistakable anger.

I know better than to say anything further. Unless he specifically asks me a question that he deems answerable, I won’t utter another word. From the corner of my eye, I can see my mother slowly shaking her head as if to remind me not to speak. Except… I already know. My body bears testament to my father’s brutal punishments; scars run up and down my back, buttocks, and upper thighs. All areas that can be hidden by clothing. It wouldn’t do for a man of his prestigious position to leave visible marks where people might talk and gossip about what goes on underneathhisroof.

“Go to your room, Moira. Perhaps while we’re eating dinner, your hunger will remind you that you disobeyed me, once again.” His voice was cold and unyielding, devoid of any emotion outside of irrepressible rage. I was used to it by now, but it still hurt because I saw how other parents treated their children during various school activities. Other kids’ daddies hugged and kissed them. Praised them. They smiled and treated them as though they were precious, wanted, loved.

Maybe someday, my mind whispered.

I picked up my backpack which had fallen to the floor when he struck me, and without another glance in either of theirdirections, I headed to my room, my shoulders slumped as I fought back my ripening tears. My face was damp with them, but it was time to push them away as I had homework to get done. It wasn’t much, just two coloring pages, but I knew if I didn’t do it correctly and receive a gold star, I’d be further punished.

I just wished I knew why he hated me so much.

And why my mother allowed him to treat me so horribly.

Moira, age 10

“Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me. Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to me,” I whispered as the hot water sluiced down my freshly beaten and battered body.

The water stung when it hit the open wounds, but I focused on getting myself clean before my ten-minute shower was finished. I didn’t think my body could handle being hit again so soon after my latest punishment.

I still didn’t know what I’d done to earn my father’s wrath this time, but at this point, I didn’t think it really mattered. He never had a kind word to say to me; sometimes, he even struck my mother whenever she tried to intervene and keep the peace.

“Moira! Five more minutes,” he yelled through the closed bathroom door. It wasn’t locked and I knew from prior experience he would burst through when my time was up.

Since I didn’t like how he stared at me if I was caught without my towel wrapped around me, I hurriedly rinsed the rest of the soap from my delicate skin, quietly hissing with the pain, then shut the shower off.

I had just wrapped my towel around my body when he flung the door open. “Get your teeth brushed and get to bed,” he growled out. He sounded disappointed that he hadn’t caught me without the towel, but I’d learned. I nodded my head, knowingthat if I didn’t hurry, I’d be punished further for not completing the task he’d given me.

As I quickly brushed my teeth, before I slipped my nightgown over my head, I thought,At least Mama remembered.

She’d cut up five strawberries and had them arranged on my breakfast pancakes. Still, it was a poor substitute for what I knew other kids got; parties, cake, presents. But my life was a living hell for some reason unbeknownst to me.

I just hoped I survived until I was old enough to break free from the prison I currently lived in.

Moira, age 17

“One of our students has received a full-ride scholarship that covers her dorm, tuition, and books for the next four years, due to her stellar academics,” the principal said to the graduating class.

I kept my outward expression the same solemn one I always wore, but inside, I was jumping up and down with giddiness. Because he was talking aboutme, and while my father was furious that I was going off to college, he decided that it would be acceptable while he found me a suitable husband.

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