I remember crying hysterically at that window. Those were the worst months of my life. I was always crying. And it wasn’t because of the beatings Toby gave me for talking so much. It was mostly because I couldn’t live with the face that I had secretly hurt the man.
Toby was mad that I felt quilty. He thought that I would tell everyone what happened. He would hit me and tell me not to open my mouth to anyone. He told me that it wasn’t our fault, and that the girl was stupid. And when asked if I understood, I said yes.
Once I asked him why we didn’t turn oursleves in. He beat me for a while and then said, “I am the man of the house, and I pay the rent. So I make the choices around here. I control everything you do.” But he didn’t. Because I had my window. And without him knowing, I would leave the house. I would leave the house and travel with the man to different destinations. Or at least that’s what my imagination led me to believe.