Chapter 2 TONI ROC #2
I leaned deeper into my grandma’s side and held on to her dress ‘cause she was the only person in the whole room who made me feel safe. And even though I ain’t know how to process any of this yet, I knew I was gon’ need her more than ever now, so I didn’t let go.
Greystone City
After my mama died, I moved through the world like somebody had turned the sound down real low even though everything around me was loud as ever.
I was nine, and I ain’t understand how life kept goin’ when mine felt like it had stopped.
I woke up the next mornin’ in my stepdaddy Trevior’s house, and the air felt different, like the walls already knew my mama wasn’t comin’ back.
My bed was too big without her and the whole house felt cold even though the heat was on.
Nothin’ about the place felt safe no more, but I ain’t have the words to say that.
I just held my lil’ pillow close and tried to breathe regular ‘cause everything inside me felt too tight.
I had to stay with Trevior and his sons ‘cause I had nowhere else to go, and my grandma kept sayin’ she was tryna figure things out.
She lived way across Greystone City and her house wasn’t in my school district, so she said she needed a minute to see what she could do.
I ain’t like the thought of stayin’ in Trevior’s house without my mama, but I didn’t complain ‘cause nobody asked me what I wanted anyway. I ain’t even think I had the right to want somethin’ different.
Kazee and Varek didn’t treat me no better just ‘cause my mama was dead. If anything, they started botherin’ me more.
Kazee was fifteen and tall with a mean smirk that never left his face, and Varek was thirteen and always followed behind him like a shadow.
They acted like the house belonged to them alone and I was some stray that wandered in.
They pushed me when I walked past, took my snacks when they saw them in the cabinet, and whispered stuff in my ear that made my stomach twist. Sometimes they spit on me when Trevior wasn’t around, and sometimes they said ugly things about my mama, tellin’ me she should have stayed home or that she died ‘cause she was careless. I ain’t know how to defend myself, so most days I stayed quiet and kept my head down, hopin’ they would leave me alone.
Trevior didn’t pay much attention to me.
He worked long days, and when he was home he either slept or watched TV with a cold beer in his hand.
He never asked if I ate or if I needed help with homework.
He never hugged me or told me he was sorry for my mama dyin’.
He just acted like I was another thing he had to deal with, and that made me feel like a burden I didn’t know how to carry.
So I learned to move around the house small and quiet, tryin’ not to be seen so I wouldn’t get hit or shoved or yelled at.
Weeks passed like that, me stayin’ in a room that didn’t feel like mine, wearin’ the same two hoodies ‘cause I ain’t have anyone to wash my clothes right.
I kept everything to myself ‘cause I ain’t have nobody to tell.
My grandma came by when she could, but it wasn’t often ‘cause she didn’t drive and the buses took forever.
When she hugged me, I held on tight ‘cause she was the only person left who made me feel like I mattered. She kept sayin’ she was workin’ on gettin’ me out of Trevior’s house, but the days kept stretchin’ out and I still had to go back there every night.
I tried to act normal at school ‘cause that was the only place where people didn’t treat me like I was nothin’.
I sat with my friends at lunch and they tried to make me laugh, but I couldn’t find my voice the same way no more.
I didn’t rap on the playground like I used to.
I didn’t twirl in circles or make up dumb jokes.
I just sat around quiet and watched other kids run across the blacktop like their lives was the same as yesterday.
They wasn’t walkin’ through hallways pretendin’ to be okay when they were fallin’ apart inside.
One mornin’, I came to school with a bruise on my arm that I tried to cover with my sleeve, but my teacher, Mrs. Lattimore, caught me pullin’ at the fabric.
She had sharp eyes that didn’t miss nothin’.
She asked what happened, and I told her I fell.
She looked at me for a long time before kneelin’ in front of my desk and softly askin’ again.
I stared at the lil’ unicorn sticker on her badge and whispered the same lie ‘cause I ain’t know what else to say.
She ain’t push me, but she touched my hand real gentle and said she needed to call somebody who could help me.
By lunchtime, a lady from Child Protective Services showed up.
She sat with me in the counselor’s office askin’ questions in a soft voice.
I kept my eyes on my shoes the whole time ‘cause I didn’t want her to see how scared I was.
She asked about my mama, asked how things were at home, asked where the bruise came from.
I swallowed hard and said I didn’t know.
She didn’t believe me and she wasn’t supposed to.
