CHAPTER 1 – ALWAYS A HORRIFYING BIRTHDAY.

🦋 BENITA 🦋

On September 25, 2009, I lost my mother when I was just 10 years old. That same day, my father remarried, bringing a stepmother into my life.

Ten years later, on September 25, 2019, I was uprooted from my father's house and thrown out, like a weed. I found myself sleeping in the filthy corners of the street before I began working in a bar where I also had to sleep.

On September 25, 2020, I got into serious trouble that nearly cost me my life, and I had to pay off the debt with myself.

Then, on September 25, 2021, I was sold to Mr. William Cunningham, the aging CEO of Julian Financial Services. He was old enough to be my grandfather. It was on this cursed day that the real horror of my life began.

Just a year later, on September 25, 2022, I attempted to escape from Mr. William by climbing over a wall, but it only resulted in broken legs and nothing more.

It's always the same date: September 25, the day of horror—my birthday.

And today, on September 25, 2023, I'm trying once again to save my life, though I fear it won't end well because it’s September 25.

***🦋***

I ran down the dark, quiet street, my bare foot bleeding from the countless cuts I acquired from the sharp objects my foot danced on while trying to escape.

My stomach cried from starving for days, and my throat tightened from thirst.

But I ignored every pain in my body; the most important thing to me at that moment was escaping. It would be worth every single pain I feel right now if I find a saviour.

A car zoomed past me, and I chased after it with torn clothes, breathing heavily and screaming, “Help!”

The car didn’t stop, and until it was out of sight, I didn’t get tired of chasing after it. I collapsed to the ground, my heavy and fast heartbeat was mixed with tears of sorrow. If only my mother weren’t dead… would my life have turned out differently? It all started with the death of my beloved mother.

I saw another car speeding towards me, dragging myself up, I stood at the center of the road, it was my last hope – you either save me or kill me.

The car came to a stop, I puffed out a sigh of relief. I thought my terror was over. Four men stepped out of the car, and with the last strength I had in me, I whispered, “Please help me!”

The front man chuckled sarcastically, and before I knew it, three men were holding me down, and the last one was on top of me.

I already knew what was going on, but I had no strength to scream or fightback, I just mouthed, “Help me!”  continuously and wept silently while the four men I thought was going to save me took turns in raping my virginity out of me.

The pain was unbearable, compared to all the physical, emotional, and mental abuse I’ve been through, I felt worse. My life was just not worth living.

At that moment, I felt like everything was taken away from me. My sanity, my dignity, my self-confidence, and my hope. It all shattered into bits and evaporated into thin air.

When they were satisfied, they began to beat me up, kicks and punches, I got them all. I was only lucky they had no gun or knife on them because it appears they wanted me dead to cover their crime.

Not a single part of my body wasn’t injured from the effect of the abuse, and when they thought I was dead, I watched them jump into the car with half-closed eyes.

Hopeless and tired, I gave up, and for a second, my heart stopped beating.

Thrown back to life, I inhaled sharply and began to cough out blood. Even death wanted nothing to do with me… how unfortunate.

I picked my broken self up, my thighs were covered in blood. I tried to walk, but I couldn’t, so I crawled instead.

After crawling for several distances, my knees began to bleed. I looked up and saw a police station in sight. Weeping happily, I stood up and endured the pain, feeling motivated.

I got to the police station in no time, and at one glance, they could tell I needed medical attention, so without asking any questions or asking me to write a statement of whatever happened, I was taken to the hospital and given food and water.

For that hospitality, I will always thank the police officers.

After a few days in the hospital, once I was ready to be discharged, I was taken back to the police station.

When I got to the police station, they handed me a pen and paper and asked me to write a statement. Before I even got started, the chief of police received a call, and the only thing I heard was, “Yes. We have Miss Benita here in the station.” After that, the paper and pen were taken away from me, and I was told I no longer needed a statement, because someone had already explained what happened.

Confused, I went on to explain, I said everything I have been through without leaving anyone out, and the police chief responded, “I was told over the phone that you were going to say whatever you just said. I’m glad he already told me; I might have fallen for the lies you just made up. As for those who raped you, we’ll fill a report on your behalf.”

I was devastated. I stood up and attempted to run, but I was pinned to the ground and handcuffed like a criminal, the real criminals was roaming around freely, the real criminals did this to me, so why the fuck am I the one in this stupid handcuff?

A few minutes later, a car arrived, and Mr. William, alongside all his men, stepped out of the car.

I began to tremble, “Please don’t let him take me,” I cried out, but nobody was on my side.

It was like the police weren’t even there at all, or they were blinded to whatever was happening. I was packaged into the car, and boom… it was back to square one, back to the exact place I ran away from.