Dancer with a Broken Wing

"Please don't make me do it," I plead with my step-father Nick. He wanted me to sleep with him again, but I was only 15.

"You know I won't hurt you Ky," he murmured calmly brushing my hair away from my face. I hated it when he called me Ky and played with my hair. It made me feel special when he did it. Every time. Finally I caved; something told me it was wrong, but at least it made me feel good. Kinda...

You're probably wondering how I got myself into this situation. Well, this isn't the first time I've been alone in my bedroom with my step-father. It all started a year ago two months after my mom got remarried to Nick Gonzalez --

Wait. you know what I should probably go back a little first.

My name is Kyri Addalia Naysha Johnson-Gonzalez. I know' it's a mouthful, but you'll get use to it. Since I was a little girl I wanted to be a ballerina, one who everyone knew and always picked to be the lead in each ballet. Unfortunately, since my father died when I was ten, I've become the very opposite. I was a nobody to everyone, even to my mother, and I was always picked to be something stupid like a tree or a rock. Obviously, that kinda pushed my self-confidence down. A lot.

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Nick left me alone in my room when he was done with me. I roll over and stare at my pillow where my head had indented. It was the fifty-ninth time he'd come in here to do me. One day, it will hopefully stop.