She asked if there was someone else in my family who could take me, and I felt my chest loosen a lil’ ‘cause I knew she was talkin’ about Grandma Glo.
They called her and she came as fast as she could.
She hugged me right there in the office and told me pack my things ‘cause she wasn’t lettin’ me go back with Trevior.
I held on to her so tight my fingers hurt, and she held me back like she was relieved to finally get me out of there.
I ain’t know what would happen next, but I knew I didn’t have to sleep in that cold house no more. That was enough for me in that moment.
Later that day, my grandma took me to her house in the roughest part of Greystone City.
Her house was small, just three bedrooms and a lil’ livin’ room that smelled like fried food and incense, and it was packed with people.
Uncle Darnell and Uncle Reggie, her grown sons, lived there.
They was in their early thirties and always had friends comin’ in and out the door, loud music playin’, card games goin’ into the night, and cigarette smoke driftin’ through the hallway.
There was lil’ cousins runnin’ around, family friends sleepin’ on couches, and people laughin’ or arguin’ at all hours. It felt like a house that never rested.
I didn’t have my own room. Sometimes I slept on the couch, sometimes on a makeshift pallet in Uncle Darnell’s old room when he wasn’t home, and sometimes I slept at the foot of my grandma’s bed.
I tried to make myself small ‘cause I didn’t understand how dangerous it was to be a lil’ girl in a house full of grown men who didn’t follow rules or care about boundaries.
I only knew I needed to listen to my grandma, help her with chores, and stay out the way.
Uncle Darnell and Uncle Reggie smiled at me in ways that ain’t feel right.
They made me uncomfortable, but I didn’t know how to explain it.
I didn’t have big words for that kind of fear.
I only knew they was supposed to come in my space or touch me or whisper things that made my skin crawl.
I kept quiet ‘cause I thought that was the only way to survive in the house. I thought if I didn’t complain or make noise, maybe they would leave me alone and stop raping me.
But being quiet didn’t save me. They still crossed lines no grown man should ever cross with a child.
They violated the trust I didn’t even know I was supposed to have.
I didn’t tell nobody. Not my grandma, not the teachers, not the other kids at school.
I didn’t have the words, and I didn’t think anyone would believe me if I tried.
I carried it inside, right next to the pain of losin’ my mama.
I tucked everything deep so it wouldn’t spill out.
I got quiet on purpose. I learned how to smile when I needed to, laugh when someone told a joke, and act normal so nobody could see what was really happenin’.
I became good at pretendin’ ‘cause I ain’t have a choice.
Months passed and the house never stopped movin’.
Kids yelled, babies cried, grown men laughed too loud, women argued in the kitchen, and music blasted through the walls until midnight.
I lived in a storm and had to find my own quiet on the inside ‘cause nobody else was gonna give it to me.
I did my homework on the floor with my back against the couch ‘cause that was the only spot that felt kinda mine. I kept my clothes folded in a lil’ bag under the bed ‘cause I ain’t have a dresser.
I washed my face in the kitchen sink when the bathroom was too crowded.
I hugged my pillow at night even though it was lumpy and thin ‘cause it was the only soft thing I owned.
One night, after everything had been goin’ on for too long and my head felt too heavy with secrets, I finally broke a lil’.
There was chaos outside the bathroom door, people yellin’ about somethin’ in the livin’ room, kids runnin’ up and down the hall, and pots bangin’ in the kitchen.
I climbed into the old moldy tub and pulled my knees up to my chest. The tub was cold and cracked, the water drippin’ slow from the rusted faucet, but it felt like the only place in the house where I could breathe by myself.
I wrapped my arms around my legs and pressed my face against my knees.
My body shook even though I wasn’t cold.
I ain’t wanna cry ‘cause I thought cryin’ meant I wasn’t strong, but the tears slipped out anyway.
They fell warm and quiet down my face and landed on my knees while I tried to swallow the sobs.
I cried ‘cause I missed my mama. I cried ‘cause I ain’t understand why nobody wanted to protect me.
I cried ‘cause I was nine and the world felt too big and too mean and too heavy for me to carry.
I cried for a long time until my head hurt.
And when the tears finally stopped, I wiped my face and told myself I had to get up and keep goin’.
I had to keep everythin’ to myself ‘cause talkin’ didn’t fix nothin’ in my world.
That night in the tub, I learned how to break quietly, and that was the night I realized I had to grow up quicker than any lil’ girl should ever have to.