Days later my body is still tight, freedom lost to the ages where in adolescence I was slave girl to Seth for 2 dollars a week.
There by the campfire bantering away, no way like the being in the meadow where peace reigned in my core. Just a play-doh woman of what he could relate to while sipping from his cup filled periodically rather secretly with more booze from a container by his feet.
Freedom gone. Did all that sudden planning come from the child in me still craving the family once known? And what of wise woman who knows better?
Though probably temporary, or not, all have been blocked from entering my email box.
“If one of them calls, don’t answer it,” I tell Samuel.
And the video chats won’t be answered either. Safety. One needs safety from their family of origin? Yes.