If my man doesn’t have any money to get high he sends me out to walk the streets. He makes me sale my ass for cash. Tonight he came home angry because he had an argument with a co-worker. He came home and went straight to his drug stash.
“Bitch, have you been giving my dope away?”, he yells.
He knows I haven’t gave his drugs away, he just wants a reason to beat my ass. I race upstairs to lock myself in the bathroom, but he’s faster and he pulls me back down the stairs by my hair. I tumble downstairs landing on my back, my head painfully hits the hardwood floor. I cry out in pain and beg for him to stop.
“Get your ass up and hit the streets!”, he yells.
I get up and head for the door. Every time I walk the streets could be my last. There are a lot of men more sadistic than my man. He doesn’t care that I could be killed, him getting high is more important than my life. Why don’t I have the strength to leave? Do I like being a victim?
Layla
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