What do you call a 17 year old girl who's been through more trials and tribulations than the average person but still appears happy? Destroyed? Broken? Misused? Abused? Distraught?
After the loss of her parents in an accident, the loss of her grandparents in a tragic fire a year later, and the abuse by her uncle, Draya stands alone.
She seems happy, yet she's so misunderstood.
No one knows the real Draya Ramirez.
She doesn't let her guard down for anyone. When will she finally let go of all the emotions that she has bottled up? When will somebody see her for the real her?
18, young, talented, and caught up with the crowd. August doesnt know where he belongs, so he just goes with the flow of things.
He refuses to admit his emotions, and keeps himself guarded. Dealing with the loss of his brother, will August make it out and do better? Do what his brother wanted him to do and make something of himself?
Nobody knows. Only August can do better for August.
Draya.
"Wake up bitch!" I jumped at my uncle's voice booming throughout my bedroom.
After losing the people closest to me, I had no choice but to go stay with this man.
I don't even know how he can consider himself a man. He's the same man that promised that he'd take care of me, that promised he'd be there for me. The same man who stole my innocence and beats me like I'm a personal punching bag.
And what makes it worse is the fact that he tries to cover it up with the things he buys me. Cars, clothes, shoes, jewelry. Basically anything he thinks will keep me from spilling all his dirty little secrets.
Torian Ramirez, successful lawyer, rapist and abuser on the low. My uncle has no kids, no wife, but he has me. His own personal sex slave, his personal punching bag. Nobody knows about what goes on inside this luxurious estate, but he and I. I have no one to turn to, no one to talk to. No one.
"Bitch, I said get up!" He yells as he storms over to me and pulls me by my hair out of my bed. Not giving a damn about the fact that I'm on the floor.
Tears welled up in my eyes, threatening to pour over at any given moment.
He released his grip on my hair and dug into his pocket. He dropped a roll of money in front of me and walked out, slamming my door behind him.
As soon as I was sure he was long gone, I gathered myself and ran to my bathroom.
I've learned to not say anything back to him when he calls me out of my name. When I used to, it only worsened my situation.
I turned on my shower and stripped out of my pajamas. When the water's temperature reached my likings, I stepped in. As soon as the water touched my skin, it seemed as if the tears from a moment ago released themselves. I broke down with my back against the wall, literally.
What am I? Who am I? I brought myself to believe that I have no purpose in this world, that I won't amount to anything.
I ceased my tears, and proceeded to shower. I got out and stared at my reflection in my shattered mirror. I broke this a while back after one of my brutal beatings. I cocked my head to the side and just stared at this figure in the broken glass.
This isn't me.
August.
"August.. August, get up and get dressed. Now."
"Aight, man." I groaned as I sat up.
I been dreadin' 'dis whole school scene since I los' my brudda. Niggas act like dats some shit you supposed ta just mourn ova and den let go of. Mel was not only my big brudda, but he was my role model. He was thea fa' me, and I was thea' fa him.
He always tol' me dat I had a voice on me, and dat I should do some wit it. Dat's a dream I ain't fuckin' wit'. Right na', I'm jus' livin', hustlin', tryna make a way fa my niggas.
I got up and went across the hall to the bathroom to start my hygiene shit. Not even two minutes into brushing my teeth, my phone started ringing.
"Hol'up." I mumbled as I went back to the bathroom. I finished brushin' my teeth befa' picking up da phone again. "Yo."
"Yung, swang thru on ya way."
"Aight, man. That mean be ready, too. Y'all be movin' like da world revolve around y'all."
"Aight nigga, one." He spoke then hung up. My niggas Sneak and Rod need a ride, so I got em. I finished up my bid'ness and went ta get ready ta go.
- - -
"Come da fuck on, I tol' y'all ta be ready. Not get ready when I pull up." These niggas be movin' like fuckin' turtles. They my niggas, but they need help.
I was somewhat relieved when they finally brought their asses out the house.
"Bout fuckin' time, shit."
"Yung, you actin like you go to ya first class anyway."
"Dat's beside da point. When ya ask fa a ride, you supposed ta be on time, not on CP time." We all busted out laughing. Black people ain't ever on time. Not even to save their life.
We rode da rest of da way ta school laughin' and crackin' jokes.
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Wooooo, I'm finally getting around to editing this.
