coffee shop. (COMPLETE)

chapter eighteen.

"hope it don't get here before i get where i'm going
i gotta get where i'm going
take off my mask to breathe"
(fire bomb by rihanna)

Naila Brathwaite.
September 23, 2001.
Albuquerque, New Mexico.

☕️🍂

"Babygirl, come here," Ronald said in a sing-song type of tone. Those three words stopped me in my tracks as I was finishing my last bit of homework. Do I do the smart thing and stay here and ignore him, risking so much in the process, or do I go out there and comply with what I had been going through for months? It was a lose-lose situation for me because they always ended up winning in the end. Whatever sick, twisted vendetta they had against me had been tormenting me since I could throughly remember things. Instead of staying in this hole of a room, I said the silent prayer to myself that I had been for years and walked out the door, shutting it behind me.

Hearing my feet patter along the hardwood floors of our two-story house that was definitely no longer a home, my heart rate steadily began to pick up the closer I neared to the room. The door was already wide open as I could tell from the sun shining through the window. If I could turn around and run, where to I wasn't sure, believe me I would. Unfortunately I was within earshot of the room and if he heard me running, I had absolutely no idea what would happen afterward and I didn't want to find out. I knew him and those two were in there, impatiently waiting for my arrival so they could get their sick thrill off of molesting a 9 year old girl. For me being my age I had a clear and mature understanding of what was going on and why it was so bad. Why these three men hated me, absolutely despised everything about my every being was something I don't think I'd ever come to understand.

Coming to the threshold of the door I took one final deep breath before stepping in. All three pairs of eyes were staring at me with that devilish glare, like lions when a person was thrown into their den. My 4 foot 8 frame greatly dwarfed those of the men who were all at least 6 feet. Predators were what they were to me instead of being my father and stepbrothers. The man who had a pivotal role in my creation was subjecting me to pain, pain that he probably enjoyed more than they did but deep down he knew he was too much of a bitch to do it himself. The physical pain that I felt afterwards wasn't even the worse part. The sore legs, tender bruises and marks all over my body didn't bother me much because I knew eventually those would go away, but what was much more troubling was the emotional scars that ensued every time. The hushed voices, perverted looks and secrets that just hung in the air made living nearly unbearable.

My feet were stuck to the floor as all three of them stared me down like a pack of hungry dogs. If my heart and head could coordinate I would've turned around and ran till my legs gave out but every single time the thought even came to my head, it was cast away by pure fear. I feared him, I feared all of them and that was the last thing I wanted to admit.

Taking my smaller hand in his rough and much larger one, my "father" led me to the bed where those two were sitting, staring at me with forced and fake smiles. I felt as if my heart was about to exploded out of my chest, and one would think after years of torment you would get used to it but in reality the exact opposite was happening. The more it happened the more it hurt, the more it made me feel like this was all I was meant for.

Stripping my clothes off piece by piece, garment by garment, I felt the familiar stinging of tears come amongst me as their cold and dry hands ran up and down my body. Acting suddenly on impulse I screamed, screamed as loud as I could because even I knew one of these days I was bound to explode and today would be that day. I screamed for my mom, hoping she would hear me someway although I know she was miles away at work. The pure anger and frustration I saw in the eyes of the only man who was supposed to protect me made me want to crawl in a hole and die, but my heart couldn't connect with my brain enough for me to stop my screaming. Their muffled voices barely even registered to me but the only thing I heard loud and clear was the unbuckling of his belt, instead of one of theirs.