I’m going to find you, one day. I’m going to tell you exactly what you did to me, and exactly how it has affected my life.
I’m not going to hit you, though I want to, so desperately.
Who the hell does stuff like that to a little girl? Why the hell didn’t I remember it until several years later? Why the hell do I have to continually relieve those experiences in my dreams?
Who the fuck does that stuff to a little girl?
One day, I’m going to find you. Unless you’re dead. Then I’m going to find your grave and spit on it, you monster.