When I was a kid my father slapped my mother for the first and last time. Me and my siblings were always hit as children. But after my mother got hit I think it is then that my fear of him truly solidifed. Me and my siblings were then hit afterwards for no reason (he was in a bad mood). That night was a big mess. My mother decided to sleep in the room I shared with my sister. My father, assuming she was sleeping in the room that they shared together, slept downstairs. I was only 9 and being the anxious child that I was, at this rate I was fully prepared for my father to come up the stairs and kill us all. I felt very sick. I hadn't felt the worst of it until my mother, giving me his pillow, instructed me to go downstairs and give it to him (you'd think she would be angry at him. I'd have had a much better life if she cared enough about us to feel that way). I was shaking, telling her I didn't want to. She said, why are you scared, it's only your father. I'll forever hate them.