Bad place

Bad place called home

"You know that feeling when you realice something's not right but you can't do anything to fix it?I've felt like that since I was five years old.

Everything was okay the first few years of my life, they weren't perfect but I had a loving family, a roof over my head and food on the table. My mother was a maid in some rich familys' house. I learned years later they treated her like crap, except for Andrew, the misses' son. But he was only seven and my mum practically raised the kid. My father was a bar tender and a waiter in two different pubs so we didn't see him much. Still, my parents were always there for me when I needed them to and we loved each other.

But when I was five my father was murdered in a robbery gone wrong in one of the bars he worked in. We were devastated.

The weeks passed and we couldn't aford our rent anymore just with my mums paychecks and her bosses rejected giving her a raise and ignored her begs.

We didn't know what to do, the landlord started threatening to kick us out, but one night, a few months before my sixth birthday, my mother went to explain our situation after setteling me in bed. I couln't sleep that night. Not because my mum didn't come back, it's because when she did come back she was a wreck, crying her eyes out, unbottonned shirt, skirt on bakwards and panties in hand. At the time I just assumed she fell, don't judge I was five.

So three years passed and my mum married our landlord, nasty fellow called Shane, balled and leaning dangerously on the chubby side, he lived with us more less eighty percent of the time while in the other twenty he disappiered into his own apartment. I didn't mind him really, the only two things that bothered me were his smell and the mess he made.

The problems began a few months after my ninth birthday. It was winter and there was snow covering the street and trees. I really liked the snow days back then, not only because I missed school but also because it reminded me of my dad. It was a Friday, which ment I had school but since it snowed the private school I atended, wich was paid by my mums bosses, was closed.

I spent the entire day playing in the snow at the house my mother worked in,since I had to go with her because Shane couldn't be bothered to take care of me for a few hours.  Andrew, my mums bosses' son, played with me and he was suprisingly nice, considering his demon like parents. After that day we became friends.

When we made it home, way after dark, Shane was waiting for us, drunk.

He went on and on about how the dinner wasn't ready, then he started saying the house was a mess. After a few minutes of him screaming his lungs out at my us he took a deep breath and I yawned. The first thing I felt was my mum tensing noticeably and then came the sting, Shane hit me for the first time sixteenth of December 2006, Shane raped me for the first time fourth of August 2009 and he hasn't stoped since.

Now I'm ninteen years old but I can't leave, my mum's still here and we don't have money, so we're trapped.

Until today, the day I die.

I'm sorry mum, I'm sorry Drewy, I gave up but I want you to know I lovw you two so much. And Shane I hope you rout to death and then you rout in hell you son of a bitch."

This letter was read by Henry Jensen, homicide investigator,for the NYPD, two days after Abigail Simons was found dead. It was a suicide.