It had taken me longer than I wanted to leave. It was fall. My kid sister was starting kindergarten. I was so very proud of her. I loved her so much. (I still do). My stepmom was about halfway through her pregnancy with my baby sister. I helped picked out her name (both sisters’ names actually). She wanted me in the delivery room with her, and I felt honored. I wanted to be there for her. I wanted to meet my baby sister. I also remember feeling that I was going to be stuck again. Not because of the birth, but I knew that if I didn’t get out soon, I believe I never would have been able to leave, not freely.
I had a go-bag packed for a while. I always had one in the back of my closet. I had at least two changes of clothes, basic toiletries, a little bit of food and some hidden cash just in case. I had no idea when I would need this, but I had triple checked that I had the absolute necessities.
It was October. I had placed my go-bag in my car after my dad left for work. I got everything else in order that day. I had already called out sick from work. I was not one hundred percent sure exactly how I was going to pull this off. I went to my room to “sleep” for an hour or two before I left for “work”. It would be a ‘regular’ work night for me. I was in bed, and my kid sister peaks in, and says she couldn’t sleep. She had a bad dream and wanted to lay in my bed. I was heartbroken. I was wondering if this was a sign from God not to leave.
Leaving meant I was also leaving my kid sister. My other sister already traumatized her when she left, I didn’t want to do the same thing. I let her in my bed, tucked her in, and I told her, no matter what happens I love you so much!! I told her I wasn’t leaving her. I told her I was sorry; she had already fallen asleep.
I got ready for work like usual. I made sure I had everything I needed with me, as I wasn’t coming back in the morning. I looked at my kid sister one more time, kissed her forehead, told her I loved her, and left her peacefully sleeping in my bed, as my heart would later break into a million pieces. It doesn’t hurt as much now, thank you Jesus for the healing, but I was devastated, and heartbroken for a long time after I left. It still hurts now that I am talking about it in full. She was my favorite person. I practically raised her. I promised her I would protect her, and I felt like I was breaking that promise. If I left, would he really turn on her? Could he really do that to her? I didn’t want to think it was a possibility, like I said, I thought I was the only one for a long time.
I say my goodbyes, get in my car, and take the same route I would take to work. I was terrified. I was afraid my dad would catch me. I still had to call him, to let him know my whereabouts. So, I told him I left the house for work. Then forty-five minutes later, I called him and told him I had arrived at work. I actually did drive to work that night. I pulled over on the side of the road. I didn’t go through the security gate, I just parked on the side.
After I called my dad to let him know I was at “work” I knew I had at least the rest of my work shift to do what I needed to do. I wasn’t sure what to do next. I had the number to the women’s shelter, but my adrenaline and courage were faltering. I waited at least an hour until I believed my dad was officially out of the same area after his shift. I didn’t want to be accidently spotted when I was supposed to be working.
I had been secretly texting the guy I mentioned was a cop. It was flirty, normal adult stuff, but nothing ever inappropriate. It was more him encouraging me to stand up to my dad. If only he knew at the time… I texted him that night. I asked him if he was busy. I needed to talk. I told him I finally left my dad’s house, and I didn’t know where to go or what to do. He told me to meet him at his place, he was on his way home. I was scared, and didnt want to inconvenience him, but I think he knew there was more to my fear.
I would meet him at his apartment. I had my go bag with me. He knew I was an emotional mess and told me I was staying with him that night. That I needed a moment to get my head right and figure out my next step. I was starting to freak out. I was so paranoid that my dad would somehow find out I didn’t make it to work and find me. My friend told me to calm down and got me a glass of water.
I was sitting on his couch, he kneels down in front of me, looks me directly in my eyes, and asks “Who’s hurting you, Cassie?” No one, in my entire life up until that point, has ever asked me that question, and it hit me hard. That scared little girl came out for a second, and I just cried.
I instantly broke down and said, “My dad. He’s been physically and sexually abusing me my entire life.” He was instantly angry and cussing up a storm. He was so mad I though he was angry at me. He said, “I f*cking knew it, I knew it!!!!” I was scared, but relieved at the same time. He believed me! He was so angry, he needed to step outside for a few minutes. I am bawling. I have no idea how I can produce so many tears, but I am a terrified, mess. I am afraid my father’s going to kill me. I’m afraid my friend is going to kill my father. I’m afraid my friend is going to think I used him because he’s a cop. I confided in him as a friend, and I told him such.
