When I was in high school, I lived with my dad for about a year. He had a job working for a family friend delivering donuts at night. I loved going with him. We would talk for hours about everything from school, to music, to just life in general. He also had another job he had to go to as soon as he was done delivering in the morning. There were nights that I would go deliver by myself if he had to work late at his other job and didn't get much sleep.

The beginning of the summer after my junior year, he found an old trans am that needed only minor work done to it. He told me he would buy it and do the work if I agreed to deliver for the summer. I didn't have my own car, so of course I agreed.

Things went well for the first month and a half or so. I would get there about midnight, and the owners cousin worked the shop overnight, so he would help me load the van and empty it when I got back. However, I knew something was wrong when he started getting too friendly. He would throw his arm around my shoulders and walk me out to the van at night. At first I thought it was nice, since I was a 17 year old girl on a bad side of town, so I figured it was for my protection. Oh, how wrong I was.

The first time things really went wrong, I went to open the door to walk out of the back of the shop, he reached around me and locked the door. I still sometimes hear the sound of that lock being thrown. Things were done and then I left and went to deliver.

Similar things happened at least a couple times a week for the next month. I never told anyone because I was afraid that it would affect my dad's job, and I knew he couldn't afford that. Especially with my little brother and two little sisters at home.

Of course, at home wasn't much better for my mental state. My step mom was a stay at home mom who did nothing. Dishes were piled up, food and garbage on the floors. She treated me like a live in babysitter when she didn't feel like dealing with the kids. We also had 5 or 6 horses that I was expected to care for.

I eventually got to where I couldn't stand being there. I couldn't stand her, I couldn't stand the way the house was, and I couldn't stand pretending everything was okay when it wasn't. In a way, I couldn't believe that neither my dad or my step mom ever noticed that I wasn't okay, I expected them to know that something was terribly wrong, even though I did everything I could to hide it.

One night, I sat with my dad and told him I couldn't take staying there anymore, and he told me if I was so unhappy, I should call my mom and tell her to come get me. So I did, and he looked me in the eye and told me I was a coward. I will never forget that conversation. My mom came and got me and I went back to live with her.

I did go back to get my stuff, and when my dad came to the door, he said his daughter's stuff was there, but that I was no daughter of his. So I left.

Sorry it was so long, but I guess that's my story.