I didn't go to sleep after last night. I have to figure out a way to get out this bathroom and after staying up all night, i have not one idea. He might still be sleeping because it's only 5 a.m. but when he doesn't get his way, he gets very unpredictable. He might be waiting outside the door as we speak. As a matter of fact, I know he is. That's why I have to do the only thing I know how to do......... fight back. Through every beating, every time he came into my room late at night to "play", every time he said disgusting, untrue things about my mother, I fought back. Even if it caused him to hit harder, "play" harder, speak of my mother more offensively, i still never backed down. I refused to "lay down and take it" like he continuously demanded. I was born a fighter. And I'll stay a fighter until the day HE dies. Hopefully that day will come sooner than later. Oh, you wanna know who He is? He is my Foster father. His name is Leslie Young. Leslie................ a name fit for a bitch. (No offense. That's just Jordan's opinion.) He wont let anyone call him Leslie, though. To his friends, he is Les and to his 10 other foster children, he is Papa Les. But for me...... I'm forced to call him Big Daddy. He's always had a thing for me. Ever since the day i stepped foot in his house. It's just how he looked at me. My case worker must have been dumber than a box of rocks or just didn't care about me if she couldn't see the lust in his eyes when he looked at me. I could recognize him for the pervert he was and I was only 12. How couldn't she see what was right in front of her face? I don't even see that women anymore. She probably for got about me. Oh well, none of that matters anymore.
I climbed out of the bath tub and slowly crept to the door. If he was outside, I didn't want him to know that i was awake yet. I peeked throught the key hole and saw nothing but the other side of the hallway. I was scared to open the door but i had to. I couldn't let myself be a prisoner any longer. I took a deep breath and flung open the door. I stepped out and looked around. The hall was empty. Not a soul in sight. I breathed a sigh of relief. He must be sleeping in his room. I quickly ran to my room and locked the door behind me. When i turned around, he was sitting in a chair in the corner of my room. This was it. I was going to be beaten yet again. I stood still, waiting for him to do something ---- anything---- but he never did. I looked closer at his face.
He was sleeping.
I was again, relieved and thanked God for being nice to me today. I slowly made my way over to my dresser and pulled out my school clothes then left the room. I went inside the bathroom and showered, brushed my teeth, changed my clothes and combed my unruly hair. I stared at my reflection in the mirror.
I have light brown skin with freckles and I'm tall, about 5'9", with a small waist but big chest and even bigger behind, though you wouldn't be able to tell because I hide it by wearing baggy clothes. My hair is long and brownish black and i have long eyelashes. I have blue eyes. Yes I know, shocking that a black girl, who isn't bi-racial, has blue eyes. But we do exsist. If you don't believe me, google it. I look a little bit older than my age. Even though I'm 17, I could pass for 19 or, on a good day, 21. I use it to my advantage when I'm at work. I work in a bar/strip club called The Naked Truth. The owner, Gino, knows how old I am but no one else that works there does, because one, he doesn't want to get in trouble for hiring a minor and two, I'm his best employee. I don't dance, I bartend, but seein as how I look better than majority of the strippers, customers pay more attention to the bar area than the stage. This causes me to get more tips and customers to buy more drinks, and try to buy me drinks. The more money I make for Gino, the bigger my paycheck is and the more money I can stash away for when I finally turn 18 and get away from moLESter.
After I fussed with my bushy, unruly, freakishly long hair, I just gave up and put gel on my edges then brushed it all up into a high side ponytail. I know, very kiddy-ish, but I didn't have time to flat iron it. I was trying to hurry up and get out of the house. I slipped a ribbon on my head and made sure the bow was crooked to the opposite side of my ponytail, then pushed open the bathroom window and jumped out. Luckily, the house only has two stories so it wasn't that hard of a fall. I stood up and brushed off my plaid green and blue skirt and straightened my white short-sleeved oxford shirt. I pushed open the front door and grabbed my book-bag and my A-1's then closed it back. As I walked down the sidewalk, I spotted White-boy, the neighborhood cat, walkin towards me. In the hood, people don't have to buy pets cuz there's always a stray walkin around, ready to be loved by anyone. He's known as White-boy because his fur is all white. He purred and rubbed up against my leg. I bent down and petted him on the head then got up and kept walkin. It was early and the sun was just comin up so it was still a little dark outside. I look back and see headlights comin slowly towards me from the opposite end of the street.