Home.
What a terrible word.
I think to myself, and not for the first time. I look out the windshield of my best friend's car at the house coming into view in the distance.
That term is laughable.
There could not be a more inaccurate name to use. It would be more appropriate to say the building or structure that I am allowed to sleep in and occasionally eat at.
This place has never been a home for me. Not in the 17 years that I have lived here. It hasn't been an easy 17 years either. And I wouldn't expect anything different today, even if it is my birthday.
This is just the place where my family lives and I am allowed to stay, but there is nothing loving, comforting, or caring about it, like a home should be.
No this is not a home.
My name is Leanna Rain, but I go by Lea.
I live, or well stay, here in this house with my family. My family consists of my mother, my three sisters, and my father.
I use father as a loose term.
And would never use it in front of him. I am required to call him Sir, never dad or father. I am not even allowed to call him by his name Lynn either. He has never really been much of a father figure to me anyways. Why would I even want to call him dad or father is beyond me.
There are so many stories, books, and novels about fathers. You know the real type of fathers. So many versions of different types of fathers. None of them can depict my father.
You know the stories.
Stories that tell of fathers that care and love for their children unconditionally. Or tragedy stories where the fathers loved the character as a young child, but then a tragic event happened, and the father couldn't stand the character anymore, but then in a weird twist of events he goes back to the ever-loving father. Or my favorite was where the father despised the character because of something that they did and then all was forgiven and they lived happily ever after.
I may like to read a little too much.
Well, that's not mine. Nope not mine at all. As long as I can remember, even as an infant, he was cold and indifferent towards me. I don't think he has ever loved or cared about me at all.
As long as I can remember he has hated me.
But as for my sisters, he loves them.
And he is not afraid to show that he loves them in front of me either.
He has never been a very over the top affectionate father to any of us girls, mom said it was because dad always wanted boys. However, he was cursed with only girls. Mom said that I did have a brother once, he would have been a few years older than me, but he died at a young age. So that is why he is not very affectionate.
I have always wondered if that is why dad hates me so much. He lost his only son and then soon after I was born.
Must have been a slap to the face.
To lose the one son you have always dreamed of and then for him to be replaced with another unwanted girl. I had taken the place of his one and only son. So now he takes out his anger and hatred on losing his son. After all, I am the one that replaced the beloved son he should have had.
I am thankful though, that at least with my sisters he shows them unconditional love. Especially my two beautiful younger sisters. He is not the complete monster to them that he is with me.
He tries with them. He is gentler with them.
He has never tried or been gentle with me.
Most of his love and kindness is directed towards my oldest sister, Bethany. Bethany is perfect, she looks just like dad and answers to his every wish and demand. He never has to get on to her, because in his eyes she does no wrong. She is my half-sister from my father's first marriage.
With my two younger sisters, dad is gentle and caring. The twins, Codi and Cali, were born ten years after me. Mom said that the twins were a miracle. She was never supposed to be able to have kids again after me, but then surprise ten years later, the twins make their appearance. They look like a perfect mix of mom and dad. The unconditional love and awe of the world around them brings me joy. I love watching them play and enjoy life to the fullest.
Then there is mom. Darla
The sweet, caring, loving, nourishing mother......
To my sisters.
She is the ever loving perfect mother, supporting and guiding my sisters through life. Then she is there, yeah just present for me. Nothing more, just there.
Don't get me wrong, she tried to protect me when I was younger. Now, I think that she realizes that it only makes it worse for me when she tries. Dad does not like her interference, and it only makes him hurt me more.
In her defense, I'm sure it must be exhausting being my mother.
Let's face it I have a father that hates and abuses me, so I am never short of bruises or injuries. You try being the mother that always has to explain why her middle child is so uncoordinated and is constantly falling and bruising or breaking something else.
It is exhausting as it is raising four children, but then when one of those said children is a walking punching bag. There is so much more pressure and exhaustion added to that already hectic life.
Life has been hard on mom, but she loves our dad, and she loves us girls.
She loves me, even if she has to do it behind dads back and it is hard to tell sometimes.
I always wondered why my father hated me so much. I would worry at night asking myself the same questions over and over.
Why could he never love me?
What was so wrong with me that I am not worth just the slightest amount of affection from my father?
How can a father not love one of his own children?
Those questions were never answered. After a while I gave up on trying to find the answers to them.