Mistaken

The back story

🚫🚫WARNING RAPE AND DRUG ABUSE CONVERSATION AHEAD🚫🚫

After I was birthed from my 46 year old, crack addicted mother we instantly knew i was gonna live a rather bittersweet life.

She raised me to be tuff but sensitive since we both never knew who my father was. She'd always tell me how the world was cold and how I was a miracle child because if the prices to abortion wouldn't have gotten higher, I wouldn't have seen the light of day.

I feel that I was born out of determination for wealth, straight from the debts of Lucifer himself. After I hit 3, she started maturing more she'd try to keep me from seeing her usage as much as possible.

But it was abilities and disabilities to understanding her. Sometimes I'd ask her why she'd stuck things up her nose, already knowing the answer. She always brushed me off and told me I'd understand when I'm older.

I specifically remember the horrifying baths she'd start to give me after I started getting more and more curious. She'd strip me out of my clothes and sit me down into the tub, stroking my hair rocking sideways beside the tub. Her voice was always calm when something was about to happen.

She'd say "hey baby, you know I love you so much, and I'd never hurt you. And one day I'm gonna change for the both of us okay?" Staring back into her tear filled eyes I'd respond saying okay, and hoping that she'd change right then and there but it never worked like that.

She always would whisper an 'okay' then kiss my forehead and rise up, leaving me in the bath alone for just a second before a man barged in and creeped his way toward me. The first time I remember he quickly stripped in front of me telling me that I'd be alright and to trust him.

He'd hop in the bath with me and from he opposite side he'd call me over, me being as curious and wide-eyed as ever. I'd trust him and crawl my three year old body along the bottom of the bath tub to him. The dudes would always be so gentle with me, picking me up and handling me with ease until they got to the part they came for.

They pick me up and sit me on the waist straddling me until I was calm. Then their favorite part came and they would barge into my young lady hood with there man hood. I'd always scream my mother's name and kick trying to break free from there manly hands squeezing my tiny body.

I'd cry until there done with me leaving me there to fend for myself until mother came in upset. She would hurry to wash me up and get me out of the tub, just so she could yell at me for "screaming and crying so loud" and harass my body with a belt, punishing my freshly cleaned skin.

I eventually remembered the pattern of pain the approached every two weeks from the age of 3 up to 15 and learn to not scream and just except that I'm nothing but a quick nut to 'them'. Sometimes I may even do tricks for the extra money the 'riches' will give me, but  I would always remind myself to be nothing like my horrible excuse of a mother.