Peaches holds a secret that binds her to a lifestyle she was forced into at a young age. She is made to perform, excite, and to satisfy; a wealthy asset to her powerful employer, Daddy. Forever a servant to the empire he has built, freedom is a drea...
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The thing I loved most about the holidays was looking forward to the new year ahead. It wasn't the cheesy 'new me' aspirations and goals set in the first weeks of the year that made me excited. I appreciated the idea of a restart, a full year redo. A chance to fix what the last year had broken.
I had no way of fixing what I had broken, and there was certainly no undoing the actions of these cruel men, but I had a chance to focus on the refreshing idea of a restart. This year, instead of fixing myself I could help my Momma become herself again.
She had a chance to live again, to heal, and experience happiness. Sure, this was expected to be a long road full of strain and frustration, but she was strong and we planned to start slow.
While Chris spent his days working hard, spending late nights grinding out busy hours of dangerous trade, I made it my goal to help momma carry the burden of her addiction. I helped her with accomplishing small goals every day, something to dedicate our time to, so Momma could find her routine.
"I haven't seen this thing since the '90s." She popped her head out from the closet and presented a bulky oversized leopard print coat with burn holes on the matted fabric. "Isn't it great?"
"It's a timepiece," I cringed at the dusty old thing and stuffed a stack of plain t-shirts into her donation bag. "I'm not sure if I have anything else to say about it."
"Oh, hon, this was a statement. I was invincible in this thing." Her hands shook wildly in front of her, holding the coat tightly as she admired the memories left behind in the faux fur.
"Is that something that you wanted to keep? What if it has bugs?"
"You're looking at me like your Papa used to. He hated this thing." She tossed it away from her and whipped her head to the side, staring bleakly ahead at her mountain of clothes. "I don't want any of it."
"Any of what, Momma?" Leaning forward on my knees, I peered further into the closet to see the disaster. "You don't want any of your clothes?"
"It's nothing but a bunch of garbage." Her lips twitched as she licked at the dry skin anxiously, tearing off bits between her rotting teeth. "Hand me a bag. Throw it all away."
"We could get you a whole new wardrobe. Something that fits your style, makes you feel like a shiny new penny."
"I just want it all gone."
A small part of me felt the need to protest this impulsive decision, to force her to think rationally about just throwing everything away.
"Alright, let me get in there and ill get it all bagged up." I stood from the floor and held my hand out to help her up.
"Are those bruises on your wrists?" She touched her fingers to my skin, blinking sadly at the faint yellow markings.
