A Past To Forget...A seven year old prostitute

Suprise

THIS CHAPTER BELONGS TOOOOOO: Literature22 it does NOT belong to ME

(btw this is a really good chapter and i am fully jealous of her)

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Even passed out, I knew this was a dream. Nothing like this could ever happen, nor would it ever happen. Did I want it to happen? More then you know. But I enjoyed the sweet moments of Heaven for a while, just playing along.

"Mommy!" I screamed as I ran to the kitchen where my mother was, making my lunch for tomorrow.

She was beautiful; she had short cropped blonde hair that was spiked without and flaws, every hair into aptness, her white skin glowed in the bright sunshine that filtered through the clean windows as she flitted around in a short summer dress. She smiled at me and held open her arms as I ran to her, jumping in them. Then she twirled me around, kissing me all over. I giggled uncontrollably until suddenly, my dream became a nightmare. The lights faded and the woman who was my mommy turned into an evil man. He grinned, his teeth slightly black and he was dirty. He roughly stripped me down to my underwear and started kissing me all over before feeling me, touching everything that was me. This guy was just another raper. I looked up to the ceiling and screamed a blood curdling scream.

* * *

I didn't recognize my dusty room for moment, still caught up in my nightmare as I sat straight up in bed. I quickly checked myself, throwing off the covers to make sure I had my clothes on myself. I sighed in relief as I saw they were more than enough on; plastered to my skin by all the sweat that was pouring off me. I took several deep breaths to calm myself, I was starting to hyperventilate. The scene was so real and I felt a coolness drip down my hot cheeks and onto the tip of my nose before realizing I was crying. But how would you feel if you had nightmares about being raped at night and then actually being raped in the daytime?

I climbed out of my make-shift bed and onto the cold floor and hovered by the door, looking back at my bed. All it was was a thin mattress on the hard floor with a few old sheets. I shivered delicately, it was cold up in the attic. Then I looked back at the door, was my Mum asleep? She demanded I stay in my room at night, never to get up and roam around the house when she was asleep. I asked her what if I had to go to the bathroom and she thrust an old can in my hands and told me to go in that or squeeze and waddle.

But why didn't she want me downstairs? Was she hiding something? Or did she think I hated her so much I would kill her in her sleep? I shook my head, frowning. Maybe I did hate her enough to do that. But then I took that back, no, I didn't want my Mum to die.... Did I?

I looked at the door doubtfully, should I go downstairs and risk being caught if I was to peek at myself in the mirror downstairs? The damage was bad, I could feel it as I rotated my shoulders and hissed at the pain. I decided I needed to see it, it felt badly. But as I opened the door it creaked loudly, echoing in the dark house. I paused, holding my breath and biting my lip as I looked in the pitch black hallway, thinking I would see Mommy pop in front of me, the moonlight illuminating her dark features and she would torture me. I shuddered; did I really want to do this? I glanced back at my room and then looked at my hands which were swollen with black and blue marks all over them and deep scratches. Yes, I did.

I quietly took my first step, still holding my breath. Her room was a little ways down and I could hear her snoring softly. I clenched my tiny fists, my nails digging in my palms and took a few more steps, trying to be as quiet as a mouse. I didn't pause as I quietly tiptoed past her door and down the first step. It didn't creak, thank God, but as I stepped on the second one, I forgot to step on the side of the stair and it creaked. I paused, shutting my eyes tight. Please don't wake Mummy up, please don't wake up, I repeated in my head over and over. I opened them after I counted to thirty seconds and took the next step cautiously, being extra careful to step on the side of the stair where it didn't creak, not in the middle.

I mentally congratulated myself as I made it down all the stairs. Yes! I made it! But as I stopped for a second, I heard squeaks upstairs and paused, gasping quietly. I listened, straining my ears to hear if Mummy had woken up. I didn't hear anything else but my imagination of long breaths up the stairs. I started to get scared and crept quietly to the bathroom before closing the door and turning on the old light. Then I looked in the mirror and couldn't help but gasp loudly at what I saw.

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You know how in the hot heat they say you have mirages? Well I think I was having one of those, though I wasn't in any heat except the sweat from my nightmare which I would have gladly took over this image of me in the mirror. Scratches ran down the right side of my face, cut deep and white with puss. My hands were swollen and purple. Deep bruises ran down my tiny, fragile body where men gripped me too hard or where I have been abused. My eyes were bloodshot and my hair a wreck. My face was the worst part, the place I landed when I got tackled to the ground by my Mum. My nose was purple and when I touched it lightly, tears swam in my eyes. I think I broke it. Besides that, the scratches, and my bloodshot eyes I just had brush burns or bruises. No wonder Mummy didn't take the offer to ride me to the hospital, the doctors would have seen the damage and knew immediately something was going on in the household and would have questioned.

There would have to be something done about my nose, it would grow in crooked and look horrible. But how would I straighten it? I looked away, from the mirror then, I couldn't look at my horrid reflection a second longer or stand to think about straightening my nose back out. So I quietly shut off the light, and opened the door softly. But I didn't see the figure standing outside the doorway because my eyes were still adjusting to the dark.

"Like your image?" A familiar voice slithered to my ear drums like acid, tearing my ears apart piece by piece. I screamed.