The following article contains content that could be triggering to those who have struggled with childhood sexual abuse, trauma or assault.
By Rayven Satterfield of Mocha Mag
#Fearless Family Writer
It was getting late and my stomach was aching.
My younger sisters nagged me to make dinner but I stayed glue to my mattress with no words. My mom was arguing with my stepfather again and I tried to stay away whenever things got heated. My stomach was rumbling also but the kitchen was by my mom’s room and I always tried to avoid conflict.
My stepfather was a tough man so when he yelled it echoed the apartment walls causing anyone who passed by to hear it. I remained silent but my sisters kept asking me for food. My twin brother told me that he was also hungry so I gave in and agreed to make them a meal. I didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire, so I knew I had a small window of time.
I slowly walked into the kitchen and quietly ran faucet water in a metal pot. I became less conscious about the noise I made when I noticed that their arguing got louder. My mom was not one to mess with either so she stood her ground when he shouted. I warmed up some left-over meat in the oven and stirred the rice in the pot.
The screaming got so bad I couldn’t take it anymore so I turned the oven and stove on low cook and went in my room to get away from the noise. As time passed I heard a dead silence. My siblings and I locked eyes and moments later heard the door slam.
I was relieved because I was happy that it was over. So I rushed in the kitchen to try to finish the food while the apartment was calm. While I waited for the rest of the water to boil, the door from my mom’s room slowly opened.
When I looked up my step father stood over me. I looked away because I saw the rage in his eyes. His eyes where blood shot red and his skin was as dark as night. He slowly walked behind me and put him arm around my skinny waist. He leaned down to kiss me on my cheek leaving a lingering scent of beer on my skin. I jerked away and looked up at him with frustration in my eyes and he walked away. As soon as his back was turned a tear dropped down my cheek because I knew he was getting bolder.
There is more to the story but, I am still in the process of building the courage to talk about it. After years of being touched by him, at 13 I was old enough to know that I didn’t have to take this anymore. He was well respected and powerful in the community I lived in so I was scared that no one would believe me. A few weeks ago I heard that I wasn’t the only one that he touched and I felt that I had to speak up. I don’t know if I’ll write more about this in the future, but for now I am happy I started this process.
Thank you to Rayven for bravely sharing her story!
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