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Once again I was in my bedroom alone with him. He had made me undress and bend over, and was pushing his finger in my backside. I remember it hurt alot, and pleading with him to stop. In the memory it was like I could hear my own small voice so perfectly as I begged him, and the horrible gutteral sound of his voice as he told me to be a good girl, a better girl than my sister was. Then he proceeded to rape me.
Afterwards as usual, he told me how bad I was, reminding me again that if I told anyone they would never believe me and would hate me. He took such pleasure in telling me how awful I was, and how no one would ever love me if they found out what I had done with him. When he left I ran downstairs and hid in one of the small closets where I thought he wouldn't find me.
Then I was back in the present moment, watching my husband and daughter play happily together. I had to leave the room so they wouldn't see me cry.
When I have memories of myself so young being abused by that disgusting man, it makes me so sad. I want to comfort that little girl, and protect her since no one else ever did. God only knows how many innocent children he has brutalized. I hope he burns in Hell.