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"Can we talk about Shannade, Sire?"
I rolled my eyes and sunk into the chair.
"She was an abusive bitch who made it clear she never wanted me from jump cuz I was the result of her assault. She turned around and assaulted me and shared with her friends." I looked him dead in his eyes. "That summary enough for you?"
He placed his clipboard in his lap with a sigh.
"You have to confront how you feel about these things Sire. Or the cycle of abuse will only continue, you're doing the same thing with Alexis. She didn't ask for any of this."
"Neither did I."
"And that's neither of your faults." He paused. "What can you tell me about your mother and father's relationship?"
I sat silent for a minute, not really wanting to discuss this anymore. But I knew I had to finish these sessions or I'd be violating my parole.
"I ain't know much. He abused her, raped her. Left her. Came back once or twice when I was a baby, never heard from him again."
He wrote in his notepad and I eyed him annoyingly. What could he possibly be taking notes on? Severe child trauma 101?
"So you were—"
"An accident. A mistake. A reminder of him." I finished his sentence.
"And why do you think your mother treated you the way she did?"
"She couldn't get even with him, she had to get her anger out on somebody."
"But you were her child."
I laughed. "On paper, by blood. Anything above that...." I paused. "listen, bitch didn't care if I starved, she didn't care if I got to school, she didn't care where I slept. She locked me in closets, beat me, reassured me constantly that I was the worse thing that ever happened to her."
I twiddled my fingers and smirked. "Sometimes she'd be extra nice to me. I thought maybe she did like me, I knew she ain't love me and she never would, but I thought maybe she liked me."
"And what happened those times?"
"She'd be all over me. Apologizing and saying that she "doesn't mean to hurt me that's just the way things have to be." That it was Balance. Every time she was nice to me the day always ended with her feeling me up inappropriately. She'd call me her "sweet boy" I'd cry, she'd get mad, lock me in a closet. I learned pretty quickly not to trust her."
"How far back can you remember those times?"
I chewed my lip and shrugged. "Furthest I can remember, I was 4. By time I turned 6, she was selling me off."
