I was normal. I had nothing in my life that stood out. I was an average twenty three year old woman. I have dirty blonde hair and honey brown eyes. I was normal. But then all this crazy shit happened to me. But even if I could, I wouldn’t change a single thing.
My name is Victoria Foster… and this is my story
Part 1
I was born in a small town in the middle of no-freakin’-name U.S.A. I was the youngest of five and the only girl. I was daddy’s little princess from the moment I was born to the rest of time. My older brothers were bratty and annoying, but from day one it was burned into their brains that they had to protect me. My mother taught me everything she knew about everything. From basics about what girls do, such a sewing, cooking, ballet, homemaking, and health and medical care, all the way to how to read a person by their eyes, being a good friend, how to trust others and how much their trust should mean to me, and how the world really worked.
When I was eighteen I had finished high school and was going into college. There was this amazing college for mathematically excelled and literarily gifted people and I was offered a full scholarship. I was thrilled, except it was in a whole other state that was miles from home. But my family told me to go for it and I was so thankful for their support.
When I moved on to campus, I was still a little nervous. But then I met some other students and made some friends and I settled in a lot better. And just three months after I had started taking classes, I had gotten really close to my one friend named Derek.
Derek Jackson was fun and adventurous and that was so amazing to me. By the fifth month of me attending college there, Derek and I were a legit couple. I felt like my life was just perfect. I was at the college of my dreams, I had a wonderful boyfriend, and my dream of being a writer was going great.
Then it just all went to hell. After only being in college for six months, I got pregnant.
The moment I found out I started crying. Then I called my mom and cried to her about how my life was ruined, that I screwed up so bad, and Derek would leave me and I had to raise a kid on my own. But she told me to calm down and breathe, so I did. Then she said she loved me and no matter what everything would be ok. So I told Derek that I was pregnant and if he didn’t want to stay he didn’t have to, but then he should just leave now and I would do this on my own. But he told me he loved me, and he was thrilled to have a baby with me.
Then he proposed. He got down on one knee, held my hand in both of his, and asked if I would be his wife… and I gladly said yes.
I didn’t want being pregnant to get in the way of college, but Derek had other ideas. He insisted I leave college and he would take care of me and the baby. I was very hesitant to give up such an amazing opportunity, but I gave in and dropped out after he swept me off my feet. We rented a house together and I still practiced my writing ethics in my new home. I thought that once the baby was born I would stay at home with it until it was old enough for a sitter or daycare or whatever, then I could start back up with a community college. It wasn’t as fancy as the one I had been going to but some of the greatest writers in history didn’t have traditional schooling.
Boy was I wrong as hell.
Once we were living together, Derek pulled a complete one eighty. He started getting possessive and he yelled at me. I was honest to god scared of him and scared for my unborn child. Then he started getting physically abusive. He beat me and grabbed me and gave me bruises. And even though I was pregnant, he still made me have sex with him and that hurt too. I was so confused by the fact he had changed so much I hadn’t noticed the obvious until five months of torture later.
I was being abused physically, verbally…… and sexually.
I wanted to leave. I wanted to get out. I wanted to call off the engagement. But I couldn’t… I was miles away from home and had no one to stay with here. I put up with Derek for nearly my entire pregnancy. I guess I still hoped deep down that once the baby was born he would go back to the way he was and we could still be that happy little family I dreamed of. I found out that I was having a girl. I was so happy. I get to have a little girl to love and teach just like my mom did with me. I was seven months when all hell broke loose. Derek went psycho at me again and this time he pushed me down the stairs. He just walked away and I crawled to the phone in pain and dialed nine one one for help.
I was taken to the hospital and Derek had just left the house, and me, alone. I didn’t know where he went, but I would have put money on it that he was drinking or cheating on me with some whore. The doctors said I was about to deliver and I was given some drugs or something to speed things up. It felt like an eternity of pain and sorrow and worry but I finally gave birth to my daughter. She didn’t cry though.
