YOU WILL NEVER BE MY GOD, FELIX.

ENIT

was just 10 years old. That same day, my father

se and thrown out, like a weed. I found myself sleeping in the filthy corne

s trouble that nearly cost me my life, a

aging CEO of Julian Financial Services. He was old enough to be my gran

to escape from Mr. William by climbing over a wall,

te: September 25, the d

g once again to save my life, though I fear

*�

ding from the countless cuts I acquired from the sha

rving for days, and my th

thing to me at that moment was escaping. It would be wor

after it with torn clothes, breat

d to the ground, my heavy and fast heartbeat was mixed with tears of sorrow. If only my mother weren't

myself up, I stood at the center of the road, it

ht my terror was over. Four men stepped out of the car, and wi

before I knew it, three men were holding m

k, I just mouthed, "Help me!" continuously and wept silently while the four

cal, emotional, and mental abuse I've been through

me. My sanity, my dignity, my self-confidence, and my hop

ches, I got them all. I was only lucky they had no gun or knife o

ffect of the abuse, and when they thought I was dead,

ve up, and for a second,

began to cough out blood. Even death want

were covered in blood. I tried to walk

ed. I looked up and saw a police station in sight. Weeping

ed medical attention, so without asking any questions or asking me to write a sta

, I will always than

ce I was ready to be discharged, I w

hief of police received a call, and the only thing I heard was, "Yes. We have Miss Benita here in the station." After that, the pape

f responded, "I was told over the phone that you were going to say whatever you just said. I'm glad he already told m

and handcuffed like a criminal, the real criminals was roaming around freely, the

d, and Mr. William, alongside all

n't let him take me," I cried

ed to whatever was happening. I was packaged into the car, and boom.