Secrets Always Come Out

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A part of this chapter is in Ricky's point of view. It's little but you get to see what's going on in his head a little.

Chapter Six: Secrets Always Come Out

"Ricky!" I yelled at him chasing after him into the house. I didn't noticed that he had stopped until I ran into his back. I took a step back as he turned around.

"What?" he asked.

"You called me a whore that's what!" I snapped with my teeth clenched. "You don't have the right to judge me. If anyone should be named it's you, but I realize now how ironic it is."

"What is?" he asked.

"The boy gets praised the more girls he gets but a girl does the same and she's the one who gets the name," I said. "You're worse then me so you don't have the right to call me a whore. Top it all off, you don't know a damn thing about me so about you butt out of my life because it's none of your concern."

"I'm just looking out for you, princess," he said. I wasn't going to lie but that princess line really ticked me off. I'm anything but a princess.

"Excuse me," I said. "What did you call me?"

"A princess," he said. "Not to mention I think you're spoiled and used to getting what you want."

"For goodness sakes just shut up," I said, "you're wrong."

"Then enlighten me," he said.

"I don't have to explain myself to you," I said.

"You said I don't know anything about you then let's get to know each other," he said.

"No, I'm not going to unload all my dirty laundry just to prove a point," I said. "You know I was in foster care and you know that I see Mr. Martin. So since you lived with them then you should also know that Mr. Martin usually helps children that have been traumatized by something."

He stood there for a moment and didn't say anything. I felt a few tears well up in my eyes, but I pushed them back down. I wasn't going to let him see that he has broken through the hard shell that protects the fragile, little girl, Kat Roberts. Sure I'm tough but that's just a charade. I may have been in therapy four years, but that still doesn't change the fact that I'm damaged.

"Then what is this traumatic experience?"

"You just don't give up do you?" I said. "Fine, you want to get to know me then fine. The reason I was in foster care wasn't just because he was on drugs and because he smacked me and my mom around. Or because they abandoned me over and over and over again. It's because my dad used to come home high and because he ran out of money for some more he would get pissed off. He would come home and my mom, she's already drunk and probably high, tries to stop him, but he would beat her until she was unconscious so there was no interruptions that's what he would call it.

Every single night, I would lie in bed with the door closed and beg God that he would come into my room that night. But he would come night after night after night, there he was. So when I couldn't take it anymore I told my fifth grade teacher. She told someone and then word got to child protective services and eventually he got sent off to prison and my mom went to rehab. Eventually and believe me it wasn't quick. The next thing I know I'm being shipped off to California. I ended up in Sacramento with this couple, who had six others, so when social services showed up to see how it was going I told them that I wanted to go somewhere less crowded so I was sent somewhere else. I got switched somewhere else until Mr. Martin found me and brought me here to Beverly Hills."

He was silent and then that same look that I was all-too-used-to flashed across his face. Pity. Sympathy. Those emotions just pissed me off even more.

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