I gave birth to a daughter… who was a stillborn.
I cried myself to sleep that night in the hospital. Then I called my mom the next day and told her everything. From Derek’s sudden change to my daughter being dead. She cried too, but she said she was coming, and so was my dad, and together we were calling the cops.
When my parents got there I hugged them and didn’t want to let go. I cried and cried and we cried together for a long time about my poor baby girl. They were angry at Derek. It took near a half an hour to keep my dad from going out and finding him and ripping him in half for what he did to me and killing my dad’s granddaughter. Then we called the police. When the cops came they asked me about everything Derek did and I told them everything. They spoke to the doctors and the E.M.T.s that drove me there in the ambulance and they all confirmed what I was saying. The bruises and me falling down the stairs were all from Derek’s abuse.
When I got out of the hospital the police had Derek in their custody. I was able to go back to that house that I no longer called home and my parents helped me pack up my stuff. Derek got four to six years for domestic violence and twenty five years to life for Infanticide. I hope he burns in hell. Before I left I got my daughter’s certificate of stillbirth. I was outraged. There was no place for a name and no way to name her. I had the certificate made but I would choose a name for my daughter. This was not some object that went missing or something broken. This was my daughter and she existed, so she gets to have a name. I moved back home and in with my parents after Derek’s trial. My brothers came to see me a lot and we all cried for my lost daughter together. I told them I still wanted to name her and we tossed around a few names.
Susan? No. Mary? To played out. Alicia? Sorry but no. Elliot? She was a girl! Lupe? Come on!
Then my mother suggested Erica. I honestly liked that one. I had smiled and said that my baby’s name was Erica. That night I made a silent prayer to my daughter up in heaven. I prayed to her that her name was Erica… and that I loved her.
I lived with my parents for months. I started drinking more after Erica’s death but my parents let it go on for a month before they said enough. They said I needed to stop the grieving and get back on my feet. I told them I would cry and drink all the god damn I wanted and they needed to get the fuck off my back. Finally they said they were going to cut me off unless I got help. I didn’t want to lose my family, so I went to this support group my parents looked up for abused women. There I met my best friend, Carol.
Carol Hall was a fellow survivor of abuse and she became my best friend. She had been married for five years and her husband abused her constantly for most of the marriage. I told her Derek had proposed to me when I got pregnant, then just changed completely and he ended up killing our daughter. She said I was lucky enough to get out alive and before the actual wedding.
I moved out of my parents’ house at age twenty for a fresher start. My house is small and would have fit a three person family if it wasn’t for the extra room being filled with crap. There was one and a half bath and a small kitchen with a room that is supposed to be called a dining room but couldn’t even fit five people in it with all the kitchen stuff. My bedroom is constantly disorganized and I rarely ever clean unless I have nothing else to do. I work as a waitress at a local diner. The outfit is so short and I might as well be a stripper but I have some morals left. I’ve lived this way for three years now. I make enough to get by with a little in savings for a rainy day.
Speaking of rainy days, I was walking home from work on a bloody Saturday and it was pouring. I might as well have had someone constantly spraying a hose over my head. I pulled the hood of my raincoat down and over my face and tried walking through the bad weather and just get to my house as soon as possible. I heard thunder, which meant lightning since I knew thunder was actually the sound of lightning but the lightning travels so fast it reaches our sight before the thunder reached our hearing. True story bros. I came around the corner and made it to my lonely street with no other houses except mine. Right along the edge of the forest and still a bit rickety, there was my ‘home’. Can you guess why I got it cheap enough to afford?
I made it to the front porch where my rickety old two person swing swung from the roof of the porch back and forth from the stronger than average winds. I dug down in my big and worn out purse to try and find my keys. When I pulled them out after five whole minutes of searching I climb the stairs of the porch and reach my door. And there was a box at my door. A cardboard box is just sitting at my doorstep. I groaned angrily at whatever shit some ass was trying to pull and reach down to the box and open the top.
And let me just say… Shit. Got. UN-real.