Page 12 of Teddy Bear

I was Elizabeth Dawson - the girl everyone else envied.

At eighteen, I was pure, untamed magic and primal, wild madness.

And, at eighteen, I was everything my father hated.

It made sense that I let down all the great academic dreams my father had for me. (Sorry, dad, but along with Teddy, I buried my desire to go to college- none of that in this life).

It was an understatement to say that he despised me.

At the age of eighteen, my father openly hated me and did not shy away from showing it to me generously.

He would call me a slut he was ashamed of, and he couldn't understand how the daughter of the famous "Tyler Dawson" had become a miserable, stupid dancer.

Of course, he didn't show up at any of my group's performances, and when his acquaintances and friends openly praised me, he lowered his head and made that disgusted face, almost enraged.

That face meant only one thing - "she is a failure, she will never be worthy of my love."

Considering that I was not now, nor ever, worthy of my father's love, I was amused and even pleased that I was finally worthy - if only as the target of his hatred.

I liked him to be occupied with me, even if it was in a morbid, angry, vain, and disgusted way.

The roles seemed to have reversed, and now I was the one testing his limits with my behavior, to see what ultimate amount of his hatred I could get.

And it's an understatement to say that I was always hungry for more.

One night, I walked into the house completely drunk, banging on the door probably more than necessary and laughing out loud at the funny, diamond-shaped wallpaper in the hall.

My bra was falling off my shoulders, revealing my pale skin stained with the love bites of countless raunchy and hot guys, and the fishnet stockings on my thighs stained from all-night fornication were torn in several places.

My black skirt was screamingly obscenely short, and I almost fell over when my patent black, dizzyingly high heel hit the living room threshold.

I staggered forward, convinced that the room was empty, and confusedly grabbed the back of the couch when I caught a glimpse of my father's tall and wiry figure in the darkness. Although I could barely make out the outlines of his sharp features, it was enough, for some reason, to cause uncontrollable fear to run through my body, and the space that now separated him and me, just a few feet from our living room, became as cold as Antarctica.

Some ominous throbbing beat in my chest was telling me loudly that this was my death sentence. I myself touched the very burning end of the flaming torch of his scorn, and the fiery fury of my father was now ready to descend upon me.

I wanted to feel his unbridled, full hatred, and now I had the opportunity to do so.

A desperate, primal scream escaped my throat when my father, who quickly and swiftly appeared in front of me, pulled my hand so hard that I fell to the ground.

My knees hit the cold floor dully, leaving two red welts on my white skin, and I felt a terrible heat spreading from my splayed fingers and hands over my forearms to my shoulders, bearing the full weight of my semi-numb, drunk, and uncoordinated body.

Due to dizziness, I could not get up; the space around me was spinning at a speed that I could not keep up with. Helplessly and futilely, I began to crawl towards the exit door, stumbling on all fours, until the soles of his pointed shoes blocked my passage.

The door was now locked, and his outstretched, steady leg stood securely against my frail body, ready to step on my bony toes.

-Go!

He said through an icy yell and proceeded to drag me to my room.

I wasn't allowed to scream because I knew it would only provoke him further, and at the stage of madness he was in now, my father was ready for absolutely anything.

I tried to kick as hard as I could on the wooden floor and furniture on the way to the room to possibly wake my mother from her comatose sleep.

He pushed me mercilessly into the room and made me kneel in front of the shelf of my stuffed toys like an ancient convict crucified, faced with all his murderous and unforgivable crimes.

Although I buried Teddy, I kept the rest of the toys.

-Whore!