Content Warning: This chapter contains sensitive themes including early exposure to inappropriate content, addiction, and emotional distress. Reader discretion is advised.
There is something else I remember from my childhood.
Something small—
but it grew into something that followed me for years.
Something that ruined a part of me I didn't even understand at the time.
I was nine.
Too young to know anything. Too innocent to understand what I was seeing.
That day felt normal. Mom had gone out to bring Olivia back from school. I was alone at home, holding her phone, scrolling through random videos.
Then I saw something strange.
People.
Talking.
But… not fully dressed.
"Why are they like that?" I remember asking myself, confused.
Curious.
I searched more.
At first, it all looked similar. Just strange videos I didn't understand. But the more I searched, the more things changed.
The videos became… darker.
Weirder.
Something felt wrong.
But I didn't know why.
I was just a child.
I don't remember how it got worse.
But by the time I was eleven, I had found things I was never meant to see.
Things I didn't understand.
Things that made me feel uncomfortable.
Disgusted.
And yet…
I kept watching.
Who would expect a child to get trapped like that?
As I grew older, I started to understand why those things always came with warnings.
I understood too late.
Between the ages of thirteen to fifteen, it became a habit.
Something I couldn't stop.
Even when I hated it.
Even when it made me feel empty.
Like something inside me was slowly dying.
Then…
At sixteen, something changed.
I understood everything.
What it was.
Why it was wrong.
What it had done to me.
And somehow…
I stopped.
But the damage?
That didn't just disappear.
Losing your innocence that early—
…is something you don't forget.
Sometimes, I wonder…
If my parents had known more—
if they were more aware—
Could they have protected me?
Or was I always going to fall into it?
Once, Mom saw my search history.
"How do you know these words?" she asked.
"I… I don't know… I didn't search it…"
I lied.
Because I was scared.
Scared she'd get angry.
Scared she'd hate me.
Scared she'd see me as something disgusting.
That fear wasn't new.
I remembered something from when we were younger.
Me and Olivia had found something in the house. A sealed box. We didn't know what it was. We thought it was something harmless.
So we asked Mom.
She didn't explain.
She broke.
She screamed.
Cried.
Collapsed to the floor.
We stood there, frozen.
Terrified.
"What did we do wrong?"
We kept asking.
"We won't touch it again… just tell us…"
But she didn't answer.
She just cried.
Like something had died.
That day, something changed.
Not in her—
In me.
I stopped asking questions.
Stopped sharing things.
Stopped trusting.
I was scared of saying the wrong thing.
Scared of triggering something I didn't understand.
Sometimes, I got punished just for disagreeing.
And slowly…
Home stopped feeling safe.
For Olivia, it was worse.
Much worse.
She told me things—about being hit, about being treated harshly.
But when it came up, it was denied.
Like it never happened.
As I grew older, I started noticing something else.
Mom knew things were wrong.
She wasn't blind.
But she never did anything about it.
Even when Dad hurt her—
emotionally, sometimes more—
She didn't confront him.
She didn't stop him.
She would cry.
She would complain.
She would shout—
But never at him.
Always at us.
And slowly…
Something inside me changed.
I started asking myself questions.
"Why?"
Again and again.
"Why?"
Every night.
Every day.
Every moment.
Why didn't she try?
Why didn't she protect us?
Why did her pain always turn into anger—
towards us?
At some point…
I realized something I never thought I would.
I started hating them.
Both of them.
Not all at once.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Because every day—
All I heard was shouting.
Blame.
Words that cut deeper than they should.
"I'll die because of you!"
"All this chaos is because of you!"
Maybe she didn't mean it.
Maybe she didn't hate us.
But hearing those words again and again—
It changes something inside you.
I got tired.
So tired.
And without even realizing when—
That tiredness turned into something else.
Hate.