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When I got back home, my stepdad and stepsister still gave me the stink eye.
Whatever I did, it rubbed them the wrong way, triggering a smackdown for no good
reason.
That day, my mom made roast pork. Seeing no one around, I couldn’t resist; I snuck a piece. I hadn’t tasted meat in ages.
Of course, my stepsister walked in just
then.
With a nasty sneer, she tattled to my mom, “Auntie, look at the little thief you brought home, stealing meat!”
Tears started rolling down my cheeks. Even the family dog gets meat, so why am I a thief for taking a bite?
My mom slapped me without even asking, knocking me off balance, and my head cracked against the table’s edge.
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Just home from work, my stepdad saw me clutching my head and jeered,
“What now? Faking an injury to squeeze some cash out of us?”
“If you’re that hard up for money, why not make it worth your while and spend the night with me?”
Blinded by anger, I charged him and landed a punch that left him spitting blood.
That night, my mom tore my clothes off and pulled my hair like she’d lost her mind, crying and cursing.
“You’re so shameless, always flirting with every man!”
“You should be glad he even looked your way! How dare you strike him, you ingrate!”
“Love flirting so much? Go strut outside naked and show everyone!”
My stepsister clapped along, thrilled, “Yes! Let everyone see just how shameless she
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is!”
Despite my pleas, my mom and stepsister were unmoved. I ended up outside, clad only in my underwear.
That night, I sat by the door, arms crossed over my chest, face buried in my knees, and drifted off to sleep.
Around midnight, a drunk passed by and, spotting me vulnerable, started to make his
move.
I woke up terrified, struggling, but he was too strong and pinned me down, about to force himself on me.
I screamed at the top of my lungs, which woke the neighbors, one of whom came out to check.
A neighbor called the police, who arrived with a social worker. They gave my mom and stepdad a stern lecture and warned them never to let me sleep outside again.
I hoped life would get better, but it didn’t.
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My mom dragged me back inside, pulled out a fifty–dollar bill, and handed it to me with an apologetic look.
“Lexi, you’ve embarrassed us too much. If you stay, it’ll tarnish your sister’s reputation.”
“I have no choice. She’s more important to me. This is all I can spare. You’re on your own now.”
I slapped the money away, yelling, “Really? This is pocket change. Are you kidding me?”
“I don’t need your money, and I’m done with you for good!”
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