Breakable or unbreakable ?

Why?

Why is it that men are skunks, jerks, assholes, pathetic creatures with testosterone… (I would love to continue the list but there’s no use… it would be only a waste of energy)?

Why do they have to hurt us?

Does that make them feel more manly?

Is that what it is? Just a matter of the ego?

Why do they enjoy seeing us with our hearts broken in so many pieces that there’s no difference between those microscopic fragments of our shattered souls and pure dust?

Do we have written in bold letters on our forehead “Lie to me and then treat me like shit because I don’t mind” ?

Or what?

Can someone, anyone explain me what is the reason or what are the reasons (maybe there are more and because of my stupidity I can’t see them) why we are treated like this?

We listen to their lies believing every single little word and then we give them our only treasure on a damn plate and what do they do with it?

Toss it on the floor, stepping on it a few times, maybe even spit on it and then return it saying “I didn’t mean to hurt you”.

What the hell is wrong with guys?

I’m not going to say that decent and kind men can’t be found on earth because they can, even though they are a race threatened by extinction, nor that women aren’t as evil and inconsiderate as men but 97% of these ice queens have become bitches as a consequence for what they’ve been through thanks to our brainless friends.

I’m not one of those sexist or feminists or whatever they’re called… I’m just a woman that has been through hell and back because of these worthless shits. Every man in my life has made sure to stab my heart, leaving a scar after healing and making it transform into stone… step by step.

The first bastard was my own father. He abused his own flesh and blood for 2 years after my mom died, leaving behind her a five years old girl and a seven years old boy. Two damned years I was forced to sustain sexual relationship with my “daddy”. For two years no one suspected anything until my aunt from my mother’s bloodline, came to visit us from France. She was the only one that realized it wasn’t normal for a girl to be afraid of physical contact, that it was unusual for a seven years old to be anorexic or not to watch tv nor to play with dolls… actually nothing was normal at that time. And she was the one that saw it and saved me from the continuous humiliation and abuse.

It took me eight long years to black out all those terrifying memories and I almost managed to live a monotonous life, as some people would have called it. I left behind everything. Even though she saved me from my living nightmare, my aunt wasn’t able to take care of me and my brother, considering she had her own quite numerous family, so we moved in with our only living sibling, our grandmother from my father’s side. I had started everything from the beginning: new school, new friends, new habits; and I was happy. I tried my best to forget about my dreadful past and I almost succeeded… I would still wake up in the middle of the night sweating after dreaming of my father coming back for me and I still, wasn’t used with too much physical contact but for the first time in a long period of time I felt safe.

Unfortunately, all that hard work I had deposed was ruined by my dear brother, at the age of 15. Apparently, he desperately needed money and because he was a good for nothing brat, he couldn’t work for it. So he decided to sell his own sister. Actually no… he didn’t sell her, he just borrowed her to some guys… for sex; after all, if his dad could fuck her for no reason, why couldn’t his friends for a “noble cause”… saving his ass. I was kidnapped, held in a hut at the outskirts of the town and molested for another three years. My brother convinced my grandmother that I had ran away with a man; he told my friends that I had an argument with my grandma after what she decided to send me to a boarding school; he even went to my school and said I want to quit it… so no one ever looked after me.

I can’t say I didn’t live in decent conditions… I had my own bedroom with bathroom in it, my own “bodyguards”, a kitchen where I could always find food and drinks, especially alcohol for my “customers”, clothes, accessories, make up… what else could I want? Oh yeah… maybe freedom and not having to sleep with every degenerated guy that entered the main door. But, somehow, I conformed myself to this way of life and stopped cutting myself every day and night. Every inch of my body was covered with scars but those couldn’t possibly compare with the wounds in my chest. I was devastated but refused to show it. I was almost made of ice but I made sure to burn inside every man that came to me. I was a living dead. There was absolutely no chance for me to get out of that place… God knows how many times I had tried with no use… it just got me a few more bruises from my guards.

Still, God decided to give me one more opportunity to live my life, by sending an angel to me. Expecting to face another one of those fat, ugly, drunks crazy after sex, I didn’t even bother to get dressed or to lift my light but so heavy body from my bed, when I heard my bedroom’s door open. The noise of his footsteps echoed in my ears long after he had closed the door, until they reached the edge of my bed. Deciding it wouldn’t be a good idea to ignore him any longer (some were very violent), I turned around allowing my hazel eyes melt in a pair of sapphire one. The connection was incredible and unexpected. Finally managing to remove my gaze, I examined his elegant features allowing him to explore my naked body meanwhile I was taking in his image. He had dark brown hair that was fixed backwards with gel, a perfect straight nose, thin lips that I could guarantee would curl into a perfect smirk; his chin was pointed, showing a strong character; his wide forehead expressed an intelligent man and the wrinkles around his eyes gave away that he was around the age of 25. He was dressed casual, his clothes allowing his toned body as well as the fact he was broad-shouldered to be seen. For the first time in a long, long, long time I felt ashamed standing in front undressed of a man and I couldn’t help the blush that appeared on my usually white as porcelain cheeks. Seeing my embarrassment, he told me to get dressed. I did as I was told and then sat back on the bed waiting for some king of instruction. Instead, he dragged an armchair next to my bed and sat down looking me in the eyes again.

