Alana Brookes is a 13 year old girl who's been in the foster care system for 8 years. She had a single mother who tragically died in a car crash. As Alana has grown up, her mental health had hit rock bottom, leaving the girl covered in scars and pra...
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❝ Trying to find a part of me that you didn't touch ❞
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Alana's pov:
"You look so pretty tonight baby," My foster dad said, his eyes staring at me as we sat across from eachother at the dinner table. He had forced 9 year old me into a tight, short dress, practically putting me of display for him and his sons. I gave him a small forced smile and continued to push the food around on the plate, I didn't need the number to go up on the scale. At this home, I had a weekly weigh in, and if the number had gone up, stayed the same, or not gone down far enough I was shoved into a corner and beat. I've spent so hours in that cold corner that I've practically stained the walls with tears.
"Why don't you come over here and sit on my lap while I eat, you are starting to look thinner. Maybe don't eat this tonight baby, keep up the good progress, yeah?" He said again, his suggestions being commands which I followed closely and quickly. I stood from the chair and walked to his, doing as he said as I say on his lap. I held my breath and avoided eye contact with the dark haired man as much as possible, begging that someone would save me, but I knew no one would.
He placed his hand on my knee, slowly making his way up my thigh as he whispered extremely inappropriate things into my ear. I tensed up after each word, his warm breath on my shoulder. It was moments like these where I wish my mum was still alive, I didn't remember her much, but she had to be better than this. I dug my nails firmly into my palms, creating some sort of distraction from this moment, the man still whispering things into my ear but I continued to ignore him.
He finished up his food and gently pushed me from his knee, us both leaving the table. He grabbed my hand into his and guided me down the hall to his bedroom. I followed, knowing what was next. I had been holding my breath the whole time I had been with him, his eyes tracing over my body at every moment. I didn't want what was happening next.
We reached the door way of his room and I stopped, my two feet sticking to the wooden floor as he gave me a slight tug to move. He turned to me, his face already seeming to have a slight wash of rage, "C'mon baby, you'll enjoy it." He said, his grip tightening on my frail hand. I stared at him for a moment before shaking my head softly, "No, no. I don't want to. Please don't make me." I begged, my voice not very loud out of fear. This was the first time I had the courage in me to say no, the first time I had decided that I didn't want to live like this anymore. So although I wasn't very confident in this moment, it was a big step.
The man before me looked as though steam was about to fly out of his ears as he bubbled with anger at my opposition to his request. "What do you mean, no?" He asked, fury very clear in his voice as he neared me, making me back up closer to the wall. He kept coming closer and I kept backing up until my back hit the wall. He placed his large hand a few centimetres from my head and stared into my eyes. "I'm sorry," I said, petrified of what was about to happen. "Sorry doesn't cut it you bitch." He roared before putting his hand in a fist....
