Anastasia Book Content

Growing up Anastasia’s only wish was for her father to come and sweep her away from life’s daily struggles. Everything seemed so complicated with her mother. With the holidays approaching there came hope. This year she would take matters into her own hands. Though sometimes, it’s best to leave some things to the unknown and move forward.

When love comes sometimes hate, jealousy, and treachery soon follow. Anastasia will soon learn that you should be careful what you wish for and leave some things as they are. Or with tragedy can come an unexpected peace. Will she finally get the family she always wanted? Or will things turn for the worse as she tries to maneuver through the scars she’s opened.

Anastasia Cavinaw

Anastasia grew up thinking her dad had left because of her. When she got older she found out the truth and sought him out. She was a girl trying to have both her parents in her life, but she knew that may not have been possible so she made a tough decision. She always kept to herself and had 2 close friends. She never wanted much attention from others. She didn’t think she was important enough to have attention. She remembered when she was very little the good times she had with both her parents. She just wanted answers.

Derek Cavinaw

Derek was a prideful man and loved his wife, Ange, to death. Too bad his prideful ways got in the way and he didn’t know how to handle when he was inadequate compared to his wife. He was a man who was always taught to be the provider, so when he couldn’t manage to do that, he lashed out in the worst way. As time went by, he felt like he was only going to be remembered as a failure to his daughter, so he just knew that she would be better off without her. Was this true? Well, only time would tell.

Angie Cavinaw

Angie loved Derek to the end of the Earth. It was so difficult on her when things seemed to go down south. She was an amazing mother until her grief took too much of a hold on her heart. She is caring and loving, but can sometimes not make the best decisions. There were many times she questioned her relationship with Anastasia after Derek left. It was one of the hardest things she had to accept.

Excerpt of the book:

Chapter 9

Abuse

Anastasia… 4 years later…

The thought of seeing my mother every day makes me sick. I despise seeing her at home and at school. Seeing her serve food to people is just too much for me to handle. This sounds ridiculous, but what happens behind closed doors is unbearable. That mental abuse only escalated over the years.

I have two more years left of living with her and I can move out or go off to a college somewhere far away. One minute she loves me and then other times, it’s like I’m walking through a freakin’ minefield.

As I walk in the lunchline with everyone else, I see her. “Honey, make sure you get some of that fruit down at the end of the line,” my mother says in her sweetest voice. This almost makes me feel like we have one of “those” relationships like she cares for my wellbeing, but I know the truth.

            I whisper in my most bitchy voice, knowing I will regret this later. The only problem is I can’t help but take this opportunity, knowing there will be three hours left in the day before I face the heat. “Like you care about my health at all, just because you work here doesn’t mean you can speak to me. Just act like you do at home, like I’m invisible.”

            The look on her face is priceless, and I high five my inner self on a mini victory—score one for the mentally and physically abused.

            While sitting in my last class of the day, I watch the clock tick away, I try to think of what I could do to get out of going home right away. Only if I were athletic, then I could have an after-school activity to keep me busy. Hmm, maybe I should consider that further.

The bell rings, and I am brought back to how much I will be in pain when I get home. I know it’s my fault, though. My wanting to win a little victory will land me with a sore ass, and then some. Good thing I have a great sense of humor, or I wouldn’t make it through the day.

***

            I sit on the bus contemplating how I will have to fight for my life today.

            “Stop 6!” The bus driver yells out.

            I get off the bus into the light snowfall. There’s already enough snow on the ground, but mother nature knows this. I take my time on the walk, almost thankful for the snow falling because it’s a little warmer than usual. Two blocks later, I am at my front door. I reach my hand out to the knob and hesitate. God, please don’t let her be home.

            “Here we go…” I sigh to myself.

            As I open the door to the house, I step inside with caution, praying again that she isn’t home yet. I could have the upper hand here. I didn’t hear a noise. I let out a held-in breath in relief as I take my coat, boots, scarf, gloves, and hat off. I head upstairs and make my way to my bedroom. While making my way there, I felt like someone was watching me, but I brushed it off, telling myself I’m just paranoid.

            Flopping on my bed and cracking open my books, as if I’ll study, I hear something fall.

I go to my mom’s room to find her on the floor. Shit! Why did I think I could be so lucky? I debate on helping her up. She looks so helpless and vulnerable that I almost enjoy this moment, but I know I have to help her.

So I make my way over to the bed where she lies on the floor by the edge. After four steps, I feel a ping of pain. I look down to find that my leg is bleeding. She’s thrown a broken bottle my way. I know her aim was off because the usual target is my face.

            “Get over here, you piece of trash! Help your mother up,” my mom says, kind of demon-like. It scares me. I’ve said nothing back to her until this afternoon, so maybe this was the outcome; a worse version of this woman. I do as I’m told only to regret it. Why I am such a good daughter? I still have not figured this one out.