I don’t know why it was them, but I thank God for putting these two MEN in my path. I was so shocked at myself that the first two people I told and confided in were men… and they helped me. They were former/current law enforcement, and they didn’t take advantage of my situation. They didn’t make me feel like I wasn’t worth the time. I trusted them fully.
My friend finally comes back inside and asks me what my next step is. I needed to tell someone. He wanted to know if I wanted to get the authorities involved, I told him “Not really, I don’t know what to do”. I needed him as the friend I knew, not the cop. I was so clueless. I still didn’t realize how bad my situation truly was. I was more afraid of my dad finding me and beating me, and I “didn’t want my dad to get in trouble”. My friend was mad at me, and that hurt, because I didn’t understand what I had done wrong. I told him I have a number to a women’s shelter, but I was afraid to call. I didn’t think I was an emergency case. I didn’t think I was worth it to have a safe place to go to.
My friend was mad at me, not because I was against getting help, he was mad at the fact that I was going through what I had just told him, and I didn’t see it as how legally messed up it was. He wanted me to get the help I needed, and I honestly needed his anger at that moment. It told me that my leaving was the right decision, now I needed to get myself in order to take my next step.
I called the women’s shelter twice. The first time, they wanted to know why I needed to come to the women’s shelter, and I was afraid to admit to them why. I had already admitted it, why do I have to say it again?
My friend convinced me, in order for them to make sure there is a bed available, and that they have what they need for me when I show up, I need to tell them what I just told him. I did, I said, “I just left my dad’s house, I am terrified. He has been sexually and physically abusing me. I have nowhere else to go and I don’t know what to do.”
The lady on the phone was so kind. She told me there would be a bed available in the early afternoon the next day. I was relieved, but unsure at the same time. What was I supposed to do tonight? I am so emotionally exhausted, I feel so sick to my stomach, I am coming down from the initial “fight or flight”. And I still have a few hours left before my dad finds out I didn’t come home…
My friend said I was staying with him. He wasn’t going to let me go out there in my current state. I told him I could sleep in the car; I’ve done it before. Looking back, I think he was protecting me from myself more than anything else. I stayed with him that night. I was afraid to go to sleep. He told me I was safe, that he wouldn’t do anything and that I could trust him. And I did. I was able to get a little rest. I had turned off my phone, and by the time morning came, I was already getting phone calls, voicemails, and text messages from family members.
What I would think a few “normal” texts/voicemails would say to someone who hasn’t returned home from work yet: Are you ok? We haven’t heard from you, is everything ok? Hey just checking in, if you have overtime today… Signs of concern, care, and love right? Maybe I crashed my car, and no one found me yet. Maybe I’m unconscious in the hospital. Maybe something else came up and I took an extra shift…
Not my messages/texts. Mine read: Where are you? You didn’t go to work last night! Why are you doing this to us? Why don’t you just come home? We can work this out! Why won’t you answer your phone? Your sister misses you. Just come home, we can talk about this. It was accusations, blame, anger and guilt.
My dad even sent me the picture he took of me and him in the hospital, like it would make me feel something other than anger. He was the reason I was in the hospital that day, and he was smiling like nothing was wrong with me. It was my stepmom, my dad, and some other family members who didn’t know what was going on at the time. And all of these messages were coming in, and it wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning yet.
I told my friend what was happening, what my family was saying to me, and it angered me. I didn’t understand why they would accuse me of things if they didn’t know why I left. It got me when he said, “they know why you left and are trying to guilt you into coming back to them.” He told me if I go back, it won’t be the same, it’ll get worse. He said my life could be in danger, and I saw the seriousness in his eyes. He knew what would happen if I went back.
I was afraid of what was going to happen next, but I was ready to start this next step. I changed and thanked him for helping me. He tried to get me to eat, I was going to need it. I could barely eat as it was. I drove to the woman’s shelter being careful not to take the roads I knew my dad would take if he was looking for me. I had driven for an hour and a half. I did my intake all over again, spoke to a domestic violence advocate, and had a bed… I was given instructions, rules for protection, and counseling services to see what kind of help I would need. I wasn’t holding anything back. It was giving it all. It’s like I was just pouring out everything I held in the last eighteen years or so. It was going to be a very painful and fearful next few months.