I Know Your Secret

Home Sweet Home

The moment I walk through the door to the hell hole, my instinct tells me that something is wrong. I fight the urge to resist whatever is about to occur and instead continue inside the house as if I'm completely clueless. I know my mothers and siblings are lingering around somewhere. Most likely waiting to catch me at my worst moment before they start with their onslaught of delusional and erratic thoughts.                                                                                                                                                                      I make sure to slump my shoulders and put my arm around my stomach in an attempt to look weaker. My life is like one big play, with me being the side character that suffers for the protagonists to stand out. But this is about ensuring my survival. I know I have to look meek and pathetic to my family, or else they'll do more harm to me than usual.                  

 On the rare occasions that I tried to show disobedience or voice my own onions, I was left nearly dead. at age twelve, I wanted to be treated fairly. Knowing the abuse isn't what families do to show care or concern. after my supposed disrespect to my mothers, they drowned me over and over again until I had finally passed out. by the time I woke up soaking wet and freezing cold, I realized they had hog tied me and threw me into the basement's deep freezer for three days.

 That was when it finally clicked. This was not my family, and I wasn't theirs either. After that day, they began to find the most creative ways of torture for me. After each punishment I'd receive, another chink of my heart would harden. As if realizing that I stood no chance to have a happy life with a happy family. They had officially forced my hope to rock bottom. Leaving behind an ever-growing hatred for them all. 

I clear my thoughts as I make my way to my bedroom. Knowing to keep my guard up mentally. I toss my school bag down on the makeshift bed that lays on the floor. I glance around my room, looking for signs of anything being moved or snooped through. Those mothers of mine used to love reading my diary and laughing at my most heartfelt feelings or punishing me if it was something about disagreeing with my punishments.  

Eventually I started coding my diary with my personally made-up language. It consisted of 26 symbols that each individually represent one of the English alphabetical letters. But even knowing that, it would be difficult to decipher even a sentence. Because each word is written backward and with its opposite lettering. Such as A being Z or B to Y etcetera.  

After seeing no signs of someone being in the room, I quickly change into something more comfortable and hurry to put SkinStitch glue onto the knife wound I had received earlier. I finished not a second too soon, as I hear the thuds of feet coming down the hallway towards my bedroom. I quickly go to my furthest wall from the door, put my head down and hold my hands together with a slouch to my shoulders. 

 This position shows my submission. Which this family loves. They get some sick kick out of having complete control over my every action and even my life. As much as I wish I could go on a rampage, I also know that I cannot risk making my situation any worse than it already is. If I didn't have a tracking device embedded into my body, I would have already escaped years ago. 

 Which is probably why they put it there in the first place. It is an unfortunate problem, one that I can't solve on my own yet. Hell, if I could dig it out on my own, you bet my ass that I would have done that by now too. But unfortunately, the location is somewhere between my shoulder blades. And I don't even know its precise location other than that either.

''How DARE you go out to fuck men all day!"  Jane screams as she slams my door open and stomping into the room. "You Ungrateful whore! While we bust our asses to provide you with food to eat and a roof over your head, all you do is think about your next FUCK!"