He reminded me of my dad. That’s what I think about the most. He was kind and caring and said he saw “the real me.” Who is “the real me?” That’s something I was trying to figure out. To him it meant someone easy to manipulate. Someone who needed approval and a sense of belonging. Someone desperate for any definition of love. That’s what he gave me. And then he needed me to do him a “favor.” One favor led to another and another, until eventually I was forced to create a fake “me” to get by each night, each hour.
After a few years, I realized I couldn’t handle giving him all my money. I couldn’t handle getting beaten when I didn’t make my quota. Being starved for food because I hadn’t charged more than I should have. It just became too much. I remembered a friend telling me about a shelter for homeless teens. They have free housing and connect you with someone to help you find a job and get on welfare. Stuff like that. I checked it out and I finally had some time to just think. And I decided I wanted more.
