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When Farrah was six, she lived with her mother and father. She didn't have any siblings so she was very shy and introverted, much unlike her loud and extroverted parents. She was raised to speak only when spoken too, so she barely talked to anyone unless needed. She never gave her two cents or shot back a smart remark to anyone who upset her unlike how she is currently. From a young age, Farrah was very smart. She knew and understood things most of the children her age didn't, because of her parents. Most kids her age spent their weekends at a park or playing outside, but Farrah spent hers hiding away in her room, covering her ears and squeezing her eyes shut to try and block out the screaming and shouting of her parents. Friday nights were when they would start. Her dad would come home completely wasted, barging into their home like a bull in a china stop. Every Friday, a new item in the household was broken or destroyed. Farrah started keeping track of every single item. Farrah didn't like when her dad was 'sick', as her mother told her he was, she liked him Tuesdays through Thursdays. Saturdays were the same thing, but it wasn't items being broken or ruined, it was usually her mother trying to calm her father down. It was usually when her mother was trying to defend herself from him or defending herself when he would try and come onto her. It was usually when Farrah would bite down hard on her lip and tongue to stop a sob from echoing out. Sundays was when her father would scream and shout and kick and punch and completely destroy their home, then proceed to drunkingly say that he was leaving for good. Mondays were hangover days. Mondays were her dad coming home at two in the morning, waking Farrah up on a school night, and letting her listen to him beg and plead her mother to let him back. Farrah never understood why her mother always said yes, but at fifteen, she realized and wished her mother would've said no.
When Farrah was ten, her parents were still married. She would hear about the kids' parents at her school getting divorces left and right, and deep down wished hers would do the same. Weekends were still the same, four years later, but now Farrah was older and much more involved with the fights and arguments. Every single night was the same, except this time Farrah wasn't hiding in her room, shaking and silently begging and praying the screaming fights would stop. She was right in the middle of them. She was always defending her mother from her father no matter what the reason was, she knew her father was stronger and had much more will power than her mother, but she refused to just sit there and let her mother get treated like that. Soon enough, Farrah was the one fighting with her father while her mother was too weak and hurt. It would start off by her quietly trying to reason with her father, while her mother was behind her mumbling different pleas to stop her daughter. When speaking like a decent human being to her father didn't work, she would raise her voice and it would become a screaming fight. The words Farrah's father had told her in those countless fights still repeat in her head to this day. He'd say things about how he never wanted her, and how he wished he had a boy instead. He would scream at her how much of a mistake she was, how stupid she was, how he should've left when he had the chance. He would scream those to her in her face, belittling her and watching her slowly break and crack down. He'd watch her eyes and how the fire she once had was gone and put out like a flame just by telling her what he actually feels. He lived for it. Every curse he yelled at her and every line he'd shout at her hurt her and broke her down piece by piece, until tears were stinging at her eyes and her brain was begging them not to spill, to not show weakness to the monster that stood in front of her, sneering down at her. The fights got worse and worse every single time. They got to the point where Farrah was coming to school everyday with different bruises all over her, but when her teachers and friends would ask what happened, she would just put on a fake smile and say "I'm just really clumsy."
When Farrah was fourteen, her entire world came crashing down on her. It was January 10th when it happened and ever since that day, Farrah hasn't been the same since. It was freezing out, freezing to the point where it hurt her skin and made it feel like ten thousand knives were stabbing into her. Her father had been driving him and her mother back home from god knows where, and of course, her dad was wasted. Farrah didn't know why her mother didn't just take over and drive, but then she remembered how angry and hostile her father gets when things don't go his way. It was ten at night when her parents, both of them, were supposed to come home. When Farrah heard the keys and the doorknob turning and didn't hear two voices or two separate sets of footsteps, she knew something bad had happened. When she came out of her room and looked at her father, the look on his face right then and there told her everything. His bloodshot eyes, the dark bags under his eyes, his red puffy nose, his dark hair ruffled and matted, and the blood on his shirt- she knew.
Farrah was fourteen and a half when her father got with Annleigh's mother. Annleigh's parents were recently divorced, and Annleigh's mother just so happened to know Farrah's father growing up. The two of them got married very quickly, and Farrah's father sobered up just for his new wife, Farrah's new step mother. Farrah always wondered why he didn't sober up years prior. She always wondered why he didn't after beating his real wife, after he hurled his keys at his daughter's head, after he basically killed her mother in a car crash. But I guess after you marry a heavily religious woman, sobering up was what he had to do.