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Prologue: A Life of Misery
“Shut up, Brooklyn!” he said.
“What do you want from me?” she replied. “I’m trying to make this work, Shawn, but it’s so hard when you’re not trying.”
“You think I’m not trying?” he asked, spitting out cuss words.
“I don’t think so,” she began, swallowing her fear, “I know so.”
“That is it, Brooklyn!” he said, shoving her to the ground. “Do you hear me?” He screamed it in her ear.
“I…want…out!” she screamed, in between sobs. “I want out of this relationship! I want out of this house!”
The back of his hand struck her cheek. It was harder than he had ever hit her before. Her sobs grew increasingly loud. She could feel herself losing emotional control.
“You’re a monster, Shawn!” she yelled, struggling to get up before finally gathering all her strength to succeed.
“What did you say?” he asked, grabbing her shoulders and thrusting her into the wall, her left arm hitting it first.
The pain was almost unbearable. It felt fractured, maybe even broken. She dropped to her knees, her back sliding against the wall as she did.
Her hand flew to her injured arm as she sobbed in pain. “Let me go, Shawn,” she said, regaining enough control to speak. “I said I wanted out.”
He grabbed her by the collar of her shirt, and pulled her up. Her feet were barely touching the floor. “Is that really what you want, you trash?”
She squeezed her eyes shut.
No. It’s not true. I’m not trash. He’s a monster, a liar. Don’t believe him.
“I’m not trash,” she said, her voice nearly inaudible.
He snickered. “Not trash?” he mocked. “Is that why your mom kicked you out, then, Brooklyn? Huh?”
“Shut up!”
His face became contorted and angry. “You want me to shut up?” he screamed in her face. “Maybe this will shut you up!”
He curled his hand into a fist and punched her in the eye. She fell to the floor and touched her eye, which was throbbing. She pounded her fists on the ground—the more noise she made, the better.
“Help! Someone help!”
He covered her mouth with his hand.
She bit his finger as hard as she could, got up, and ran. All she had was fifteen dollars and change in her pocket, and the clothes that were on her back. Worry clouded her mind, and she was unsure of whether or not she was going to survive on her own.
But she ran.
And she ran.
And she was never turning back.
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