“I’m ready,” I yell, sliding my feet into my booties pulling up the side zipper. I adjust my black pencil skirt, looking into the mirror adjusting my fitted red Criss Cross top, tucking it inside my skirt. I toss my hair over my shoulder, leaning closer to look at my makeup.
I applied a little more makeup than usual, and I love this new red lipstick. The eyeliner and mascara make my green eyes pop. My lips turn up, nodding; I take a couple of steps to my bed, leaning to grab the leather jacket pulling it on, pushing the sleeves up my arms. Then I grab my wallet, cell, and keys, sliding them into the pockets.
I listen to Marie run down the hall to the bathroom, closing the door. I walk out of my room, down the hall, to wait for her in the living room.
“Ready,” Kitty yells, pulling open the bathroom door, walking down the hall into the living room, looking at my outfit.
“Yeah,” I say, crossing my arms.
“Girl, you look hot! It’s been a while since we’ve been out, and I can’t wait. I plan on drinking, so you need to be the designated driver,” Marie yells excitedly, nodding.
“Yeah, I can do that; I have to work tomorrow,” I say, nodding.
“Yeah, I do too, but I’m going to have me a beer or two,” Marie says, doing a little happy dance.
“Yeah, but we can walk home or take an uber if we need,” I say, raising my right eyebrow while waving my hand.
“Yeah, you’re right. Maybe we should walk down to the bar; it’s only a few blocks away,” Marie says, nodding.
“Yeah, that’s a great idea,” I say, nodding, following Marie out of the apartment.
We walk down the streets to the bar, and the night is nice; the moon is full, shining down on us.
“This is going to be so much fun; I can’t wait to see Lori and Lisa,” I say, looking around the street.
Lori and Lisa are friends that we knew in high school, and it was always the five of us against the popular girls. That was okay because we had each other’s backs, and we still do. Lori and Lisa lived with their parents, not like Kitty, Marie, and me.
At first, Kitty, Marie, and I were in the same foster home, then we got split up in junior high and then in high school. After that, Marie and Kitty were in the same foster home, and I was alone in another foster home.
It sucked, but I survived.
Yeah, but I learned my lessons living with Peter and Janice Nell, my foster parents. That’s when I learned to listen, watch what’s going on in the house, and beware of my stepdad and his friends. I was scared but curious about all of the activity, so I paid attention, and I started to write down everything that I saw in my journal. Every day was challenging, a thrill, but also I was scared to get caught.
My stepbrother and stepsister would stay out late with their friends, and I tried connecting with my stepbrother and sister, but we just didn’t. They had their friends, and I had mine. It’s not easy bonding with other kids in foster homes since we all have trust issues.
I wanted to stay with Kitty and Marie, but their foster parents didn’t let me stay very late.
I was glad that I started working after school; that helped keep me away from the house most of the days.
My stepdad Peter and his friends would look at me when I got home from work, and I didn’t like it because they looked at me as if they were undressing me. My stepmom Janice was working the swing shift, and she didn’t get home until late at night.
The days that I was alone at the house with my stepdad were awful, and I would hide when his friends came over. But one night, my stepdad was drunk, I didn’t have work that night, and the asshole caught me.
It was scary, and I felt so helpless when he grabbed my hair and pushed me against the wall wrapping his huge hand around my throat. It was hard to breathe, my eyes water, and I tried to pull his hand away from my throat, but I couldn’t. Then, he swung his arm back, striking me with his huge fist, hitting me twice in the face, making me see stars and blacking out.
Hours later, I woke up on the living room floor with my torn clothes, bleeding. My body hurt everywhere, and I pushed up from the floor, walking to my bedroom that I shared with my stepsister. Hours later, I took a shower, rubbing my body over and over, trying to take his smell off me.
Yeah, the asshole raped me!
I hate him.
Thank god I didn’t remember the rape, but it made me feel dirty, gross, and scared.
I told the social work Carol, but since I washed the evidence, she believed the Nell’s. You would think that the social work Carol would believe me, but she didn’t. My stepmom Janice didn’t talk to me because she didn’t believe me, and she was mad that I told the social worker.
That was the only time the fucker ever touched me because I threatened to tell the police of the rape and all of the information I have on his drug dealings with his friends.
That kept him away from me until I moved out right before graduating from high school.
