The moment I became a teenage sex slave. Each drop of blood signifies one month of that abuse. It began several weeks after my 15th birthday. A 25-year-old acquaintance, on hearing about my mother’s worsening mental illness and abuse, offered me a safe place to stay and said he could help me find a job. Instead, he tricked me into domestic and sexual slavery. He isolated me and used physical and psychological abuse to keep me under his control.
After grooming me for a few days he was satisfied that I was scared, needy, and vulnerable enough to make a good target for his perverse predatory predilections. Like my father before him, he came in the room while I was asleep and did what he wanted. He did not have to immobilize me, because I was already petrified. I felt nothing.