Becky
Every time that Ellis called me, I died a little bit inside.
My mother always told me if I just kept my head down and did what I was told, bad things wouldn’t happen to me. If I got beat, or bullied, or taken advantage of, then it was automatically my fault. I must have said something offensive, talked back or given that boy a suggestive look. I tried my best to hide, but those kinds of people always found me. People who despised me for being small, timid, and weak.
People like Ellis.
It started when we were just kids, when he would pull my hair or pinch my sides in grade school. He called me names and pushed me in the halls until one day he grabbed me and pulled me into the bathroom and told me to take off my shirt and show him my breasts. I didn’t resist, I didn’t fig
