This happened on Friday, and I'm going to try and write this like a diary. I'd spoken with others on here previously about capturing memories, so I made a few notes at the time. So here goes...
10.15am - I was out in the back garden tidying up the roses, and wondering why they were looking so battered. There was dead leaves all over, and flowers that hadn't long since bloomed were dead with their petals all over the place. I couldn't understand why, as I've watered them a week earlier, and in the meanwhile we hadn't had any rain or any serious wind that could have caused his to happen. I was starting to get worried that several of my roses had some sort of disease that was causing this to happen. I finished off raking all of the dead leaves and cutting all of the dead heads off, and after sweeping up, I went back inside.
10.40am - I made a cup of coffee and went and sat outside in the garden, where Brad (my 11yr old brother) was outside, kicking a football off the back fence, and trying to play keepy ups. When the ball came my way, alright he deliberately tried to hit me with the ball, but he's useless so missed me. I kept the ball up about ten times, left foot, knee, head, right foot and back to left foot, before I volleyed the ball back at him, hitting him on the back as he turned away from it! The ball bounced back to me, so I booted it at him again, clipping him on the shoulder before bouncing over the back fence. Brad went and got the ball, before kicking it back towards me, but again missed by a mile and it went into the roses. I was annoyed at this and told him so, before picking the ball out and throwing it back to him, before going to sit down and have my coffee.
Brad kept playing by himself for a minute or two, before he kicked the ball into the roses again. Once again I shouted at him to pack it in, and I picked the ball out and kicked it back to him. In hindsight I should've kept the ball, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I didn't hear what Brad said, but he deliberately kicked the ball as hard as he couldn't straight into the roses. All I saw was leaves and petals going flying! At this I saw red and went for him. Poor Brad had nowhere to run, so I was able to push him against the fence, then drag him down to the ground. I was in the middle of punching him with my knee on his chest, when my mum pulled me off him.
After being manhandled into the house, I was told off for hitting Brad and that I should take myself off to my room and wait for my dad to come home tonight, when he could deal with me. I knew I'd messed up in a big way, but I tried to reduce my part in this whole sorry incident by blaming Brad for starting it. My mum wasn't best pleased, but also made it clear that she was aware of that, and to just worry about myself, Bradley could worry about himself. I went upstairs feeling very annoyed and sorry for myself, and I could also hear that Brad was being told off loudly too, and was also sent to his room and to wait for dad to get home. At least Brad was going to be in big trouble too.
12.45pm - The last 2 hours had passed over quite slowly, as I was really annoyed with Brad for what he had done, and I was making the assumption that the roses was all his fault. My pride and joy, and that little brat was destroying them. I went downstairs to get something to eat, and mum was still annoyed, and made her annoyance obvious when I poked my head into the living room. I went back upstairs with my sandwich and glass of pop knowing that she wasn't showing any signs of calming down any time soon.
2.10pm - This is now pretty much half way through the long, agonising wait for my dad to get home. I've tried to forget my impending doom, but it's not far from my mind. Whenever I stop reading or thinking about whatever, my mind starts thinking about the trouble I'm in. I'm still furious with Brad, and can't help but feel that while I've overstepped the mark, he is as much to blame as me.
3.15pm - Now almost down to 2hrs until dad's home. I'm starting to get nervous, but I'm still more annoyed and Bratley. I'm starting to wonder how my dad is going to think about what's happened. Serious fighting in the past has usually ended up with me getting the belt. But I'm hoping that there are serious mitigating factors here.
4.35pm - Down to an hour now, and I'm really starting to get worried. Everything is starting to whizz through my mind. I'm sick of replaying what I'd done in my head, and I have to admit that I've well and truly done wrong. I don't think I've ever ragged Brad around like this before, and I've never punched him in the head and face as many times as I have today. I'm starting to get really worried that this might not just be the belt, but there's a chance this could lead to me getting the strap again. I'm really starting to worry now.
5.15pm - JUST GET HOME AND GET THIS OVER WITH!!!! I'm beside myself with worry, and just can't stop worrying that I'm going to get strapped. I wouldn't care, but the day before I'd taken a photo of the drawer with the slipper, belt and strap in, and I'd had a feel of the strap. I wish I hadn't because now I'm even more scared of it, because it's so heavy and thick. Still, I can't really complain if that's what happens, because I've really gone too far this time.
5.30pm - Any time now and he'll be home. Every noise outside and my heart misses a beat. I want this over with, but I won't complain if time wants to start going backwards. This is surprising, but I've stopped panicking about what's going to happen. I've accepted my doom, I just want this over with.
5.40pm - The door goes, and he's home. My heart starts racing, my legs have turned to jelly. This is the reality of the situation I find myself in. I'm now as annoyed with Bratley as I've been all day, as this is all his fault. If it hadn't been for him, I wouldn't be in this situation now. I strain my ears to try to hear what's being said downstairs, but as usual I can't hear the conversation. Time is dragging like never before.
5.50pm - I hear heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. There are only two possibilities here - dad is going to the toilet, or he's coming to get one of us. Seconds later, a knock at my door and he's inside my room. A look of annoyance on his face, changes to a look of distain at the state of my room, which then changes back to annoyance just as quickly. "Kathryn, downstairs, now!" Yup, I'm in serious trouble.
5.52pm - I'm downstairs stood beside the Brat. Mum and dad are sat on the three seater like two judges in court. Mum is also the prosecutor, she's telling dad exactly what she saw. Dad asks me what I have to say for myself. I decide that I'll plead guilty, but since I don't have a defence barrister I'll have to make my own defence claim. I try to say that I'm sorry, but Brad had deliberately damaged my roses. I know I shouldn't have done what I did, but ho'way, he shouldn't have done what he did.
