“I said-” she grabs my hair, bunching the soft curls in a painful grip and throwing me against the floor, “is the new breeder ready?!”

One never truly gets used to abuse. But I have started developing a tolerance for the pain. I shudder, holding in my cries as she stomps on my back with her heel over and over again.

I want to scream in pain, but I have to hold it in. Hold it in, or she’ll make it worse.

Bear it.

Tolerate it.

This is the rest of my life.

Nobody will help me ...