Home isn't always where you live

I sit on the floor, wiping blood from my nose, more pain. It's broken. My nose and three ribs are broken. Again. My mouth burns, I can't breathe, my eyes are on fire. Cayenne pepper. My aunt put it in my eyes, nose, and mouth. Sharp pain across my mouth. A smack. They always tell you that family is blood and more, but that isn't the truth in my case. My family aren't related to me at all. Thud. Pain in ny left shoulder. My shoulder blade snapped off a rib. A chip in my vertebrae. My wrist dislocated. Pain. My mother, Samantha, has twisted my wrist, shoving me to the ground. I open my mouth to speak, no words are said.

"Speak, damn it!" Samantha yells, slapping my face again as my aunt, Lisa, shoves more Cayenne pepper in my face. Sting. Burn. Pain. No words. Silence from me, not even my breaths are heard. I cant talk. No noises. It isn't that I cant talk, I can. But I have terrible anxiety. It makes me mute sometimes. Afraid. Before the Cayenne pepper and smacking, I was outside, trying to fall asleep on a chair because I'm not allowed to be in a room alone. I was kicked out of the chair because it isn't mine. I lied on the sidewalk just outside the property line. I was mad. I was being forced to put on a shirt when I was in my room. In the comfort of my own area. I have heat flashes that will send me into heat stroke, possibly cause death. My uncle, Jeff, walked into the room, told me to put a shirt on, but I couldn't, I dont have tank tops or T-shirts. I own black long sleeve shirts, not good for summer. Jeff threw a shirt at me and made me put it on, a long sleeve shirt. I was told I could sleep outside, so I went outside and lied in a chair, Lisa looked at me and said "That's my chair, get the fuck out if it. Now."

I listened and lied on the sidewalk, Jeff and Lisa then told me to get inside, because we live in Flint and it "isn't safe" but I know the truth. They don't want the public to see what happens behind closed doors. Jeff grabbed my shirt and bra, pulling it off my chest so I shielded myself with my arms. He hit me. They called the cops, told them they wanted somebody to watch so I wouldn't tell CPS. Jeff and Lisa carried me inside, Lisa holding my legs and Jeff holding my upper body. His hands were at the edge of my breasts, squeezing subtly, but I knew, I felt it. They finally got me inside, the cops telling my grandmother, Sandra, that they would tell CPS that if I mention it, to ignore me because it was lie. But who believes a 13-year-old over the adult cops? Nobody.