"Yes, you're right Kathryn, you shouldn't have attacked your brother, and at least you aren't arguing about that, or lying about it. But you're missing one small thing out, aren't you?" I was confused and probably had a blank look on my face. "An apology?" I got a prompt. "Oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it, and not out in the garden." I stammered. "To your brother..." my dad sighed. I took a deep breath. I wanted to tell him he deserved it and I wouldn't apologise, but if this last year has taught me anything, it's to be grown up and accept responsibility. "I'm sorry Brad, but you shouldn't have kicked the ball into my roses deliberately." There I've said it.
I felt better for that, until I got a sharp reprimand from mum to be quiet, as Brad was also in trouble for that, and they'd deal with that side of it. Brad was in tears as he had strips torn off him for what he'd done, and it almost felt good that I hadn't really been told off, partly because I'd fully accepted responsibility for what I'd done. But he was in serious trouble. I'd stopped worrying about what the punishment was going to be. I knew it was going to be bad, the only question was how bad.
6.01pm - I looked at the clock, so this was the right time. Dad finally stopped shouting at Brad and glared at the both of us, looking at me, then at him, then back at me, then back at him. "As far as I see this, Bradley you were bang out of order with what you were doing, not once, not twice but three times altogether. Kathryn, I can understand your annoyance, but you know better than to react like you did. I believe that you know you are in big trouble, because I won't tolerate fighting, and especially in front of the neighbours! But I also believe that you are actually genuinely sorry. Bradley, on the other hand, I have yet to hear an apology for your part in this, and as far as I'm concerned, if you hadn't done what you had, then none of this would have happened!" He stopped for a second and looked back at both of us. "You're both getting 12................ (what seemed like 10 years, but was probably a millisecond!) of the belt!" Now these weren't the exact words, but it's what I remember.
Brad was told to turn around and face the wall, and I was told to wait by the sofa, while dad went to fetch the belt. I was relieved it was only going to be the belt (as opposed to the strap), but then the reality was it was still the belt, and it was still going to be bad.
6.03pm - Dad was back, belt in hand. I shuddered at the thought and the memory. I was told that I knew what to do, so I pulled my leggings and knickers down to my knees, before glancing over my shoulder towards my dad, but mostly to make sure that the brat was still facing the wall. I could see that he was sobbing as his shoulders were going up and down, and he hadn't moved. I turned back round and lowered myself over the arm of the two seater, into a position I am far too familiar with. The cold leather of the arm rested on my thighs and groin. I wriggled to get comfortable, and to get my hands down underneath the seat, so I had something to grab onto. I was pitifully aware of my bared behind sticking up, perfectly raised by the sofa arm, facing the ceiling. If Brad was to turn around, he would get a right eyeful too! I could only hope he didn't dare move.
I felt the cold leather of the belt rest on my bum, then heard the crack and a searing sting of sheer burning pain spread across my bottom. Each whack was about 2 to 3 seconds apart, and each one hurt more than the one before. After each of the first 3 whacks I snorted and gripped the material underneath the sofa cushions for all I was worth. By 5 I was moaning and tears had formed in my eyes, as I couldn't focus properly. The next actually made me yelp in pain and the tears started.
I remember counting the whacks off in my head, but somewhere in the second half I stared crying and sobbing as the pain was too much to handle. I was trying my hardest not to shout out, but I know I was audibly yelping. I was determined not to make a baby of myself in front of my little brother, but I couldn't help but cry. But I didn't make too much of a scene, or make too much of a fool of myself. I remember the relief when I reached 11 in my head, knowing I only had 1 left to go. I was wriggling around a little, but I mustn't have moved too much because my dad didn't say anything about getting back in position. After the last one, I was allowed to stand up and make myself decent again. I slowly eased my knickers back up over my red hot bum, followed by my leggings. I then held my bum with both hands, and rubbed. Why do we always rub? It makes no difference, does it?
6.05pm - Anyway, my ordeal was over, and while I was crying with a really sore bottom, I was now about to hear Bratley be his first taste of the belt. As I stood in his spot, facing the wall, I still held my bum while wiping away tears and snot with my left hand, I listened to Brad getting his belting. It's safe to say that his reaction wasn't quite as dignified as mine. I actually felt really sorry for him, as it was clearly hurting him a lot. I cast my mind back to my first belting, which was at his age, and I remembered how I was shocked at how much more it hurt than getting the slipper. But I'm sure I didn't make such a fuss as he was.
6.10pm - After it was all over, we were both sent up to our rooms and told the usual of come back down when we are ready and ready to apologise. Dad gave me a cuddle and I set off. I gently lowered myself onto my bed. I could sit down, but it was sore to sit, even on my bed. After checking the damage in my mirror, I lay face down and got my composure back. I was a bit annoyed at myself for what I'd done, but my dad had said he'd understood why I'd done what I'd done, so I felt better about that. And I wasn't even mad at Brad any more. I actually felt really sorry for him, because he was sobbing next door. I know what he was going through, and he really needed to go through it to come out of it a better person. He'll recover. This feeling won't last forever. Sure enough, for me after about an hour and a half the worst of the burning had subsided to a dull ache, and while it was still sore to sit, and my bum felt 'heavy' when I stood up, I was more than fine. I checked my behind in the mirror again, and it still looked a very hot, angry, fiery red, but it felt better.