//this is very, very graphic and involes physical and emotional abuse, rape, molestation and implied kidnapping. please for the love of god do not read if you cannot handle these topics/too young too//

I WAS NOT

fond of his face, even as a child when he came into the room it made me squirmish. He looked like the man who would do the things he did. He has the look, a look that shot through you with his ice blue eyes that made you turn the other way. He was not a genuine man.

When he would come in I would press my knees against my chest and shooted closer to the black cold wall. I knew I couldn't scream for help because there was none. If I did that he would only slap me and shove me to the ground, spitting and chuckling. He did not care.

Do not whimper, do not cry, he always said. Do not even open your eyes. Enjoy it, would you? You're ungrateful.

At the time I was only but a mere child, letting some of the words go unoticed withour suspicion ans checking them into reality. I let him take of my shirt, I let him cusp my cheek and kiss me. I let him because I thought it was what I was made for.

He would always tap on my wolf ears after he rose from down under, causing them to twitch everytime without my control. And everytime he would slap it and tug on my tail, making me wince. Not yell; Lord Pheniox may I never yelp. If I made any noise he would've choked me out there and than.

When he hurt me I didn't feel anything, honestly. It was what I was used for. A pretty little soon-to-be lad in a dress who wasn't human. If I wasn't human, I was not worth compaionship. He always reminded me.

With the other soon-to-be lads and the gang members came down for a small meal, he would always look at me with a beaming grin. After ruffling my hair he would grab my face and kiss an, taking his chapped lips to mine and than reaching them to my ear to whisper; "you are one of the lucky ones. Without me, you'd be a goner. Nobody loves a wolfboy."

Believe it or not I believed it. I full-heartly believed it. And to an extent I still do. If I was human they would've found us quicker and they would've shut down the brothel before I turned 14. If I was human the orphanage I would of been lead to wouldn't of thrown me out by day four. If I was human it wouldn't of took 17 damn years for me to find someone who actually loves me.

So in a way, he gave me advice. He helped me in that teensy-tiny aspect that was never used again.

Without it, I would have never guessed the whole world hated me. How everyone around would stare or gawk at me, how I would be thrown out of bars or pubs at nine-PM as a legal for no other reasons but that I made the customers worried or that even on my darkest times, no one would let me in.

Of course, not all of you do that. I am matured enough to separate the good people from the bad. But with the Prince, I just..have to question some morality.

He wasn't just brainwashed by society. He manipulated society's goodest men to fuck me simply because I had no emotion to them. I could only feel the animal instinct of rage and fury. I did not matter.

I would have forgave him if he didn't know any better. If he knew that by forcing me to drink random potions to change my hormonal balances and make me a boy, by kissing my cheek and lips he was crossing boundaries, by hurting me in ways that would soon make my boyfriend vomit by just hearing it were bad I would have forgave him. If he was a mad man, I would have let it as that. A mad man.

But he was deeper than insanity. He had the concepts in his head, but he wanted to hurt me. He liked it when I cried. He liked ot when I suffered. The sick bastard got off to it for all I damn know.

He kicked me as I laid in the tummy when he was finished. He would force feed me honey and milk and made me sit there, gagged and choking on my vomit, the smells of feces and puke littering my room. He would never let me choke to death, though. Only near.

He pressed me against a wall and took a handmade cigar and pressed it against my arm, watching me only bit my lip to suprass the pain. He would cut me open and let the wound puss and overfill with guck than heal it. He punched me, headbutted me, held me down, restrained me; the shit he did had to show through his lies.

Everynight I remember just sobbing quietly. I remember crying so much that I ran out of tears and I remember just shaking.

My mind would go back to when the world around me was a song. When men were kind. Their voices, soft and low, and my will to live was far beyond the furtherest star. There was no randsom to be paid on my part.

I wanted my dream to come true, I wanted to wake up and be with my father by my side at our old village. Every night I would pray that he would find me.

I still dream he'll come to me. That we live the years together. But from the endless nights of screeching and everything I lived, I realised that some dreams just cannot be.

Even with LT and the gang by my side, being treated with kindness beyond my wildest measure I feel empty. I have a void. My childhood was stolen, taking from my stride. He took it with his rough, gritty hands with a sick smile placed on his face.

I suppose I should grow up. The past cannot be changed and life will be life, but the feeling still tugs at me. When I see glares or feel touches even the slightest too rough. When I get called a good boy or when LT touched my ear; the same one he smashed in. I feel the endless kept back years of abuse wash over me and I collapse

The past is so much more than running sway from. Sometimes you have to face it and realise that you'll never ever be over it. It'll always be in me. It made me who I am.

But I refuse to let life kill the dream I have once dreamed.

//wow this is everywhere
but anyways hi hope u like