“Are you sure?”

“Like never before!”

I agreed. I don’t know exactly why. I just thought that it would be extremely cool to go to the cafe on a weekday. I had no money though.

So we went to a local cafe and when we took off our clothes and the waitress came to us to take an order, only then I said that I had no money. My friend had some, but it wasn’t enough to order anything for two people. We apologized and left the cafe.

“Why didn’t you take the money?”, my friend asked.

“Because I am supposed to be practicing!”

“Don’t you have pocket money for situations like these? My parents always give me money if I urgently need something.”

“Sorry but no. They don’t give me money at all. Mom said that I should earn my own money already.”

“But you are in third grade.”

Cool, isn’t it?

“She doesn’t care.”

“I’m sorry. Let’s rather buy hot tea on the street. I’m sure we have enough money for two cups.

So we bought two cups of super hot tea. Want to say ahead, I don’t like tea. I hate it. But I didn’t wanna upset my friend because she was buying it, not me, and being mean and picky is bad.

I actually didn’t drink it. I split some tea each time she turned away.

But it was a good day. Definitely. I don’t spend much time with my friends because my mom doesn’t let me, so I really appreciated this opportunity.

When I got home, mom was in her room, lying in the bed. I said hi and went to my room. In a minute she called me. I was terrified. She could beat me again because I was too loud with my books.

“How was your practice?”

“Good.”

“What did you do?”

“We were practicing different techniques-”

“You weren’t at practice. You lying. Your coach called me. You didn’t show up.”

“Mom, I’m sorry. I'm so sorry. Please. It will never, I swear, will never happen again.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She stood up and my heart just tore apart into many pieces. But I didn’t run. I stood there ‘cause I know that if I had run, It would have been worse.

She grabbed my hair and with all her strength threw me on the floor, pulling me to the front door. And started beating me with her hand in gypsum. That’s how I remember which hand was broken. By the way, it was painful as never before. Roughly twenty times in the head and way more in the stomach, hands, legs. She repeated something like “For what we spend our money? You know how much money you waste. Bitch. Asshole. Slut. (Slut in 8 years old).”

Then she was hitting the door with me. And then threw me out of the apartment. The door closed. I thought my dad was at work and when he came back he would open the door. But he actually was at home. He heard everything and didn’t help me out. I was able to get home in the morning when he went to work. And instead of daddy’s love, I got a big smack in the face. Crying I got in and, lucky me, mommy was sleeping. I packed a backpack, changed my clothes, and went to school. WIthout breakfast because there was no food at home.

I don’t want to get into details of my “poor” childhood. I honestly feel like I had a lot of reasons to kill her. This and previous stories are just the most highlighted. Maybe tearful at some point. And I don’t want you guys to feel compassionate towards me but I doubt you are going to do that.

Anyways, situations like the previous, perhaps less severe, have happened on a daily basis. I was so sick of all of it. I was a child. I wanted happiness and childhood, and my parents’ love. Why does a mommy, who gave birth, didn’t sleep, didn’t get an abortion, want her own child to suffer that much? And it is not just about me. Over millions and millions of children get treatment like mine. Worse or a bit better. One question still is not answered “ Why then did you keep kids if you hate them so much? It’s stupid.”