15h
Bertha stared motionless through the TV.
Thoughts of times past filled her mind...
"Happy birthday, darling! Here you go."
Dad and his appearances. Yep, never fooled me.
He only saw me on my birthdays—normally an hour or two, tops.
A quick ice cream and a gift, then boom, see you next year.
I don't remember Mum and Dad being together; why would I?
I was only a few months old when they split.
Growing up, it was different men all the time coming into the house. Eventually, I came to realize that when they visited, in the next few days that followed, I would be treated to a day out or spoiled rotten with gifts.
Yeah, she was a lady of the night, a Tom, a brass—a *******.
Dad was an ex-client, I found out years later. He died on my 13th birthday—a day I'll never forget.
Mum told me in the morning that Dad had been killed in a car crash.
I didn't know how to feel. I mean, he was just a guy I saw once a year.
That evening, after a cake and a few friends came around for a party, I was alone in the lounge.
There was a tap on the window.
I looked out and saw one of Mum's regular male visitors.
I shouted for Mum. Assuming she was coming, I opened the front door to let him in.
"You're a pretty one," he kept saying to me, complimenting my looks, my dress, my body.
After he violated me, I was once again left alone.
Mum eventually came home; she had popped to the shops, thinking I was here with friends. That's her story—she knew full well they had already left.
They caught the man. He got two years in prison—TWO YEARS. After that, I ate and ate and ate. I craved love and affection but always looked in the wrong places.
Mum died a couple of years ago—drugs, yep.
So, here I am, the last one standing.
Life... oh, what a life.
- - -
Bertha refocused on the TV, releasing a heavy sigh.
She noticed a message flash up on her phone.
It was the boyfriend saying he was on his way round.
Rummaging through her handbag, Bertha grabbed some mascara and lipstick.
A swift makeover followed, then, standing up, she shook herself down and placed a smile upon her face.
The doorbell rang.
"Hello, Babe, you **** *******. Get ya **** in here.."
Thoughts of times past filled her mind...
"Happy birthday, darling! Here you go."
Dad and his appearances. Yep, never fooled me.
He only saw me on my birthdays—normally an hour or two, tops.
A quick ice cream and a gift, then boom, see you next year.
I don't remember Mum and Dad being together; why would I?
I was only a few months old when they split.
Growing up, it was different men all the time coming into the house. Eventually, I came to realize that when they visited, in the next few days that followed, I would be treated to a day out or spoiled rotten with gifts.
Yeah, she was a lady of the night, a Tom, a brass—a *******.
Dad was an ex-client, I found out years later. He died on my 13th birthday—a day I'll never forget.
Mum told me in the morning that Dad had been killed in a car crash.
I didn't know how to feel. I mean, he was just a guy I saw once a year.
That evening, after a cake and a few friends came around for a party, I was alone in the lounge.
There was a tap on the window.
I looked out and saw one of Mum's regular male visitors.
I shouted for Mum. Assuming she was coming, I opened the front door to let him in.
"You're a pretty one," he kept saying to me, complimenting my looks, my dress, my body.
After he violated me, I was once again left alone.
Mum eventually came home; she had popped to the shops, thinking I was here with friends. That's her story—she knew full well they had already left.
They caught the man. He got two years in prison—TWO YEARS. After that, I ate and ate and ate. I craved love and affection but always looked in the wrong places.
Mum died a couple of years ago—drugs, yep.
So, here I am, the last one standing.
Life... oh, what a life.
- - -
Bertha refocused on the TV, releasing a heavy sigh.
She noticed a message flash up on her phone.
It was the boyfriend saying he was on his way round.
Rummaging through her handbag, Bertha grabbed some mascara and lipstick.
A swift makeover followed, then, standing up, she shook herself down and placed a smile upon her face.
The doorbell rang.
"Hello, Babe, you **** *******. Get ya **** in here.."
