I don't do well with conflict.
Okay, that's not strictly true. I'm fine with conflict, but for the most part, I won't fight for something that wasn't mine. I took my blows at Père's house just fine without fighting back, but the moment either one of the Shit Stains touched Teddy, all bets were off.
It took Shit Stain Number One two months to recover from the rat poison I had put into his jambalaya.
When Shit Stain Number Two took a knife to Teddy, it took him even longer to be found and healed from the spiked pit I dug in the backyard.
The funny part was that no matter how much the Shit Stains blamed it on me, Père didn't believe them at all. I was too broken to be able to fight back.
He then proceeded to beat me unconscious to prove his point.
It was at that moment I realized that if you seemed to be weak and broken on the outside, you could get away with murder.
