#Chapter132
/"By eighteen, I was good at defending not only myself but her, I would chase them out with my bat swinging. I’d learned to use my anger effectively, I had so much of it, so much hatred inside of me. I would just keep hitting until my arms ached with the effort … I smashed two of her boyfriend’s cars up in a bid to chase them off./" I shift position on the bed, pulling my legs out and stretching them out, sighing heavily. /"She would hate me after and make me go elsewhere to cool down so I slept rough for days on end because she wouldn’t let me come home until I apologized to them for it, which meant returning to being abused in one way or another./" I laugh sardonically, my wonderful mother and her screwed-up sense of parenting.