            When I go to grab her hand, instead she grabs mine. Pulling me to the floor with her, she tries to wrestle and maneuver herself on top of me. This feels like so many other times, but different. She’s more aggressive. I can’t understand why, though. Is it all because of a few words I said? As I make my attempt at releasing myself, she jabs her knee cap into my ribs. You can imagine how much this had to hurt.

            As I’m adjusting to this new pain, I’m gasping for air. She is choking me. I can’t believe this. She’s done horrible things, but try to kill me is a first. What could I have done? I wish I could see what she was thinking. What she is feeling at this moment to understand. Is this going to be the end of my life? I see the ceiling fan going in and out of view. I know I’m losing oxygen fast, but I don’t know how to escape. This is bad.

            After a few moments, I am conscious again, free of the weight of another. I look around, blinking, trying to focus my vision on something familiar, hoping that I’m still at home. When I do focus, I see her, my mother on the bed above me crying. A tear hits my face, and I realize how much she is letting loose. Does she think I’m dead? What’s going on? I’m still so confused.

            “Mom,” I say kind of low, so I figure maybe she can’t hear me, she is still crying loudly. “Mom, why are you crying?” she looks up distraught and very pained. I just think to myself, this woman is very disturbed, and this abuse has to go beyond me. Maybe back to the marriage she once had with dad before he divorced her.

            “I, I didn’t kill you, oh thank God.” She smiles; then frowns again when she stares at me. There is a look in her eye I never noticed before, it draws my attention. Before I can place the belonging of this strange stare, she is at it again. I think she’s lost it. This time I dodge her apt attempt at pinning me down. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be a victim to this crime she commits every other day. This is insanity, and I don’t deserve the treatment.

            I spot the broken bottle on the floor and launch myself towards it. If she tries and kills me, then I need a weapon, protection for when she goes too far like before. I don’t want to hurt her, I don’t even think I can, but I have to fight. Still, on the floor, my mother looks for her own weapon. I see her looking frantic. Maybe this is my chance. I cautiously move closer, not wanting to alert her too much. Finding it harder to even think about what I may have to do to her.

            Confusingly enough, I don’t attack her. I put my weapon down and walk away guard still up if she throws herself onto me. I realize this is crazy and no way for two people to live together. I don’t care that she is my mother; I need to find a way out. For heaven’s sake, I don’t even know why she treats me this way.

It’s disturbing and frustrating. I will lose my mind if I don’t leave. So I make an executive decision and pack my bags. I don’t know where I’m going yet, but I’ll figure it out. I might try to find my dad or something.

            While I am packing my mom appears at the door. “What are you doing?”

            “Packing, what does it look like?”

            “Where are you going?”

            “Any place away from you. I have done nothing but be a good daughter to you, and you treat me like shit. Beat on me for no reason, I don’t even think you know why. One minute you want to kill me, and the next you’re crying because you thought you might’ve killed me. I don’t get it.”

            “So, you’re going to leave like your father did?”

            “I’m sure he had a great reason.” At this point in my life, I don’t even know how he stayed as long as he did. But I can’t seem to remember too many good memories. Mom has been so tough on me with her abuse; I tend to be melodramatic and cynical in the things having to do with my life. I didn’t understand what I did to deserve this life.

            “You were the reason.”

            “What?”

            “I wouldn’t get rid of you. When we found out I was pregnant, he was far from happy. He wanted me to abort you, but I couldn’t. I loved him so much, I could never get rid of something that he was a part of as much as myself. So, he stuck it out for a little bit, but the pressure got to him. On your fourth birthday, he left.

We’re not even divorced, just separated technically. Now every time I look at you I see him, and I think to myself, maybe if I would have listened to him, he would still be here. We would still be in love and living a wonderful life.”

“So you blame me for him leaving, though it was your choice to keep me. What an illogical way to think. I kind of wish you would have just gotten rid of me. I wouldn’t have had to endure the pain you have caused me. Mentally and physically. All these bruises and cuts you place on me, all these things I have to hide. In the summer, I can’t even look nice because I have to hide these!!” I pull up my sleeves to reveal to her the damage she has done.

She looks away, ashamed. “And I’m always wondering why my mom doesn’t love me.” I shake my head and continue to pack up. I look at my mom for an answer.

“I love you, I just love him more, and whenever I get angry or think of you, being the cause of why I am so lonely and sad, I lose control.”

“You need some serious professional help, Mom. I am leaving you until you deal with this painstaking depression you’re putting on both of us. I’m sorry but bye.”

I have packed up what little I care to take with me and leave—no plan or direction. Then I think to myself, maybe now my dad will want me. Perhaps if he knows what I have been going through with mom, he’ll want me by sympathy or something. Where do I start? I don’t even know if he lives in the city anymore. I guess I could do some research in the library downtown.

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