This was it! I'm finally able to leave the hell I have been forced to live in for the past eighteen years and forever be able to get away from my father and his name.

He is the leader of the mafia. I was ten years old when I figured out what my father really did for a living.

My brother who was three years older than me used to keep me distracted whenever our parents fought or whenever my father had his 'friends' over.

For the longest time, I was told that he was a businessman which I guess wasn't a total lie because I just didn't know WHAT kind of business he was in.

The moment came when my teacher asked if I would like to have my parents come and talk about what they did for a job. I was so proud and thought my dad's story would be so amazing and great enough that I thought the kids in my class would finally think I was cool enough and not just some fat ugly girl who wore glasses. I thought the bullying would stop.

When I went home that day, I couldn't wait to ask him and when I ran into his office, I saw his hands covered in blood as he stood over a man whose entire body was bludgened to death. The man's face was unrecognizable that not even surgery could repair the damage my father did with his hands.

I remember him looking over his shoulder and seeing me with his normally slicked back hair in his face and yells to one of his men to get me out of there.

Though before anyone could get to me, I ran quickly up the stairs and into my bedroom where I locked the door and sat in the corner of my room and cried.

Although I wasn't entirely sure at what I had just witnessed, I knew in that moment that he wasn't in the type of business I had thought. In fact, from that day on, I forever looked to him as no longer the gentle father I loved very much. He was a bully. A MONSTER.

My brother tried calming me down that night as my father left for the rest of the night while my mother did what she always did and drank away her feelings and emotions. I felt like my brother was all I had.

He would always help me out with the bullying whenever he saw marks on me from being hit or something, he always stood up for me. Even against our father when he lost his temper.

Our mother died a few days after I had turned twelve from driving drunk while being high at the same time. My father didn't mourn like my brother and I did though.

Sure my mother wasn't no Susie- Homemaker, but she did protect us most of the time from our dads abuse. She also cooked sometimes and had always tried to make us laugh.

Then when I was sixteen years old, one night I woke up at two in the morning, from the front door downstairs being harshly opened and I heard stumbling as well as groaning.

I had grabbed a bat that I kept beside my bed and then started cautiously making my way downstairs. Not sure who it was.

Then as soon as I looked over the balcony at the top of the stairs and saw it was my brother, Derrick, I immediately ran down, knowing right away something was wrong.

I remember running to him as he plopped on his back onto the couch while holding his side as blood gushed out and was gasping his last breaths. That night, my best friend, my brother, my entire world was gone. Destroyed. And the one man responsible for it all was my father who moments later came walking inside the house with blood all over his hands.

He tried hugging me and all I could see was my brothers blood on him and from then on, I would never look at my father the same for the rest of my life.

Some people in that situation would have become rebellious but I shut down and promised myself that when I was eighteen I would leave for good and never look back ever again.

My brother and I had talked about leaving after I turned eighteen and changing our names and everything but I was the only one who was able to have it happen.