After 8 generations the American mafia finally had birthed not just one but two girls.
Demontre and Angelica Smith along with their triplet brother were the hearts of the American and the Italian mafia.
Suddenly their hearts were shattered when th...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A/N the next three chapters, will *TW* deal with rape mentions of suicide, verbal, physical and sexual abuse. If you want to skip reading those chapters but dont want to miss to much of the plot you should skip to chapter 14 :) Unlike the past chapters, the next 4 chapters will have very little humor and jokes. These chapters will focus on the abuse the girls went through as kids.
In this chapter the girls are 9
I hate you.
People often think that those three little words, eight letters is the start of too many horror stories. But I beg to differ, saying 'I hate you' to someone is far from the beginning.
You don't start relationships with I hate you, you start with indifference, an understanding that you'll be open to getting to know each other, a hug, or in some cases pure bliss.
It all started with pure bliss, and before I had time to enjoy it the bliss was flipped upside down and those three little words have become the soundtrack of my life.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me, they say. But how do you tell a 9-year-old that her mother saying she hates her over and over again shouldn't hurt?
The answer? You can't.
Through all the broken bones, and the moments of pain that bring me 2 seconds to death, none of that will ever come close to the hurt I feel watching my mother with a face filled with pure hatred telling me- her daughter, the person she once claimed was her lifeline, that she hates me.
I was 6 the first time it happened, and you would think that three years later I would be used to it.
And honestly the kicks, slaps, punches, the handywork of various tools like whips, hammers, screwdrivers, cigars being used on my already broken body, those I got to use in fact it became something I accepted with open arms.
You see the pain overtime became a friend, a welcoming friend that yes brought me pain and misery, but after the pain I would blackout and for a few short hours I was safe and protected in my bubble of unconsciousness, and once I woke up it brought me a comforting hug.
The abuse was bad, but it reminded me even the worst things in the world can bring you warmth and comfort at some point.
So even though I truly never got used to those three little words coming out of her mouth, even though my mom looked at me like I was the scum on the bottom of her shoe. I still had hope, that one day the pain she inflicts on me will be replaced by the warmth and comfort she gave me all those years ago.
I'll always have hope, which is why right now I'm on my hands and knees scrubbing our filthy basement. The task on its own would seem daughty for anyone because of the basement size, and the amount of dirt, mixed with the fact that I just woken up from being passed out from yesterday's beating to anyone else, it would be impossible.