He continued to surprise me when he told me I’m going to be free. For hours we talked and talked and talked some more. I found out his name was Bryan Renolds, he was a policeman in disguise; his mission was to free me and arrest my brother and the others that were involved in my kidnapping. Mr. Renolds promised me the opportunity of seeing the daylight away from this hut, the chance of finishing my studies, the “terror” of going to work daily, in other words the normal life I was deprived of. He also asked me many details about other possible hideouts, secret tunnels, my brother’s schedule, the guard’s sleep hours and so on. By the end of the day I felt exhausted but thrilled at the idea of leaving this place. I was scared but in the same time I could feel the adrenaline rushing through my veins. I had to pretend that I did the usual so that my brother wouldn’t suspect anything and then wait… just wait. Mr. Renolds said will come at my rescue as soon as all the details were established. And so I did.

I waited… a day… a week… a month… two months… five months… All my hopes were gone… again. He lied, he knew it was a lost cause but still he told me to wait for him. Once again I had started to cut myself, in hope that all this misery would end. But it didn’t. Until… one night… when I heard gunshots, men yelling, a real action movie… and then silence. Even though I knew it was stupid, I went towards my door to find out what was going on but before I could touch the door knob someone broke through it… police officers. And that’s when I couldn’t take it anymore. I blacked out for the first time in my life, to wake up, a week later, in the hospital wing with Mr. Renolds by my side. 

For the second time I started my life all over again. I finished my studies, got all my diplomas, working in the same time a part job as a waitress in a restaurant next to my new apartment. I was a new person that decided to change completely her life; I even had a new name Charlotte Cassidy… thanks to Mr. Renolds, I mean Bryan… Although I know him for so long I can’t help myself calling him Mr. Renolds. Oh… I forgot to mention that I’m his fiancé. This is one of the reasons why it’s stupid to call him Mr. Renolds, but I can’t get used to Bryan; I can’t explain why. Hmm… what else is there that I didn’t mention? School, check; Job, check; Apartment, check; New name, check; Fiance, check; Nope. I didn’t forget anything. This was my perfect new life. Everything was going great, I couldn’t ask for more… But nothing lasts forever and my happiness was no exception.

On a Tuesday morning I went to work, to find my boss thrilled. His wife gave birth to his 8th child and my boss was, as weird as it may seem for the grumpiest man alive, dancing. Wanting to spend the day with his newborn and wife, he gave us a day off. As I didn’t have anything better to do and knowing that Mr. Re… I mean Bryan was going to be all day at the police station, I went home. It seemed that this day was full of surprises, at least for me. Arriving home I found my fiancé in bed with a woman. My fiance in my bed with a slut. Is there any use saying that I made a hell of a scandal? If so, I did. I threw the bitch out by her hair and him… that good for nothing bastard… that liar… AARRGGHHH!!! He tried to explain that it was just a mistake, that it was never going to happen again, that he loved me with all his heart… bla… bla… No use though. I packed his things, actually I didn’t really packed them but threw them out the window and then I got reed of him. That day I started cutting myself again, I even thought about putting an end to this peace of crap called life but I didn’t have the strength to do it. After crying all night, I decided I’m strong enough to get through this. And I was.

Here I am now at the age of 35, with an excellent carrier, a journalist to be more exact, writing a “discriminating” article, like some will call it, in one of the most popular tabloids in the country. I managed to put aside my past and look towards the future without the help of any man. Yes, I am single and loving it. I have two wonderful children adopted, that I simply adore, a true palace as a house, more money than anyone can dream of, the best friends ever (I even have male friends; like I said before, I still believe there are a few great men left in this world), everything with the help of God. He is my witness that I have never stolen a thing in my life or caused someone any kind of malice (unless you count my sincere articles). Everything I suffered and gained brought out my inner strength.

You may be asking right now why did I tell you my story. Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe I was tired of holding all this pain inside of me… or maybe I just wanted to warn the ladies to be more careful in who they trust and to appreciate the real great men that come in their lives… or maybe I’m trying to signal that there are some serious problems in our, so called, civilized community… or maybe I didn’t have anything better to write about. The point is that right now, I feel in peace with myself and a little proud of everything that I have achieved.

Before I end my article, I’d like to apologize to all those that felt offended by my lack of censure, by my opinions or my brute honesty and I also want to ask you before you start criticizing me, think about everything I’ve been through, about the young girls that even these days are going through the same living hell as I did years ago. Imagine this is your own little girl. Close your eyes and imagine that all the pain I and other thousand of girls have endured, is destroying your girl’s fragile soul. Is it really true that there isn’t anything that can be done to prevent this kind of abuses? Please, think about that.   



Charlotte Cassidy