She forced me to take the fall for something she did, forced me to live with guilt and shame that never belonged to me.
That wasn't right. That wasn't fair.
That wasn'tlove.
If I hadn’t become the perfect tool for shaping my father's image, I likely wouldn't have made it past infancy.
But I had, and I was determined to survive.
If I had to keep acting, pretending I loved my father and my life, I would. If I had to worship the ground he walked on, or hide his abuse, I would.
I would do whatever I had to survive, and when I was able, I'd leave him for good.
Yes, he was a senator, but he couldn't stop me once I became an adult.
Then I'd escape.
I'd be free.
1
Catalina
Iwent from being an abused doll to a caged prisoner at eighteen.
He increased the guards, forced me into online college, and monitored every message and email I sent.
Had he found out about my plans to escape? Uncovered the jewelry and cash I'd hidden away? Seen my search history? Realized how much I truly hated him?
But if he had, he would've beaten me within an inch of my life.
Then I overheard him telling a guard he had to "keep me separated from others" so I would stay "pure and moldable."
He wanted me isolated.
The bastard.
But I was safe. For now.
No matter how angry I was, I couldn't leave yet. I still needed his signature for everything—bank accounts, purchases—everything I needed to survive.
It didn't matter if I had cash or could pay in full. Companies wanted a legal guardian's approval to cover their ass. So, I waited.
And now that I’d turned twenty-one it was finally here. In one short day, I'd finally be free.
I would have to attend the lavish birthday party my father was throwing for me. Yet another political scheme asking people to fund his campaign while showing me off to someone's rich son. But tomorrow, I'd make him an offer he couldn't refuse.
For years, I'd been asked to do interviews and exclusives, but my father had never allowed it. However, now that I had a degree in political science and economics, the media speculated whether I'd follow in my father's footsteps, and he’d finally permitted me to give them an answer.
I was more likely to burn his house down with his corpse inside.
But I'd convince my father it was the life I wanted.
My plan was already falling into place. I'd donated to the Center of Gentle Love and Hope—a domestic violence non-profit organization—and agreed to set aside time for a tour. Afterwards, I'd ask to visit their other locations far from New York City—and my father—and never return.
It was a simple plan, but it was the only one that would work.
The media knew me. It wasn't like I could just change my name or appearance and disappear. But with my own awards, successes, and PR, the press would be all over me, meaning my father couldn't be.
