The man that I regarded as my second father(I need one when the other is nowhere to be seen)- I haven't been the same since he touched me. It was an overnight torture chamber in his pitch black living room (I died). An instant switch, I used to be so sweet and innocent, now I'm so weary of my own skin (traces of saliva, my body marked with bruises). Its been seven years. My nightmares are still tedious, my memories are still haunting. I thought he would admit on the left side, I thought then I could forgive him: neither happened.