"Wake up you lazy brat, how long will you sleep for?", My step father yelled as he poured water on my sleeping form, I jolted up from the bed drenched "I should have poured hot water on you instead of cold water, you disgusting thing, Come here!" He dragged me from the bed with a loud thud. I landed hard on the floor, he threw the bucket at me.
"You fool I told you to wake up as early as 4:00am look at the time, I even woke up before you," Another slap followed by a punch that's how he continued beating me till he was satisfied "you want to skip school right? I will make sure you go to school," another slap, "get up, clean the house and make me my breakfast, then go to school bitch!!"
You must be wondering what is going on? This is what my step father does to me, he usually abuses me, like that is not enough, he forces himself on me. His name is Hassan Dario.
I did not take his last name because the man is not my actual step father, him and my mom never got married. He is tall with light skin and a stubble on his face, he does not bother to shave sometimes, he has brown eyes with long hair, and full lips. Some girls would find him attractive but not me because I know the kind of monster he is.
I hate Mondays, it is my first day of school after moving from Lagos to Abuja and look at what he is doing to me, when will all this stop? I'm tired of this life. I do not want to go to school but he is forcing me so that our neighbours will not raise questions about it. I should be happy about going to school because I will have hours of freedom, there is no way he can come to school to beat me. But both school and home are not much different, I'm a new student. I will get bullied and beaten over and over in school like the beating I get at home is not enough. That's why I do not want to go to school.
My name is Axymah Seizer Adam, I am sixteen years old, I was born in Abeokuta, Nigeria.
I am tall and chocolate in complexion, I have short black hair, I have glossy black eyes, with thin lips, I have a full body, and I look a lot older than my age, well I look eighteen.
Both my mom and I moved to Lagos to live with him a couple months after my dad passed away.
I was only nine years old then, my mom died several days after finding out that I did not lie to her about my stepfather, I was turning thirteen then.
I told her that her fiancée abuses me whenever she goes out to work, now I wish I never told her.
I wish I never made that call, she would not have broken all speed limits to try to reach home to get to the root of the matter, maybe she would not have been dead.
She died a very tragic and devastating death, a car crash, after I called her and told her what he did to me.
She was rushing back home from work and she was involved in a car crash it was raining and she was over speeding. If I had not called her she would not be dead, she would have been here with me. Her body was torn, we buried only parts of her we could find, images of that day still haunts me at night.
My stepfather made sure that I felt the guilt of her death and it's always hanging over my shoulder, always telling me in detail what caused her death.
He never allowed me to forget the reason why she died, 'Me' What hurts me most was that he did not even mourn her death.
My mom was a very beautiful, hard working, caring and loving woman, she had a plump stature, she was chocolate in complexion, she also had a black glossy eyes, and short black hair, with a full lip. I got everything from her except height, I got that from my dad.
My mom was born in Benin city but she moved to Abeokuta to live with my dad because he hailed from there.
I hate my life so much more than one could imagine, it would be better if I was never brought into this world.
"Will you get up from that floor or do you want me to drag you to school by your hair, you know I can do that without batting an eyelash." After hearing that I quickly shot up from the floor and jumped into the shower to take my bath I also did my business and came out. I do not have a lot of clothes so I don't really have to waste time on deciding which outfit I should wear.
Whenever I move any part of my body a bolt of pain shoots through me. I carefully wore a baggy jeans trouser and an oversized sweater, my worn out canvas.
