They knew I was dad's favorite. They just didn’t know why, or at least that’s how they played it.
How likely is it really that my sister couldn’t hear me cry in the bunk below her? All he did was shove my face into the pillow.
How did my mom not hear him hissing into my ear to stay quiet in the living room, right before waking her up to discipline me for waking up ‘too late’ to go pee?
How did my vampire of a brother never hear as he would tell me how to clean my body in the shower, in the bathroom, right next to his bedroom?
“Daddy’s Little Girl”.
The title they gave me from the day I was born. Shouldn’t people know by these days, a title like that would just fuck a kid up and lead them into misery and failure?
Well, maybe they just didn’t even care.
My mother admitted to me once that I was born for my father. I was born to be his toy. During her pregnancy with me, my mother was very sick. It was right within her reach just abort me, especially after her last pregnancy was a miscarriage.
But she didn’t.
They made a deal.
Whether or not my mother was totally aware what she was doing at the time, I don’t know.
But the deal was 1 for 3. My father could have me for whatever is hard desired, and he would stop yelling, at and hitting, my mother and siblings.
I was just fetus. Barely even a life. Why wouldn’t she treasure the safety of herself and her living kids over me?
I’ve never held it against her, no matter how badly I wanted to.
I don’t believe that at that time she knew what a monster she was really married to.
But that was one of the first truths about the world I had to learn.