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squeezed my eyes shut to stop the tears of humiliation that threatened to fall.  I made a promise to myself a couple of years ago that I would never cry in front of him again.  It was the only rebellion I indulged in because I knew it infuriated him when he couldn’t break me. 
    The pain of the first strike across my skin was so shocking that I couldn’t scream even if I wanted to.  Now that I knew what pain level to expect, I braced myself for the next blow and clamped my lips shut.  I decided that this sicko wasn’t going to get any satisfaction from hearing me cry out in pain tonight.
    Smack.  Smack.  Smack.  Smack.  Smack.
    Blow after blow landed.  The searing pain set my backside on fire.  I could hear the sickening whistle of the belt as it cut through the air before each strike.
    Smack.  Smack.  Smack. 
    Jack’s breathing got faster with every lash of the belt against my skin.  My rear end stung like someone had built a campfire on it.   I could feel something oozing down the side of my leg and pooling next to me but still he didn’t stop.  It was impossible for me to get up and out run him now even if I tried, besides where else would I go? 
    “You stupid little slut, what do you think boys want from you when you get in the car with them?” Jack spouted viciously as he continued to deliver blow after blow. 
    He broke me somewhere after the tenth smack landed.  The excruciating pain from the belt hitting my torn flesh was too much to take in silence.  My wails of agony seemed to excite him even more.  He wasn’t satisfied with flaying the skin off my rear end.  He began to whip me with the belt from the back of my neck down to my ankles.  Jack had worked himself into a righteous frenzy and continued to abuse me until I eventually passed out from the pain. 
    A soft gasp brought me back to consciousness.  As usual, my mother had waited until Jack passed out to check on me.  Our redundant routine would consist of Mom telling me that Jack was justified in punishing me but had a hard time controlling his temper.  If he didn’t care about me, he wouldn’t bother correcting me…blah, blah, blah.  Then she would beg me to be a good girl from now on.  If the thrashing was particularly severe she would give me Tylenol for the pain. 
    Tonight there was no lecture.  I was suffering too much to move a muscle, so I just stayed put until my mother decided to break the silence. 
    “Bethany!”
    Her voice quivered as she spoke my name.  She ran from my room.
    When I heard her come back I felt a cool wash cloth touch my back.  The stinging I thought couldn’t get any worse escalated.  It felt like she had alcohol instead of water on that wash rag. 
    “Mom, please don’t touch me,” I begged. 
    “You are bleeding.  I need to get you cleaned up before it gets infected,” she instructed. 
    Despite my pleas, my mom insisted on bathing my back from head to toe. I knew she was only trying to help, but I wanted to be left alone.  I couldn’t even look at her knowing she allowed this to happen.  Her concern felt false and the sight of her disgusted me.
    “There, now we are going to have to wait for the welts to stop oozing before I can put any cream on it.” 
    Really?  I just got whipped within an inch of my life and you are calmly discussing medical care of my wounds?  Any other mother would have called 911 immediately or driven me to the emergency room.  Any decent mother would have never let this happen to her child in the first place.  I wasn’t sure if the tears I felt stinging my eyes were from the physical pain or the emotional pain of knowing my mother chose to sit on the back porch while I suffered.
    I knew she was focusing on treating my wounds because she was in shock from the horrendous mess that my back must look like.  I couldn’t find the emotion to care how she felt.  She could disappear for all I cared at that moment.  Right now, I just wanted her to go