All I saw was the ceiling, there was a ceiling fan twirling above my head but there was no air. Every PUMP took my breath away. Every PUMP took my scream away. If I moved- a calloused fist would swing in the dark – then stars would appear, floating around my face. His SWEAT tasted like metal-it was like he was exuding blood from his sweat glands.
His fingernails entered my skin like tiny blades. I felt those fingers crawling around inside me for years. Those razors sliced my womanhood and innocence to pieces. I wanted him to just KILL me. I didn’t deserve to live through that. I didn’t cry because my eyes would burn. I didn’t want to move because another rage-filled fist would punish me. I hated myself for being so weak. I hated myself for allowing this to happen.
As I continued to lay there, I started to become complacent with the pain. In a way, I started feeling like I deserved it. I closed my eyes as he fucked me harder-the dryness didn’t stop him. My tensed body didn’t stop him.
IS THIS REAL? WAS THIS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN?
I was 15 years old at the time. The rapist happened to be someone very close to one of my relatives. I trusted him, I let him in my life, and all he knew to do was take my sanity and innocence. I never told anyone, I was so afraid. I wasn’t the best kid and I was troubled, so who would believe me? That night invades my life everyday. Men that I thought that I could trust, only hurt me!
THANK GOD, I HAD AND HAVE THE STRENGTH TO CONTINUE WITH LIFE.
After the hurt from the dealer mentioned in part one, I still didn’t learn a clear lesson. I still searched for friends everywhere. I kept reaching out to females for friendship but as quick as it started-it ended. Some were lost because I wasn’t interested in anything that they had to talk about. I wasn’t into men, especially after dealing with the last one. I wasn’t interested in shopping, hair, nails, makeup, or anything they had in mind. I tried being friends with older women but they tried to turn me out. Let me give you a more detailed description of what being “Turned Out” means.
I met this lady at McDonald’s-we both were employed there. During the time that I worked at McDonald’s, I was having some serious issues with my marriage. My ex husband and I were very violent towards each other. So due to my situation at home, I was making plans to leave my home to get away from that toxic relationship.
Over time, I started chilling with the female that I mentioned previously. I would go over her house and try to talk to her about my problems, but she was always trying to find some gangster or drug dealer to hook me up with. She would do my hair in ways that I wouldn’t normally style it. She didn’t like any of my clothes-so she changed that too.