We ate in silence, not daring to look at one another. The whole time my body was on edge, was I really that excited to know what happened to this kid? Fuck did I really want to know? I mean when I found him it was pretty obvious what had happened but was there more? And what did he mean by its a long story? And who the fuck is Brad? Was it his father? Did he have like a boyfriend or something? A brother? Who the hell was he? I couldn’t handle the silence anymore, it was literally driving me crazy. Setting my plate down, I finally had the balls to look up at the dark haired teen. He sat there biting his nails and staring straight foreword at the wall, lost in his own thoughts.
“Billie, I think we should talk now.” He jumped slightly as he came back to reality, blinking slowly.
“Um y-yeah I guess, but just try not to interrupt me or ask questions because I don’t think i'd be able to get through this.” I nodded slowly, seeing Tre do the same. He sighed again, mentally preparing himself.
“Okay, it all started when I was 10. My dad, he was my best friend my only friend. He was the only one I could go to if I had a problem, or if I just wanted someone to talk to. Well when I was 10 he died of esophagus cancer. I was devastated, so were my brothers and sisters. My mother on the other hand seemed to pretend it never happened. She went out every night drinking and partying, leaving us to take car of ourselves. I was the youngest out of the family, the only one still dependent of my mother. My brothers and sisters were old enough to manage on their own and when I was 12 they had all left. By 13 my mom meet a guy named brad, I hated him. He drank, and fought, and treated me like shit. He even treated my mother like she was nothing more than trash. I don’t know why she even stayed with him but a year later they were married. Two weeks later was the first time he hit me. I tried telling my mother but she didn’t believe me. She would tell me that I needed to stop lying, and learn to get along with brad. Every night it was the same routine. My mom would go to work, I would be in my room when brad would come home usually drunk. He would tell me im worthless and a failure at life. He would ask why I didn’t just kill myself, my mother would be so much better if I did. I would call him a drunk moron, and tell him to leave me alone. He would get mad and punch me in the face. After a while he got smart and started kicking me instead. My mother asked less questions when there were no visible marks. I tried fighting back but I only ended up hurting myself more. This went on until I was 17. by then I had saved every penny and was moving out. I had gone back home to say goodbye to my mother and possibly give brad a piece of my mind but I never got the chance. Usually when my mother wasn’t working she was either in the kitchen or in the den, but when I got home that day she wasn’t there. I went in her room, hoping she was in there when I saw him. A bloody knife clutched in one hand and a clump of my mothers hair in the other. I think I tried to scream but I just ended up vomiting. He turned around just like in the horror movies, a grin on his face. I tried to run but I couldn’t. The knife was against my throat before I had the chance. Turns out, brad was a greedy bastard and took a life insurance policy out on my mother when they got married. Now that she was dead he could get the money. But he was more that just greedy, he was a sick fucker. A shock collar was wrapped around my neck and I was forced to live in a closet. Every night he would use me for whatever sick plot he had, being used as his sex puppet or sometimes he would have his friends come over so they could use me. Its not like I could do anything about it. If I even tried to speak the collar would sense the vibrations of my throat and send a shock of electricity through me. But I was so lucky, this specific shock collar had a small glitch in it. Anytime a phone would ring, a shock would once again course through my body. Sometimes if I was too quiet in my closet he would hit a button until I screamed, inevitably shocking myself. He would starve me out for weeks, giving me only small sips of water just to barely keep me alive. I often wondered if maybe I tossed the water on the shock collar would it electrocute me and finally end this torture. I honestly cant believe I lived like that for two years. The other night when he was chaining me back into the closet, he was drunk, like always, he forgot to lock one of my hands. After he left I worked all night trying to loop my hands around the chain just right. By morning, when he came back for his usual fuck, the door swung open letting me swing my arm out. Gravity took over from there by wrapping the chain around his neck and pulling on it tightly. He dropped to the ground just close enough for me to grab the keys from his pockets and undo to collar and shackles. I had no clue if he was dead or if he just passed out, but I wasn’t going to check. Running was out of the question because I could hardly walk. I had lost so much muscle tone and weight do to being locked up. The best I could do was crawl. The few times I tried to stand and walked resulted in my sprained ankle. In two years I had forgotten how the town looked and therefore gotten lost pretty quickly. I found an ally and stayed there to hide, but after the adrenaline wears of, I was left sitting there, freezing and in horrible pain. Before you found me, I was searching for something just to end it all. But you found me first.”
Well, ill be damned if all three of us weren’t crying like children by the end of his story.
