​To Mom

You worked a lot when I was little, three kids, single mom, barely at home. It wasn’t your fault, you not taking money for child support was your fault though. Maybe, it would have been a slightly better up bringing if you were actually around. Then maybe, just maybe my life would be different.

I remember the baby sitter. I remember her weird ass creepy husband that walked in the bathroom while I was taking a bath; at least he had the decency to close the curtain while taking a piss. I remember the belt, L hitting us into submission until we fell asleep. Us crying everytime we just had to be watched by her. God, she was such a cunt.

Unfortunately, I didn’t block as much out as I’ve hoped. L’s youngest was touching me. One time, I was underneath his desk while his older brother walked in asking where I was, of course, E told him. S said something along the lines of dude you have to stop this shit; he didn’t listen accordingly.

I thought it was love. I thought we were boyfriend and girlfriend. Being the youngest out of your daughters, him being the younger brother, I thought it was fine. We were eight years apart.

Honestly, I think his mom knew. Vaguely, I remember her getting me out from underneath the desk one time, who knows. Maybe, I’m just remembering things wrong. What I do remember is Es friend. I dont even remember his name. He was on the bigger side, I think he had a crush on me. I hated him. We were all on a pull out mattress. E was laughing; saying I’ll do whatever he wanted while I’m under the covers. After I was done with E, he wanted me to do it on his friend, when I didn’t want to, he forced my head down. I turned my cheek though, he was pressed up on my face acting like I was doing it. I didn’t feel so good after that time. That gross pit in your stomach feeling. That cold sweat. I’m glad you fired her. Only because you saw with your own eyes that she made us stay outside all day to the point of sunburn in 90 degrees so she can clean the house. But, no worries, it’s fine.

When you got that boyfriend like three years later, you were starstruck with lust. J was okay at first, until he started urging you to beat us due to our bad grades on Halloween. Being all dramatic, packing his bag, saying he’s leaving, making us cry. It was our fault that you didn’t hit us, therefore he was breaking up with you. It’s all just so fucking laughable. Then, we got all dressed up for trick’r’treating, J took our pictures. I’ll never forget the look on our faces. That’s when the pictures started.

Thinking back now, I don’t remember a lot about this stage in my life. Yet, I remember the pictures. J became your free, live in babysitter at this point. You worked nine to eleven, sometimes even twelve. You were so fucking predictable. Just hand them off to anyone, as long as they’re breathing at the end of your shift, am I right?

Ponytails, skirts, cute shirts. Posing, smiling, thinking she and I were fucking models. You really didn’t notice all those fucking pictures of us. Hundreds. J had two phones, one especially for bootleg kiddy porn that was probably being sold on the internet or just for his own guilty pleasures. A computer with files of pictures of us in a bunch of different cloths. Are you really that dense? You wanted love so badly that you blatantly walked blind; selfishly gliding through that point in time for your own enjoyment.

Do you remember the night I woke up when us two shared a room? J hovering over her, lifting up the blanket while she was wearing a skirt; I could see her underwear. Snapping photos with his bright ass flash illuminating the dark room with the hallway light on. While realizing what he’s doing, I asked, “What are you doing?” J said he dropped something; the thought came to mind but how did you drop something in her bed? Because you were hovering over her fucking bed in the first place. Waking up to that didn’t even startle him. Yet, I recall I told you the next day; why would I lie? You looked through his phone, when nothing came you shrugged it off. Maybe because you thought I was lying or maybe because you thought you had something good to hold onto. Something bigger than just us.

Sitting on his lap with only his boxers on, biting his lip while his erection pressed up against me, rocking back and forth. Multiple face kisses, forced cuddles, to the point of crying. Thanking my brain daily that I blocked a lot out. Sometimes, I’d rather know everything though. I don’t think there was any penatration with me at least, so it couldn’t have been that bad, almost like it didn’t happen. Isn’t that right, Mom?

It pisses me the fuck off that I’m even typing this out.

After you guys broke up, in seventh grade, when I told our friends mom how shit was weird with him so she called the cops, do you remember? You were mad because Js sister called you freaking out that some detectives got ahold of him saying we were touched on. Saying we were tweaking, we were crazy, blah fucking BLAH. The detectives got ahold of you and wanted to interview us. Picking us up from school, yelling at us, while making you look bad; because you care so fucking much about everyone else’s opinion, more than your own kids safety. Telling us to lie. My own sister had to remind me of that recently, I remember you being mad but telling us to lie? You’re so fucking bold. Fuck you.

I’ll write part two later, this is pissing me off.